Another Sunday Morning It Was Not

It was another hectic Sunday morning! My life had been on hectic overdrive for the last two years, and getting ready for church this Sunday morning was no different. I’d just sold my house earlier that month and moved back to the side of town that took me more miles away from church, but put me at least at the halfway point to being closer to my work. I’d not yet adjusted my “gotta get out of the house earlier” timing down; having gone from being less than five miles from church, to now being over 15 miles away.

I was also still dragging; a little on edge; physically exhausted from the move, and mentally drained from all the drama I’d been through over the past year. With Spring in full swing, and May fast approaching, there were also some emotionally charged moments I’d dealt with this time of year; or at least over the past 10 years.

In some ways, it was a good thing I was running behind. Had I left on time, I would have been driving, and maybe not heard or been able to read the first text that morning. But there I was; my eyes fixed on the small screen of my iPhone 4, reading a message from a friend I knew from back in South Carolina. The message was her letting me know that a mutual friend’s mother, who had been in the hospital for several days, had just coded. She wasn’t sure if she was going to make it.

I knew my friend’s mom had been in and out of the hospital several times that year after a cancer diagnosis about four months earlier. But I had no idea it had gotten this bad. A second text came to let me know that my friend’s sister was there at the hospital with their mom, but my friend was still on the road, having to drive from out of town.

I was afraid to call her. I didn’t want to distract her while she was driving. Everything that had to be going through her head, with over a two hour drive ahead of her. I also didn’t want to clog up the phone line in case her sister needed to get through to talk to her. I will never forget my last call. So I didn’t want to possibly get in the way of hers.

Thirty minutes later, I was parked in my church lot. I stayed a few extra moments in the car, wiping away my tears. I’d been on the phone with the texting friend who let me know that our friend’s mother didn’t make it. I texted another mutual friend; someone who had been through this same thing just three years earlier. She was sitting in church, unaware of what was going on. I knew our friend didn’t make it to the hospital before her mother passed, and figured she’d want to see a comforting and understanding face. So I figured our friend could get over there after service.

Being 500 miles away, I felt helpless; just as I had felt twice before when my other two close friends had to say unexpected goodbyes to their moms too. I got out of the car, and walked slowly towards the church door. One of my church leaders and friend was standing outside as I approached. He greeted me as he had many times before. I decided not to lie. Instead, when he asked how I was doing, I told him.

“My best friend’s mother just passed away,” I started. “I knew her mother,” I continued. “And I know what she’s going through right now. So, no, I’m not doing well.”

He was kind with his pastoral response. He said he was sorry to hear that. And then something to the effect of how hard it was to lose someone. Then something similar to acknowledging that death is a part of life; albeit a difficult part. I’m not 100 percent on exactly what was said. I think I started tuning him out at some point.

He meant well. And what he said was true. But it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. This was the third friend in my close circle of hometown girlfriends to lose their mothers. And each time it happened, it was like all of the emotions, pain, and hurts were stirred up; raw emotional reminders of hearing those same words myself.

“Mama’s gone.”

I did not need for someone to remind me that losing someone was one of those things we all had to deal with. It had been 10 years, but each time someone close to me lost their mom, it was like losing mine all over again. And this late April was no different.

As I sought to comfort each of my friends, in 2011, 2012, and now 2015, it was like hitting the reset button, and going back through the grieving process myself. I felt an overwhelming need to be as honest with them as possible; no cliches or well-meaning scripture verses and inspirational cards, that during the rawest of immediate emotions, are just words.

Pain can be blinding. It’s not easy to see past the deep hurt.

Because at that moment, you don’t always hear the words as comforting. They can just sound like noise. And what you have for this moment in time is the heaviness of the loss, and emptiness of knowing you’ll never see her again, for as long as you live.

Talking with these, and other friends, as we’ve each walked through our own valleys, what I’ve learned is that sometimes, we don’t need people who want to try to help us through our grief. Sometimes, we just need for people to acknowledge and understand that we grieve.

“Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. ¹⁴ For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him.” I Thessalonians 4:13-14