I feel like I understand now why Catholics don’t just pray to God, but also to saints. It’s not that saints themselves can answer prayers, but they can pray for us too. Plus, as much I like chatting with God, sometimes I want to talk to someone else.
Like my mom.
Today marks nine months since my mom died.
Grief still sucks. A lot.
I don’t know how heaven works. I don’t know how sainthood works, although I’m pretty sure the Catholic Church has made a few dubious choices for saints over the years. But I like to think of my mom up in heaven, hanging out with her sister, their parents, and even their step-mother. I think that in heaven, our souls are fully cleansed of our earthly sins, hurts, and regrets, leaving only love, joy, and peace behind.
I like the fact that even when I was a child, my parents didn’t pretend to know everything about Christian theology, including how heaven works. Thus when I share my Christian beliefs, I try to do so with the explicit understanding that not only do I not know everything, I could be wrong on what I do know.
But right now, the idea of an immediate afterlife comforts me, as does the idea that there’s more than one way to get into heaven. I don’t want to delve into the academic works of centuries of theologians to see what learned people have to say on heaven.
I just want to talk to my mom. All the time.
I think God understands why I spend more time talking to my mom right now than I do to Her. Mom might not ever be a Catholic saint, but she’s my saint.
I talk to Mom about NCIS a lot. It was one of her favorite shows. I started watching it on Netflix a few weeks after she died. It’s almost like we’re sitting on the couch, watching TV together.
I cried at the end of Season 2. All I wanted to do was pick up the phone and call my mom. But I couldn’t.
I haven’t figured out how to tell Mom that Michael Weatherly (Anthony DiNozzo) is leaving the show. Of course, I’m not nearly that ahead in the series on Netflix, but I’ve read all the headlines.
Mom and I used to playfully argue about who was more attractive, DiNozzo or Gibbs. It was clearly a generational gap, as she always thought Mark Harmon (Leroy Jethro Gibbs) was more attractive.
I tell Mom how lonely I sometimes still get in Georgia, a year after moving to Duluth. It’s a lot harder to make friends as an adult, especially when you work from home. And all the suggestions I’ve read for meeting new people involve more money, time, and energy than I feel like spending. I’d rather spend my money, time, and energy on maintaining my long-distance friendships.
I already feel like I don’t properly juggle my marriage, my relationships, my writing, my health, and my responsibilities. I don’t want my relationships to ever feel like part of my to-do list. Right now, the idea of meeting new people feels exactly like that.
I tell my mom about my garden. About the tulips and the daffodils with their short lifespans. I thank her for the Easter lily she let me keep after church last year which is now so green and happy in my garden. I can’t wait to see it bloom. I complain to my mom about the pollen that coats everything right now. I ask her about the random ground-cover in my garden with its pretty yellow flowers and strange red fruit-like flowers. My butterfly bush is green again. In my mother’s garden, I’m attempting to root one of her hydrangeas to take back with me to Georgia in a few months.
But no matter how hard I try to still talk to my mom, to put my thoughts and feelings into the universe with the willful intent of my mom receiving them, it’s not the same.
I can’t just pick up the phone and call her. She can’t hold me when I cry. I can’t laugh at her neediness when she asks for just one more hug, or she holds my hand across the dinner table, or she begs for me to play with her hair (like mother like daughter). She can’t give me advice or reassurance.
Sometimes my faith isn’t enough. No matter how much I want to believe in God’s plan, and how much I do believe in God’s love, and how much I’m pretty sure heaven is something–it’s not always enough.
I am human, and I just want my mom on Earth with me. I love her, and I miss her.
More than anything else, that is what I tell her.
I just hope that she hears it.
I wish I had something wonderful to say to make you feel better. My heart goes out to you.
Thank you <3
My eyes are welling up. I can not imagine the loss of a mother and won’t even begin to offer simple words to try to alleviate your pain. All I can say is that the love and bond you two shared is evident in your writing. Sending hugs your way.
Thank you, Anne. Grief sucks, but writing about my grief helps. My mom was so proud of me and my writing. I think she would be honored to know that I can write so clearly about our relationship. <3
I agree 100%! And writing is so therapeutic and cathartic….so glad you have that outlet (and we all get to benefit form it as well!).
<3
As a Catholic I often get a lot of grief for praying to Saints and the like, even from my Baptist husband's family (but not him thankfully!). But I am a firm believer in a support system, and that is how I look at it. If a friend offers to pray for me I am not going to tell them no… I see them as one and the same. I know this wasn't the direction you were heading in but I just wanted to say I think your Mom is definitely hearing you. I cannot imagine what you're going through and I think it is so amazing of you to share something so personal with all of us. I wish I had better words of comfort to offer you 🙁
I actually didn’t mean to talk so much about Catholic saints, but it just sorta flowed, so I went with it. I know there can be a lot of misunderstanding among Protestants–I’ve definitely heard that Catholics worship the Virgin Mary. But I like the idea of patron saints, almost as though they have extra clout or understanding or whatever to help your prayer get answered in the best way possible (which isn’t always what we think we want!). What I love about the Holy Spirit is how It takes what’s in our hearts and translates that into a prayer for God. Even if I don’t have the words, God knows what I need. And so that’s why I think God gets that right now, I’d rather just spend my quiet time talking to my mom.
I know, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to go down that route! (And I’ve heard that too! From my grandmother in law to boot). I meant more to give encouragement that God knows your heart and what you need. I’ll be keeping you and your family in my prayers.
I’m sending my love. My mom passed away 15 years ago…writing that is gut wrenching. 15 years without her. It’s not fair and I know what you’re feeling. For some odd reason I seem to be bad with saying the right things, so just know that you’re not alone and I’m thinking of you. I love this idea of a post and hope you don’t mind if I borrow it sometime.
What you said is just fine. 🙂 It’s such a bittersweet club to join, losing a parent at a young age. It sucks knowing that other people feel this pain, but it also feels weirdly comforting not to be alone.
Ooooph. There’s is so much richness, such goodness here because -I believe- grief has this deep, deep love in it that is unlike any other emotion.
I know nothing will be the same as hearing back from your mom… because I know the chance to hear my dad’s voice one more time is something I couldn’t put a price on… but since he’s died I’ve made a deal with him. I’ve told him that when I see a single glove laying anywhere, I know it’s him and his stamp of approval. He was a man who always had a pair of gloves in his back pocket (if he wasn’t wearing them) and so, it seems fitting. Gloves abound sometimes. It seems they crop up over and over again begging me to know that my grief is acknowledged and returned. It’s a taste of being talked to by him over again and my sadness appreciates it.
My heart breaks and heals beside yours.
My mom visits me in the form of a butterfly. I remember when I first attempted to do some work on her garden after she died, when I really had no idea what I was doing. A friendly butterfly stayed with me the entire time. I knew that was from my mom. <3
Oh Brita. My heart ached for you whilst reading this. I wish I was there to give you a big hug.
I’m so sorry, Brita. I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through but I know your grief won’t ever go away. I still pray for you and think about you often! <3
My mom died eight days ago. I think I’m still in the numb/denial part. I found this through your “Grief is Weird” post. (I literally Googled “grief is weird.”) My mom died exactly ten days after I learned she had cancer, and that was only a week after she found out, herself. I believe that she died of chronic illness and old age, and cancer was just the opportunistic monster that took advantage of a weakened system and attacked aggressively. She was in the hospital over Christmas and had full abdominal CTs and so many tests (she was nearly in kidney failure at the time), and yet there was no sign of the cancer that was above and below her diaphragm when they found it.
Yesterday was the first day since April 2, that my day to day life wasn’t thinking about my mom dying, watching my mom die, or taking care of all of the little details of her funeral. I think I’ve cried maybe five or six times. When I do, it’s sometimes big, noisy sobs that physically hurt, and sometimes just a slight welling up of tears before letting distraction take my mind away. It never seems to last long, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m deliberately pushing it down, or because I’m genuinely okay. I’ve never been someone who’s had a problem expressing my emotions (*quite* the reverse), so the the contrast of losing my favorite person in the world, the person I call first for 90% of my life stuff, my Mommy; and yet, smiling, laughing, and being pretty much normal is confusing me a lot. I cried more when my cat died. Which makes me think there’s a deluge coming.
Anyway, I had found your blog some time ago after you liked a few of my pictures on Instagram (jenelope1st), and really enjoyed your writing then. I think it’s time to revisit your blog.
My condolences on the loss of your mother. It’s never easy to lose a parent, no matter your age. My grandmother died about 9 months before my mother did. While my mother was grateful for her mother to go first–my grandmother already lost her oldest daughter many decades ago–my grandmother’s death was still hard on our family.
Grief is weird. It’s still weird. I still don’t get it. I can go weeks feeling okay and then get punched right in the gut with physical pain because the grief is too much to bear.
I go back and forth being in denial, but sometimes I think denial is the only way not to spend my entire life crying. When I think really hard about my mom being dead, that’s when I cry uncontrollably.
Thank you for the compliments on my writing. <3
This is a really beautiful piece. Thanks for sharing your thoughts with us. Hugs and love your way.