By Sandra Bost
As the second anniversary of Momma’s Heavenly flight passed on October 31st, I found myself circling back to this piece, originally written on December 3, 2024. Although it was the second installment published in this column, it was actually the very first one I wrote.
I am grateful for this space. It has been a sweet refuge to process my grief and honor Momma’s memory — a process that continues to yield meaningful life lessons and stories. My hope is that these words bring encouragement to your heart today, too. I know Momma would love nothing more!
So today, I’m sharing those original words just as I wrote them nearly two years ago:
For 52 years, 9 months, and 1 week I was blessed with a beautiful, nurturing momma.
She loved big! So big that, at times, I felt suffocated. So much so that on occasion, with clenched fists, I built walls, pushed her away and even spent time rehearsing things I never wanted to do or become, because of her great big, constant, unstable, imperfect love.
Isn’t life like that sometimes? Railing against the certain. Longing for the unknown. What would counseling be, if not for middle-aged people and their “mother issues”? Right? In fact, if this was “show and tell,” I bet we would all have plenty to share. But those stories are for another day, article — or book.
For now, I want to tell you about the ways I hope to be just like Momma.
Entering my golden years (and finishing counseling, haha) has given me an appreciation for the many things about myself that are like Momma, like the way I LOVE the colors of fall, Christmas music and homemade biscuits open-faced in the broiler. Those came from her. The way I adore being a momma and a Sasa (the name my grandbabies call me). Those are straight out of Granny’s (Momma’s favorite role) playbook. Even the way I worry if I have offended people and end up making things worse by overexplaining while trying to make things better. Crazy, I know. Just like Momma.
I also inherited her smile and ability to put people at ease. I caught Momma’s great Love for hurting people and the uninhibited way she could break out in praise and dance for the Joy of the Lord welled up in her heart on the good days.
My momma, like most — like me — wasn’t perfect. But her love was perfectly fitted for me by a perfect Father who knew exactly who He was creating me to become. Thank goodness He isn’t finished with me.
Unlike my momma, I am a work in progress. She has run the race and finished the course. Her great big love is no longer suffocating. It is completely free to lavish on the only One deserving of her heart’s devotion. I am grateful for that Truth.
But today, if I am honest, I find myself stifled in another way. I feel the cavernous loss deep within my soul, and it, too, is suffocating. To think, not so long ago I found myself resistant, only to sit presently with this profound longing.
Death has a way of shifting perspective, doesn’t it?
C.S. Lewis said, “There is death. And it matters. And whatever happens has consequences, and it and they are irrevocable and irreversible.”
Sadly, it is often in the irreversible that one can truly see. In her absence, I have clarity to see the gift of her stifling love. The temptation to wallow in regret and let my mind fill with remorse is a heavy weight. I hold the irrevocable consequences of my choices, and it can leave me breathless. Do I give in? Do I let it consume me so that I spend the remainder of my days in hopeless sorrow? The answer must be, “NO!” Otherwise, there would be more consequences.
Thankfully, though Momma’s story on Earth is finished, the legacy of Love she left in my heart is enough to quiet the sorrow. As her eternity begins, the irrevocable Truth I hold from God’s Word in 1 Thessalonians 4:13 reminds me, “I do not grieve as those who have no Hope,” because with Jesus as my Lord, He will bring me to be with Him… and Momma… some glad day.
Maybe you are in the irreversible stage, like me. Take heart, Friend, there is Hope while you breathe to make good on those regrets in your present relationships.
Or maybe you are in the suffocated stage. Press in, Friend. Pray to walk in Grace, Love and Patience. There is an irrevocable, Living Hope. His name is Jesus, and His Grace is sufficient.
As for me, I am proud to be Momma’s daughter. And, while death matters, life matters, too. With the life I have left, I am honored to tell her story, share Hope, and represent her until I see her again.
I wrote the following poem for Momma on May 5, 2005:
“She Isn’t”
No, she isn’t perfect,
Though she tries so hard to be;
A noble woman, full of grace —
Her Spirit bold and free.
No, she isn’t perfect,
But she tries so hard for me;
To be the kind of mother
Her girl would like to be.
No, she isn’t perfect,
But she really does her best —
That is why I will arise,
And call my mother, “Blessed!”
