Losing a parent is a major milestone. The span between my mom’s diagnosis and her death was far too short and came at a ridiculously young age. 10 years ago today was the first full day on earth without mom here. I remember crying as I fell asleep and crying as soon as I woke up this morning in 2011 — after those first few seconds of bliss where I didn’t remember what happened the day before.
What does time do? They say it heals all wounds. Time helps wounds scab over and become less painful, but the scars continue to tell a story. This scar is 10 years old. Phantom pains kick in now and then; a brush with something in this world will remind me of my mother, followed by the realization that she’s not here anymore.
I was driving last week and took off fast from a green light, my little hybrid car pushing it to the limit. I remembered my mom’s old Saturn wagon, which had a “Performance Mode” button on the transmission console, which I suppose was meant for when you accidentally navigated onto an active Nascar track. “Performance” made all 4 cylinders whine even louder. As my own car took off in its own version of “performance mode”, I had this thought:
I should call mom and tell her that this car is faster than hers, even in performance mode.
I thought this actual thought. She’s been gone for 10 years, and I’m reaching for my phone.
Yep, that’s a scar.
Sometimes Zac (12) will begin to tear up and say “I miss Grandma” or “I wish I knew Grandma more”. He’s mourning the loss of what was, as well as the loss of what could have been if she were still around. The future tense of loss is often more painful than the past tense.
Losing a parent is a major milestone. 10 years after losing a parent is also a major milestone. At this point, I just wish I could call her.
Time heals all wounds? Perhaps. The real healing, of course, is found in the coming Kingdom. Until then, life is leaps of joys pockmarked by bouts of surprise sadness.