Crafted by Grace

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...

It had been a few months since my young husband had passed away.   I certainly never imagined I would be a cancer widow at 25 years old, but I was doing as well as could be expected, I guess. Most areas of life I felt independent enough to handle. I was incredibly lonely - but able to continue on with life.   One life task deeply bothered me to do alone, however, and that was anything to do with vehicle repair.  It's a vulnerable feeling to now be alone in dealing with a male mechanics in a state and country not my own.  For whatever reason that was when I felt the stigma of singleness the most.  Hating a task doesn't make it go away, however.  The plain fact was my tires were in a horrible state. Living in rural central Virginia, the long drives on deserted roads alone were clearly unsafe for me at this point.  I needed tires, like yesterday.  I took a deep breath, picked up the phone and resolved to deal with this unsettling task....