Comfort and Grief

Six years ago, today (28th September, 2005) my mother passed away. Losing a parent - I had always thought (since I was child, for as long as I can remember) that that was the worst thing that could happen and it was. However that sunny September afternoon when Amma died I experienced peace and comfort that I had never imagined possible; that even is a little incredible. But I did. I experienced what I always recall a falling into the cushioning warmth of God’s embrace. I always complain that I don’t experience God as palpably as I would like, looking back if that isn’t a tangible experiencing of God, I don’t know what else can be.

That being said, I would be lying if I claimed that I haven’t experienced grief on account of my mother’s loss and that somehow I have been spared that experience that is all too natural and human; because I do. I feel today a grief so crushing that I can hardly breathe. I can’t speak a few sentences about my mother without melting into a pool of tears. I don’t know what people are talking about when they say, “Time heals” or “We learn to cope.” For in my experience I grieve my mother’s going away more with each passing day. There is so much I want to tell her, fill her in on the trivial and momentous detail that is my life. I want to hear her wise counsel on all that confounds and baffles. I feel no great comfort tonight while I wait for the short-lived numbness that sleep provides.

Perchance, “morn shall tearless be.”