Writing | Poem

Recently I have been remembering a poem I wrote, upon losing my mother to cancer in 2020. Our story is a unique one.  Our mom has two daughters, who both adored her very much, and were both living on the other side of a closed border during the pandemic. My sister and I refer to our grief as "complicated."  Without the chance to help our parents, being barred from that one last hug or the chance to say our goodbyes, the process has come in fits and starts, and has taken a lot longer to move through the healthy stages of grief.  

During one such swell of awareness, the pain of losing her was nearly overwhelming. So I wrote. Some people drink, I suppose, but I write. I pray, I cry, I remember, and I write. Though it hurts, I would do nothing to deaden the pain -- for it cries aloud, telling of my love for the woman who gave me life, and who nurtured me through every stage from birth to marriage to motherhood to ministry and beyond.  Until one day she couldn't. She breathed her last, fell asleep, and woke up in the presence of God.   

Upon this writing, I am working through the initial stages of our dad's bittersweet passing.  He survived my mother by 5 years and 5 days, both of them dying in early December (as if they knew it would be so much lovelier to spend Christmas in heaven).  Dementia stole him from us in pieces.  But at least, in his case, the border was open. The fight was longer, so we were able to help. It was not easier, by any means, to lose him. In some ways, he had become my "child" these past few years. The searing loss of someone who became so vulnerable, so dependent on my care, cuts deep.  Alzheimer's is a thief, but I daresay a more gracious robber than the closed border that kept us from seeing our mother.   

I am grateful that one day soon we will see them again! This time - in a heavenly place, and in heavenly bodies that we cannot yet fully comprehend.  Our reunion will be sweet - surrounded not only with the nearness of those we love, but with His presence -- the unfathomable, unfiltered presence of a God who is Love, completely.  The same One who saved us, who walks with us, and who comforts us through it all.  

Until then, we have this pain. But even in it, we can find hope.  

Pain

(C) Rebecca Ellen Woodworth Laird, 02-10-2021

Sometimes the pain 
still physically hurts
my heart is not the same
since life changed
since you are gone.

Instead of love
I have pain
for my companion,
and wonder, how can this be?

Days turned to weeks
weeks to months
I want to stop time
to stop the world from turning
'cause every turn
moves me farther away
from the times you were here

broadens the gap
stretches the distance
deepens the loss
when instead some think
time makes things better.

But I know grief
and can testify.
It is not time 
that heals all wounds
but love.

And love is what makes
the death of a mother
so deep
so piercing
so great.

Grateful.
So thankful 

to have known that love:
unselfish
cherishing
strengthening
unconditional
proud

And when it is gone,
you wonder how 
you can possibly exist
without it
or ...
if you want to.

No. At many times the answer is
no. I do not.
Yet exist, I must
and more - to thrive.

To live a life worthy
of the love.
To be what she worked for
what she gave for
I must somehow overcome.
I must go on.

Though the pain is present
though it pierces, 

wounds
and persists
I must outlast it
or make peace somehow
with it.

Pain,

my companion.

I have often, too boldy claimed
"I am good with pain!"
In childbirth
in broken bones
I am.

But the deep heart pain -

so real I can feel it
so stubborn
it refuses to lose
the arm-wrestle of our friction

this pain contends.

Days upon weeks upon months
nevertheless,
I will go on

For she knew pain
and did not give up.

The legacy before her
The women of valor
ever strong in faith
knew immense grief.

The loss of a son, a boy
the loss of a man, too soon
the scar of leaving homeland
the hurt of rejection
of immigration, of humility

They pressed on.

And as they live in me,

so their faith lives,
and so will I.

If you would like to explore this topic further, here is our son Mac's song, Home, which he wrote in the wake of his grandma's death as well as two young high school seniors who died tragically in our small town, that same year.

https://youtu.be/L7F1L4-y2tA?si=SuBMidCo4JQQ_5NB 

Music is one of the most peaceful ways to help us process the pain and memories of those we have lost.