My sweet sister-in-law joined our club this week. I wish she never had to face the initiation. She became another daughter who has lost her mother. Too soon. Much too soon.
Sadly I know just how she’s spent the past days. The phone call that feels like a punch in the stomach. The frantic packing. The twelve hour drive in the middle of the night—devoted husband at the wheel and frightened daughters in the back seat. Walking into the brightly lit ICU to find Mom, dearest friend and confidante, hooked up to all manner of tubes and wires. A sister—who just faced the same sequence of events—racing in with her baby. Dad with the vacant look in his eyes. Talking to Mom. Hoping she hears us. Holding her hand. The last kiss goodbye.
I realize most of us have to face this someday. But someday is supposed to be a long time from now. When we’re older. When our daughters and sons are grown up and might understand why Grandma won’t be there for hugs and kisses, birthdays, holidays, and tea parties.
I want to tell her it will be okay. I want to tell her that time will soothe the pain. I want to reassure her that as the years pass the hole in her heart will heal. I want to tell her that as her daughters reach each milestone, there won’t be tears wishing Mom could have been there. But I can’t lie to her.
You never get over losing your Mother.