Our Storm StoryTeller today has a touching tale of loss…and hope.
THE NIGHT MY WORLD CHANGED
by Annie
The phone is ringing.
My husband and I wake up and look at each other, then at the clock.
7:30.
I look at my phone. The call is from home.
“Hello?”
“Hi Annie.” My sister-in-law is sobbing, “I think Mom just died.”
“What do you mean Mom died?” My husband sits sharply in bed as my mind starts racing. Thinks Mom died?? What does that mean?
“Is Dad there?”
“Yes.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“Sure.” There is a pause.
“Hi Annie.” My Dad’s voice is tight, choked.
“Is it true?”
“Yes, it’s true. Your mother is not in any pain anymore.” His voice cracks as he starts crying right on the phone.
My mind reels, stunned and disbelieving. My heart has not comprehended anything and is mercifully silent.
My thoughts instantly fly to my little brother. He’s just 16 and watching all of this through child eyes. He needs me.
“Is Jonathan there?”
“Yes, he’s right here.”
“Hi Annie.” Jonathan too is sobbing.
“Hi Jonathan. I love you.” It is all I can manage. So many things are crowding in my heart now. What he sees, what he feels; a son, still at home without a Mother. We, his older siblings, have always been like little parents to him. Now, more than ever, he needs us…yet somehow, words won’t come.
I don’t remember too many details after that. Somehow I hung up the phone. Ben had been holding on to me, and I told him matter-of-factly that Mom had died. We held each other, and I’m pretty sure he prayed over me. I called in to work…really the morning was a blur.
I do remember sitting on the floor of our apartment, mentally sorting through what was happening. As the realization of it set in, I felt a chasm, a great hole open up right through the middle of our lives. Like a house with the middle taken out. My life without my Mom in it, was a reality I could never have imagined.
In the hours and days and months and years that followed (it has been almost 3 1/2 years since she died) my life changed drastically. Not my external life – much has stayed the same – but my internal life. The life that I had up until September 10, 2005 was irrevocably changed. It didn’t matter how much I wanted the life that was, or how hard the change was that came with it, my life would never be the same.
My Dad remarried again, a year and a half later. As crazy as it seems, this was somehow harder for us (the kids) than even losing Mom. Accepting the loss of a Mother who had always been there was hard. Accepting the presence of someone who had never been there seemed impossible.
Yet life does go on. Judy and her family have become a piece of our lives, little bit by little bit, and we all are carried along in the hope, healing, and love that we have in Christ.
So how did we weather this storm? How did I? Well, to tell the truth, I still feel the effects of it. The waves get a little farther apart, but never less painful. What gets me through? That great big picture of heaven. No more separation, no more tears, no more pain, no more sin, no more los …and on that day, all these little days and big storms will seem like just a blink in time. I also know that Mom didn’t die that day–since death for us is impossible. She simply changed homes. She is still alive–very much so–more alive than she ever was here on earth.
I and my family are a testimony to the truth of the Scriptures: that the Holy Spirit really does comfort us in our grief, that we do not mourn as those who have no hope, and that it is fixing our eyes on eternal things which carries us through the storms of this life.
2 Corinthians 4, 5
16 Therefore we do not lose heart, but though our outer man is decaying, yet our inner man is being renewed day by day.
17 For momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison,
18 while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal.
1 For we know that if the earthly tent which is our house is torn down, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.
1 Thessalonians 4
13 we do not want you to be uninformed, brethren, about those who are asleep, so that you will not grieve as do the rest who have no hope.
2 Corinthians 1
3 Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort,
4 who comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.
To read more about my mother’s story, visit her site.
(((((( hugs ))))))
No matter how many times I read this, it still amazes me how our stories are echoes of each other… how we both immediately thought of Jonathan and being there for him… how Dad’s remarriage was, in many ways, harder. (Although sometimes I wonder if, in some ways, his remarriage cemented the fact that Mom really was gone, and that’s why it was harder.)
I think one thing that was different for me was that I instantly felt a ‘mantle’ so-to-speak settle on my shoulders… not to take Mom’s place, but to be a shoe-in when the rest of you needed what Mom was no longer there to give. Part of it was, of course, because I’m the oldest of all five of us, but even more, it was because I’d gotten Mom’s advice over 10 years of marriage… I’d had the chance to call her up when my toddler had nearly cut his finger in half so I could find out how you knew when something needed stitches… I’d had the chance to call her when potty training was failing and I was at my wit’s end… and none of the rest of you had. I found myself not only grateful that I’d received all that, but also grateful that I’d be able to pass at least some of that on to the other four of you. So that when you have children and your daughter is throwing up and you don’t know what you should do, you can call me and I can pass on what Mom told me.
You spoke of the pain not lessening… but to me, it doesn’t really feel like pain. It hurt me far more to see my seven-year-old daughter rocking and hugging herself and sobbing, “Grandma, Grandma, Grandma, Grandma, Grandma!” That still hurts.
But as for myself… she’s not really gone. The communication’s simply been cut for a while. I wrote a few days after she died that I felt curiously calm about it… that people would say I was in shock and that it would ‘set in’ eventually. But I knew myself well enough to know that I had accepted this new reality of life… time would simply allow me to get used to the new ‘hole’ in my life that God had allowed.
And I was right. And you are right. God was, is, and always will be there for us. And it is making Him our foundation that brings us peace, hope, and joy.
Dear Sparkle,
As I read this story I was stunned it was only three and a half years ago. For some reason I had you the age of 16-17 when this happened? It’s not been very long. I’m amazed at your “sparkling” outlook on life, having lost your mother so recently.
But yes, I see why you have hope. You know you will see your mother again. I love the way you put it,
“I also know that Mom didn’t die that day – since death for us is impossible. She simply changed homes. She is still alive – very much so – more alive than she ever was here on earth.”
Praise the Lord!! I wonder if your mom has met my grandpa or grandmother yet? They would truly enjoy eachother’s company.
Thank you for sharing, Sparkle! Love you.
Oh…and the picture of you and your mom…Beautiful!!!
You were a stunning bride!
A sparkling elegance emanates from you.
Truly.
Annie… God cares and loves more than we know. Your eternal perspective on life conveyed through this story is one of Hope that many do not know.
Thanks you for sharing, and showing the Hope of Christ.
Peace and love sis.
Annie~As I was reading your narration of ‘the call’ I was taken back to the one I received about my Dad’s accident/death. The confusion, heart racing, feeling disoriented, surreal type feeling. Yeah it was and continues to be tough as I reflect on that call. Amazing how one phone call can change your life. Thank you so much for sharing your pain and grief with us and for reminding us of the hope we have. As I go through my season of grieving my Dad, that is the only thing that keeps me going, the hope I have in Jesus. Love and blessings to you.
*Katie – I love you. And that picture of your little one … I can understand (a piece) of that. That would stick with me too. Thanks for being there and being my big sis. I count myself very blessed to have you in my life.
*Michaela – If I know Mom, she’s made the rounds of everyone she might possibly know through any means, and anyone who might know anyone she might know.
So I’m sure she’s found your grandpa and grandma. 
Thank you, sweet friend. I love you. (PS: ‘sparkling elegance’ – why thank you! I think that’s a first. But I like it!)
*Carl – Thanks, brother. You are an encouragement to so many. Thank you for being faithful.
*Gch – Oh my. I haven’t been over to your site since everything happened. How are you doing? I’m quite sure your experience of grief is much greater than mine. My heart goes out to you. God Himself knows the comfort you need, and He’s promised to give it. I know you know that. Just know that someone who’s barely met you would give you a great big hug right now if she could.
Thank you for sharing your story. My heart goes out to you.
love you, anneth.
your heart is beautiful.
*Heidi – Thank you.
*Alece – ditto, ditto. (And have I ever said, I love that you call me ‘anneth?’ I do.)