U2 is by far and away my favorite band. Even if I don't agree with Bono's skewed theological beliefs, Adam's love affairs, Larry's unbelief, or the Edge's... well, I love the Edge - there is nothing wrong with the Edge. Even though all of these things, I love and appreciate U2 beyond measure. Their lyrics have inspired me for years; their poetic historical accounts have lit a fire under me especially at times when I was merely a flickering flame; and who doesn't love sweet guitar licks? I mean, come on!
I'm not sure that I want this blog to turn into a place where I am constantly revealing the process of my grief, so I do promise that more blogs on other topics will come, but something inside of me started burning this weekend as I was listening to my U2 playlist. Next Monday would have been my mom's 54th birthday. The irony of it all is that I rarely ever remembered my mom's age while she was alive. In fact, on several occasions in my childhood and teen years, I remember saying, "Happy Birthday MOM! How old are you again?" I never forgot her birthday, but I just couldn't make the number of years stick in my brain. Now that she is no longer here, I am not quite sure what will happen with this memory lapse, but for now, the # 54 is bright and clear.
What does this have to do with U2 and a fire burning inside of me, you may ask. Well, the simple matter is this: It turns out that we are incredibly selfish people. My mom would have been 54 next week; and the shock of grief at times can be overwhelming. I miss her. I want to talk to her. I get angry at the fact that somehow God took her away. How could he do that? Didn't He know that I needed her here? Didn't He know that she was supposed to be a witness to my life here on this earth? Didn't He get it that she was supposed to be a grandma one day? Did God mess up?
These are the thoughts that plague me at some of the most inopportune times. So, it is most certainly comical to me that God would use my love for U2 to express something so deep and profound because when the grief hits, it is hard to focus. You may ask, what does the song "No Line on the Horizon" have to do with this?
Everything.
Selfishness is looking at God and telling Him that He should have known better; but He speaks to me and says that He does know. My mom would have been 54, but now she is Eternity. My mom would have been facing another Michigan winter with a car that always continually gave her problems, but now she is in the heavenlies - where the idea of "weather" is comical. My mom would have been facing another stack of bills every single day, adding fear and worry to her already loaded plate. Now she is in a place where peace, pure bliss, and joy reign. The words fear and worry have no meaning. My mom would have been waking up to another day of pricking her finger, writing down her #, taking a bunch of pills, and shooting a shot of insulin into her system. She now resides in a place where medicine does not exist and never has, because there is no more disease, there is no more heartache, there is no more pain, there is no more crying - there is simply her and Him.
You see there is no line on the horizon for my mom. I miss her with all of my finiteness, but if I cannot wrap my head around the fact that the Infinite has it all in His ever-loving Hands, then well, I am selfish.
For now, it is enough for me to say out loud, "Happy Birthday, Mom; you are in the best place possible. I cannot wait to see you again."
Showing posts with label Grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Grief. Show all posts
Monday, October 10, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Gasping for Air
I have always been one of those "sports girls." You know the type - played basketball and can actually shoot a 3, into lifting weights at the gym and not just doing the elliptical machine, still has issues with nail polish on my fingers - that type of girl. I'm not sure if this is the reason why, but whenever anyone finds out that I happen to have asthma, they look at me with a bewildered expression and say something like, "Really? You have asthma?"
Yes, indeed. I have the thrilling experience of having my lungs swell to the point where my ability to breath becomes extremely difficult (to say the least). I know that brain function depends on oxygen, but truthfully, whenever I am in the midst of an attack, my brain is working overtime. Mostly, thinking about the exact location of my inhaler, and then thinking about how insanely silly and stupid I look, followed up by more self-conscious thoughts, then slowly thoughts that I really need to calm down. These all happen within a matter of a second and then are re-thought over and over again. It's quite the vicious cycle.
Having asthma is a bit of a problem for someone like me who has major issues in the realm of pride. You see, I try again and again to do things all on my own. I have issues, if you will, with letting things go. So, to be reliant on an inhaler every time I want to go work out is extremely trying. In recent years, I've tried to just do exercises that won't require that I take my inhaler - like yoga or pilates, even light jogging. But every now and then, I begin to think that I am doing so well with my work out, that I try to add on more and more - and then the lungs start to swell more and more. Before you know it, I am keeled over, feeling like an idiot - gasping for air.
It is in between the gasps that I am reminded that God created my lungs. He is the One that I live and move and have my being in; He is concerned with every hair on my head, so why would every breath that I take be any different? Way back in the day, there was a song called "Air I Breathe." It's funny what a simple lyric will do for a girl with asthma; but hearing that "This is the air I breathe, your holy presence living in me," did wonders for my prideful, asthmatic psyche.
Now for the abrupt shift - my mom died. In fact, it is now just a little over two months ago that I received the phone call from my uncle telling me this. I am not exactly sure what the grieving process is for other people, but right now, for me, I feel like I am stuck in a permanent asthma attack. I spend a lot of my time gasping, and being stuck in my prideful state thinking that I can get myself out of this one; I can fix it; I can stop gasping for air without the help of anyone or anything; I can do this on my own. It's a lot of silliness, really.
I know that every day is one day closer, time is the healer, and all of the other such timely phrases. It is actually realizing this every single day, physically making a conscious effort to know that God is not only concerned with my ability to breath while I exercise, but that He is concerned that I am not gasping for air while I grieve. We never suffer alone, we only feel like we do. He is not far off; He is not stuck in some cosmic conversation. He is near, ready to bring Joy in the morning.
Yes, indeed. I have the thrilling experience of having my lungs swell to the point where my ability to breath becomes extremely difficult (to say the least). I know that brain function depends on oxygen, but truthfully, whenever I am in the midst of an attack, my brain is working overtime. Mostly, thinking about the exact location of my inhaler, and then thinking about how insanely silly and stupid I look, followed up by more self-conscious thoughts, then slowly thoughts that I really need to calm down. These all happen within a matter of a second and then are re-thought over and over again. It's quite the vicious cycle.
Having asthma is a bit of a problem for someone like me who has major issues in the realm of pride. You see, I try again and again to do things all on my own. I have issues, if you will, with letting things go. So, to be reliant on an inhaler every time I want to go work out is extremely trying. In recent years, I've tried to just do exercises that won't require that I take my inhaler - like yoga or pilates, even light jogging. But every now and then, I begin to think that I am doing so well with my work out, that I try to add on more and more - and then the lungs start to swell more and more. Before you know it, I am keeled over, feeling like an idiot - gasping for air.
It is in between the gasps that I am reminded that God created my lungs. He is the One that I live and move and have my being in; He is concerned with every hair on my head, so why would every breath that I take be any different? Way back in the day, there was a song called "Air I Breathe." It's funny what a simple lyric will do for a girl with asthma; but hearing that "This is the air I breathe, your holy presence living in me," did wonders for my prideful, asthmatic psyche.
Now for the abrupt shift - my mom died. In fact, it is now just a little over two months ago that I received the phone call from my uncle telling me this. I am not exactly sure what the grieving process is for other people, but right now, for me, I feel like I am stuck in a permanent asthma attack. I spend a lot of my time gasping, and being stuck in my prideful state thinking that I can get myself out of this one; I can fix it; I can stop gasping for air without the help of anyone or anything; I can do this on my own. It's a lot of silliness, really.
I know that every day is one day closer, time is the healer, and all of the other such timely phrases. It is actually realizing this every single day, physically making a conscious effort to know that God is not only concerned with my ability to breath while I exercise, but that He is concerned that I am not gasping for air while I grieve. We never suffer alone, we only feel like we do. He is not far off; He is not stuck in some cosmic conversation. He is near, ready to bring Joy in the morning.
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