By Kelsey Scism 
A woman—a mother—in our community passed away unexpectedly, her youngest was the same age as one of our kids. From the moment I heard the news, my heart ached for those kids. I felt absolutely broken for them. How does one go to bed with a goodnight kiss and wake up the next morning without a mom?
I couldn’t help but think of my own kids. What would their lives be like if, suddenly, I was gone? How would they cope? What would they feel? If I died today, would they know how much I loved them?
I think they would. Actually, I know they would. Because I’ve experienced unexpected loss, and I know that love is all that’s left behind.
When you lose someone, it’s easy to remember all the ways they loved you. It’s those memories of love that you cling to ever so tightly as the emotions of grief swirl around. The anger, shock, confusion, despair—they come and go without warning. But love? Love is present even when the ones who gave it are not. It’s true what the Bible says . . . love never fails.
If I died today, I know—without a doubt—that my kids would know I loved them. But I think there’s a more important question . . . What if I don’t? If I don’t die today, will my kids know I loved them?
In the middle of busy schedules and running here and there, do they know I love them? Do they know they are the reason I do what I do? I drop things off at school and shuttle them to and from practices because I love them. Do they know that?
When I’m rushing them out the door, always seeming to push them to hurry, do they know I love them? I don’t always use the kindest words. Often, the anxiety of running behind pushes me to treat them in ways I don’t want to. In those rushed moments, do they know I love them?
When they walk in the door after a long day of school and see me standing at the dishwasher or sitting beside a pile of laundry, do they know I wash and fold and put away . . . for them? Because I love them. When I say “just a minute, let me finish this” it’s not because I don’t want to drop everything for them, it’s just that there is always so much to do. Do they realize that even when I’m distracted, I still love them?
When I’m craving just a few minutes of peace and quiet, do they know I still love them? It’s not that I want them to go away, I just need time to recharge, to think, to breathe. And those moments, even if short-lived, renew my focus and give me energy to be their mom in all the ways they need me. Yes, some days, I really need a break. Do they know, even then, that I love them?
When I tuck my little ones in at night and pray beside their beds, do they know my biggest prayer is that they know love—both mine and their Heavenly Father’s? As my big kids walk down the stairs and my voice follows them, saying goodnight and I love you, do they know I really mean it? Do they know I still pray for them even if they think they’re too big for bedtime prayers with their mom?
When they make a mistake and my response isn’t perfect, do they know I love them? When my patience is thin and I’m barely holding it together and it’s hard to show love in that moment, do they still know it’s there?
I’m quite certain that if I died today, my kids would remember my love. I think I’d leave enough behind for them to hold onto. Right now the bigger question is . . . If I don’t die today, will my kids know I love them?
by Brandon Janous 
by Stephanie Janney 
by Nikki Pennington 
