I struggle with contentment.  I’m a perfectionist, firstborn, type A, always looking for something better, worried about the future, and a slave to my own expectations.

The week of my mother’s death was much more difficult than I had anticipated.  I was just sure that after years of watching my mother suffer and decline in the grips of early onset Alzheimer’s disease, her passing would be the easy part.  But when it came down to it actually happening, I was 4 months pregnant with my second child, exhausted, emotional and terrified.

Watching fever and dehydration ravage my mother’s body, at her bedside 3 days in a row, destroyed me. That third evening, I went home and decided I wasn’t coming back the next day. I just couldn’t.

That night, a great peace washed over me.

It was as if my mother had said before I left, “I’m going home.  Now go home and take care of your babies.  Keep living your life.  Keep being Mommy.”  I slept well that night for the first time since the hospice nurse had told us the end was near. I was finally ready for her to go.

I stayed home the entire next day, Friday, June 21, the longest day of the year, resting and spending time with my Big Girl, then just 17 months old.  My mother was visited by several loved ones, including one of her closest friends, that day, but I had said my goodbyes over and over, and I knew she wanted me to let her go.

The next morning, Saturday, June 22, I returned to the nursing home with my dad, and we walked into her room just minutes after she had taken her last breath.  I think she wanted it that way, to do it alone, on her own terms, in her own time.

It Is Well with My Soul

We sang “It Is Well with My Soul” at my mother’s memorial service.  And I wrote those soothing words on the chalkboard medicine cabinet in our coastal powder room.  Every time I read those lyrics, I felt God’s comfort and reassurance.

When my maternal grandfather fell and broke his neck, and we almost lost him, a month after my mother’s funeral, I needed those words even more.

A few weeks ago, one of the elders at our church shared the story behind that old hymn.  A man lost his son and his possessions and then lost all four of his daughters in a shipwreck.  Taking a ship through those same waters, to reunite with his grieving wife, he wrote the lyrics to the song.  Now the expression of his broken but faithful heart has brought comfort to generations of believers.

Thou hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well, with my soul.

I recently wrote “it is well with my soul” on that medicine cabinet again, bought a throw pillow cover with those words on Etsy and even designed a shirt bearing those powerful lyrics on Teespring.

Two years later

On this second anniversary of my mother’s death, those words have become my anthem, my reminder of God’s love and faithfulness when circumstances seem like too much to bear.  When I stop and seek Him, the Holy Spirit guides my actions and fills my heart with overwhelming joy.

In every situation, He reigns, He redeems, He overcomes.

And seeing how God has used my mother’s legacy to tangibly bless so many this month, it is definitely “well with my soul.”

I took my daughters to see my mother’s nursing home last Friday, after being away for almost two years.  I was frankly terrified to walk into that building again but it ended up being a great experience.  We saw the facility’s amazing remodel underway, and I reunited with a few staff members who cared for my mom.

And honestly, it was easier walking in there with my two babies.  My girls are my sunshine, my purpose, and the future of my mom’s legacy.

Mommy instincts

Today, on this anniversary of my mom’s passing, I spotted a mockingbird while driving with my girls and, later, my mommy instincts kicked in.

I warned my older daughter to check for bugs and snakes as they entered their playhouse, then ducked my head inside to double check and got a terrible feeling about a black spider I spotted on the ceiling over their heads, holding an egg sac.  I quickly ushered the girls out, and when I got them down for naps, I googled images of black widows.

With my fears now reinforced, I returned to the playhouse to douse the spider in wasp spray until it was weak enough to fall to the floor of the playhouse and confirmed that it was, indeed, a black widow when I finally saw its underside.

I was sick at my stomach for a while afterwards, wanting to write this post but not feeling that having a black widow in my backyard, that close to my children, was “well with my soul.”  My husband pointed out the good news by text, which is that the egg sac was still intact when I found it and that black widows are solitary creatures.

I then realized how strange it was to have this black widow encounter on the anniversary of my mother’s passing.  I think God is using this day to remind me to trust my instincts, to trust the role He’s given me as mother to these two “delicate and wild” little ladies.

I am their caregiver and their protector, a role I spent years filling for my mom.  Her illness prepared me for this.  It taught me to trust God and the instincts He gave me.  And more than that, it taught me to trust His timing.

In every situation, in every role He gives me, “it is well with my soul.”