On Fridays, I cry.

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On Fridays, I cry.

Saturday through Thursday, I pretend nothing is wrong. I put a smile on my face, I go about my day, I keep it together.

But on Fridays, after my husband goes to work and the kids are at school, I’m all alone. I start out thinking that this Friday might be different, that I won’t need to cry. But then I realize that there is this place in my heart that has been swelling all week. There’s a bit of a guard there, so if anything pricks it, the guard doesn’t let it in. That surfaces sometimes as disinterest or busyness. Or withdrawal. Don’t let that fool you, that’s to cover up what’s really going on. Inside, my mind is overwhelmed with just sadness. But if it’s not Friday, I don’t pause long enough to think about it.

But on Fridays, I think about it. I think about how much I miss her. I smell her sweatshirt that I have hidden in my closet in my bedroom. I look at her picture, and I hold it tight. I think about all the lost moments and the unsaid words. And I cry.

It’s been a little over three months since I lost my Nana. For all intents and purposes, my mother. She raised me when my own mother wouldn’t. She took me and loved me and called me her own. And now she’s gone.

So on Fridays, I cry.

So many people expect you to quickly pick up the broken pieces of your heart after you lose someone. There seems to be an acceptable time of grieving, to be sad, and then it’s time to move on. Except that’s not how grief works. It’s like being at the ocean, only you have no idea when the next wave is coming. At first, they are quick and crashing and close together. Until they aren’t. Then, when you think the water is calm, and you can breathe a little, you get slammed with a wave so huge you get knocked down. And it takes you a couple minutes to catch your breath.

So on Fridays, I cry.

I wish there was a timeline. Some way to mark my calendar and plan ahead so I knew to be alone, or carry tissues, or to at least prepare myself. But instead there are faint warnings that come in the form of my daughter giving me a look that reminds me so much of her. Or a box that had been unopened but holds something of hers. Or a piece of clothing that I forgot she gave me. Or a book, unread, that was a birthday gift from her. Some days, those things don’t bother me. In fact, they remind me of her and they make me happy to have those memories to hold close to my heart. In those moments I love to share stories or recipes or habits that I picked up over the years. But then there are the other days. The days that, out of nowhere, there is a feeling of being pressed down so hard and so quick that you feel the wind being sucked right out of you.

So on Fridays, I cry.

I don’t think it will be like this forever. I think eventually, Fridays will be happy again. Eventually I will be able to think about her and smile instead of cry. Just not today. Today is Friday. And today, I’m going to cry.

I will NEVER not see you

gas-station

This past week, I saw my dad at the gas station. I looked up and locked eyes with him, but he ignored me, pretended not to see me. As he pulled away, I felt a drop of pain added to the pile that I hid deep in my heart. Quickly pushing the thoughts of rejection away, I resigned to not think about it. But it spoke to that place in my heart that is raw from years of rejection by my father. As I went throughout the week, when that rawness would surface, I would quickly bury it under a pile of ice cream or social media.

Saturday morning came. It was my one day a week to sleep in. The kids had already been prepped….. there were breakfast bars on the counter and the tv remote was on the couch. No one was to wake mommy up before 7. Yet at 6AM, I woke up with a song on my heart. As I snuggled under my warm comforter, I heard the Lord whisper, “come away with me.” I thought about how tired I was and how comfortable I was. “Come away with me, ” I heard again. As I heard that beckoning, the still small voice was too loud to ignore.

Still sleepy, I meandered out to the couch and tiredly fell down onto it. As I sleepily laid there, half awake, I still had the same song on my heart. So, I pulled up the song on youtube and sang along. I found myself wondering if the song was based off of scripture.

The Lord prompted me to look up what that song was based on, and I found out it was Psalm 103. So I started to read Psalm 103. As I read, I suddenly was waken right up with a portion of that word. It was this verse that hit me:

Vs. 13 “The LORD is like a father to his children, tender and compassionate to those who fear him. For he knows how weak we are; he remembers we are only dust.” Psalms 103:13-14 NLT

Wow. It says the Lord is like a father. Immediately my mind went to the gas station. Then I heard the whisper,

                                                        ”I will NEVER not see you.”

Tears immediately came to my eyes. God woke me up early to tell me that He sees me. Even when my earthly father doesn’t.

As I kept reading through the Psalm, with blurry eyes and a softened heart, I came to this one:

“But the love of the LORD remains forever with those who fear him. His salvation extends to the children’s children” Psalms 103:17 NLT

                                                    “I love my grandchildren.”

God spoke directly that place I have as a mother…. a momma bears heart. The kind of love that God gives is one that knows you intimately, as He is the one who knows your innermost thoughts.

Even the ones you don’t want to speak out loud.