For Those Who Grieve on Mother’s Day

My emotions were off-kilter this week, pushing me to question, Why am I feeling depressed? What’s this about? And then I remember. Stupid me. It’s the week before Mother’s Day. I yearn to hear three different treasured voices this Sunday: my mom’s. Robb’s. And Jay’s. Only one will respond to my need. An so I grieve, stumbling through this long week. Tears coming far too easily.

And then I think of treasured family and friends, and those for whom they grieve. All different forms, but grief still. The daughter whose addictions have made her a slave; a son who’s off his meds, allowing mental illness to reign; the child with disabilities; a mother “lost” by dementia; the beloved aunt who’s slowly losing her war with cancer. All of these mourned, leaving holes in hearts which cannot be replaced by anything—not by other relationships or things or travel or any form of attempted distraction. And no, not even God. Does God provide hope for that pain? And redemption? Oh, absolutely. But the ache for that unique one will always be a part of life in this world. A vacuum left behind, unrequited longing for what was.

I’ve spent a good deal of time fretting over what Robb’s sons remember about him. Do they have direct memories at all? Or is every recollection merely what others have told them about their dad? I so long for them to have firsthand memories that are theirs and theirs alone. But when explaining the yearning to my friend who’s earned a doctorate in child development, she gives me a gift.

Robb had five years with one son, and three with the younger. He absolutely put his imprint upon them, she explains. That imprint will never go away. It’s a part of them now, forever. When I look up the word imprint, I read: “To mark or fix, as by pressing or stamping; a lasting effect.”

Oh, my dear friend. Thank you. I gather in the treasured knowledge that Robb’s imprint on his sons will always be there, and I catch glimpses of that very gift when one or the other grins with orneriness or chuckles about a corny joke or walks with that gait or creates music or swings a bat or….or…

For those who grieve on this Mother’s Day, know this truth: You’ve put your imprint upon him/her, or he or she has put an imprint upon you. Lovingly designed by a God who cares for us more tenderly than we could ever imagine, this gift comes freely to all who know him too. For he’s put his imprint upon us, evidenced by the Holy Spirit. So when the tears come, think of the gift that you might never have imagined before in quite this way. Know it. Feel it. Ultimately, His imprint.