Losing my mom was the first real, all-consuming, heartbreaking, awful pain I ever felt in my 30 years of life. I never felt so lost.
I’m not supposed to be raising my kids without her. Only one of my two boys really got to know her (he dreams about her all the time). The next two growing in my belly will never know how much she would have absolutely adored them (my heart literally hurts typing that). She called her grandbabies her “little bubbas.” I would do anything to hear her say that again. She’s supposed to be in the delivery room this time like she was the last two times.
But she won’t be.
Our holidays and birthdays aren’t supposed to feel this sad and lonely even with a house full of family, food, and so many other blessings to be thankful for. There will always be something missing. Something that will never be replaced.
Decorating the tree for Christmas was her favorite. Spoiling her family with gifts on Christmas morning was her favorite. Watching Hallmark Christmas movies was her favorite. I’m not supposed to decorate for Christmas in October just so I can make her favorite holiday last a little longer in my house. Watching Hallmark Christmas movies shouldn’t make me cry for hours.
I’m supposed to be able to still call her when my kids won’t sleep or are sick or when I need to know how to cook something. I wasn’t done learning from her.
I’m not supposed to be replaying old videos or voicemails just so I can hear her voice again.
My kids are not supposed to see me cry and automatically know and ask, “Mommy are you sad because you miss your mom in Heaven?” And then come up with sweet little ways to make me happy again. My 4-year-old said to me one day he was going to build me a rocket ship that could fly to Heaven so I could see my mom again. They aren’t supposed to see me this sad.
I’m not supposed to have a “Funeral” and “Missing My Mom” playlist.
Seeing mother-daughter posts and pictures on Facebook should not make me jealous. But it does. Every. Single. Time.
My dad shouldn’t be alone.
It’s not supposed to be like this.
Sitting at her bedside watching the strongest, most God-fearing woman I had ever met in my life struggle to live is not how life was supposed to go. Her cancer was supposed to be gone. The treatments were supposed to work. The prayers were supposed to help. She should have been ringing that bell at the chemo center after she beat this terrible disease. But we didn’t get that ending.
Losing my mom was the first time in my life I truly realized and understood not all problems and hurts can be fixed. But sometimes you just have to live through the pain and face each day knowing that what once was, will never be again.