It ends in trumpets.

It ends in trumpets.

But that's so far from how it began. 

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Time and terminal illness are not supposed to be friends, but in my mother's case - they were. My mom was not supposed to stay, but she did. We were not supposed to be strong enough, but because of God - we were.

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No one prayed like my mom. She had confidence, like down to the hour of something happening. She'd pray as if all the obstacles that stood in the way of that hour ever being enough time were non-existent. The miracle would always come in her belief. Cancer did not cause her to be silent. I don't how it works for God when people ask for more time, but God gave us excessive grace. 

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I imagine this has much to do with one woman's persistent prayer. 

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My mom stayed, but she faded: slowly, painfully. My red, my goofy song and dance, my creative, my ready to go, my dessert before the meal, my sensitive, my kaleidoscope of joy, my make it better, excited to listen - came undone. 

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Grief is not isolated. Though there are moments in the process and healing where you feel like you are the only person who understands your specific heartache. Yet, you wake up to a terrible and kind truth - you aren't alone.

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What's worse that feeling alone in your grief? Being certain that others know and feel what you do. That nod of understanding, the words said that are dripping with empathy, and how they don't fear to ask you directly how it's going. 

Here you are trying to live when you don't want to because one of your favorite parts is gone - and you have to face the truth that everyone around you can or will know that very same dismantling fear and ache. 

I hate it. I hate it because I can pray, and write my way out, and sing enough songs. But you and others, how do I know you have support? How do I know you filter your thoughts through friends? How do I know you have help? And what if you don't? And what if you just cry and cry so your eyes won't open the next day, and then your spirit mirrors the same for so long that no one can get in?

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It hurts to hurt. But to know that you hurt too, in the same way. That's something I wish wasn't true. But it is. And I'm so sorry. 

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Even still, I've been given the grace to experience the beauty of not being alone in grief. It's been in various ways. I am grateful beyond words. I heard a song that felt like it was written about my life, but it wasn't. The story was different than mine, but yet the same. I realized that though I never want anyone to feel the deep sorrow and seeming emptiness of grief - you've got to. So, with the help of Jon Bellion I decided it may as well be worth it and iridescent and full of hope.  

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"Mah's Joint" (Ft. Quincy Jones) follows the story of Jon's grandma (I believe) and her battle with Alzheimer's. It's devastating, and his patience to unpack this slow loss shows his courage and love for this woman. The song begins with Jon addressing his grandma and stating how hard is to watch her be here, but slowly go at the same time. Then he switches over to talking about his mom taking care of her. He chronicles all the unseen, quiet things she does to keep her mom happy and taken care of. 

"There are things that she's not able to remember

So I took tonight to put it in a song

That when she meets God, He'll tell her all about it

When my mother was a mother to her mom"

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My mom didn't have Alzheimer's, and it has it's own unique struggles that I do not pretend to understand. (Please do not hear me trying to take anything from it, but only to explain how the experiences as an onlooker and caretaker can resemble one another.) But I couldn't help but empathize with the sentiment of watching someone lose who they are. 

My mom's was different: a cocktail of dealing with years of pain meds, radiation, and brain surgery. These created a confusion in her. To those dealing with Alzheimer's or family members supporting those with it, my heart goes out to you. I don't understand it fully, but I've had glimpses. May God carry you. 

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"Conversations with the Devil and he's telling me

What's the point in making memories

When you can't even find 'em when you're seventy?

Conversations with my Father and he's telling me

There's a point in making memories

'Cause they'll be even better when we're heavenly"

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Satan will tell you that death makes everything pointless. That nothing matters. He will convince you that what is lost is lost forever. He will press you, neck down into hopelessness. He will tell you it's the end and nothing good will happen again, and every lie in the book. In this, I beg you to make your way to your feet. Resist how he tries to ground you. Because I have a truth to tell you. Death is significant and so is everything after it. What's lost in life is restored in Heaven. The darkness of life translates into the Light of Heaven for all who believe and call Him Father. 

Even when memories are slipping, health is slipping, life is slipping - they were not in vain. Because the chance of Heaven follows.

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After all this, the slow building music breaks.

Into trumpets.

...

The first time I heard this song, I cried. The triumph and joy that followed these incredibly sad lines, were the same release I knew with my moma. Whether they resemble the the ascent to Heaven, or the hope that it restores us, or it's just a moment to realize this broken, aching life was once beautiful and fully functioning and worth celebrating - I don't know. But this instrumental interlude is where I sit. It's where I find rest. Thanks Jon, for sharing the rawness of your pain, honoring your family, and in turn showing me that even heartbreak can end this way, despite your heart feeling like pulp, it does still beat. 

Now, I no longer shudder in the same way when others share with me a dark place in life. Yes it hits me hard, and I often feel parts of it like I felt my own secretly, but I've heard the trumpets. 

 I know I can trust God to be what I have lost. I know that life promises sadness and death and it will hurt, but my God has my soul preserved. What ever is lost, has a garden that grows in it's place - never to replace it, but to honor it. 

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I've written this for me, but if you read it I hope this song hugs you up, like it did me. For whatever/whoever you've lost or are losing or will lose in due time - fear not. Do not run from sadness because beauty will be in the midst of it, or if not after. It does not always rain, and after it does you will have grown so tall - even if it's not in the way you hoped. And who knows, maybe your radiance will be enough to convince someone else - they can start again, despite being trampled. 

I believe that is the purpose of my own grief. I don't know all the ways I can lend a hand yet, but I figure somehow it starts with this: acknowledging my mom was every kind of lovely. She was mine for a time. That was a gift, an excessive gift. Now I walk without her because of her. It's not what I'd ever choose. But I have learned from her wisdom. Now she is among trumpets. 

...

"For the mother's that are with us physically...

For the mother's that are with us spiritually."