Page 8 of There I Find Hope

“Now, honey. It’s been a week. I know you need time to grieve, but there’s a reason God left you here, and you need to find it.”

Her mother’s voice still held compassion, but it also held an edge of encouragement or maybe just a warning that Sunday had reached the limits of what she could push. She remembered that tone as a child. Where her mother had maybe indulged her a little but was done.

“I’ll get up tomorrow.” She had said that yesterday and the day before.

“I have something for you. I want you to see it.”

Her mother’s voice was all business, and Sunday sighed inside. She wasn’t going to get out of this. She could argue, but it would just be easier to do what her mother wanted and then get back under the covers and hide from the world. Try to get away from the pain. And the memories. And the idea that she should have done better. She should have made a different decision. She could have prevented it if she had just done things differently.

“Come on, Sunday. It’s time for you to at least make a bit of an effort to pull yourself out of this funk.”

“It’s not a funk, Mom. I lost my kid.” Sunday couldn’t help the anger that leapt into her voice as her eyes narrowed at the mother she loved with her whole heart. Couldn’t she understand? Didn’t she know that her world revolved around Blake?

“I didn’t mean to minimize what you’re going through. Funk, depression, total devastation. I know you’re hurting. I know that life is hard after a blow like this, but... You’re not done with life. You’ll see Blake again. And for now, you still have a job to do.”

Her mother’s words were soft and more compassionate than irritated.

Sunday knew her mom knew what she was talking about. After all, Lena had her husband walk out on her while she had five little kids to take care of. She hadn’t had time to bury her head in her bed and spend a week crying.

Sunday understood that devastation. Her husband had done the same thing. It wasn’t anything compared to losing a child.

But what if she had had other children? What if she had lost one child and still had another child to take care of?

Thankfully she didn’t, but she knew there were people who had. People who had no choice but to go on.

It must be possible. It must be.

She felt tired and lethargic and weak as her stomach roiled, but she pushed the covers back, rolled, and struggled to a semi-sitting position.

Her mother sat down on the side of the bed. “I brought you some broth. I thought that would be easier on your stomach.”

The words made Sunday want to cry again. Her mother was being such a good mother. The kind of mother she wanted to be. Except her son was gone.

She swallowed hard, but she couldn’t keep the tears from dripping out of her eyes.

“Oh, honey. I wish I could do this for you. It just kills me to see you like this.”

She hated that she was causing her own mother grief. Her sadness felt so big and so heavy and so black and so unbearable, she didn’t wish it on anyone. Didn’t wish even a portion of it on anyone.

“I was out for a walk this morning, and I got some more espresso beans. I know that food is not supposed to be something we lean on for comfort, but since coffee doesn’t seem to be settling in your stomach very well, I thought maybe these would work.”

Her mom set a little cup with ten or so beans in it on the nightstand beside her bed.

The kind gesture made Sunday’s eyes fill up yet again.

“Please stop being nice to me. I can’t stand it.” Her voice cracked, and she swiped at her eyes again. They were sore from all the tears she already shed. Her skin was chapped, and it burned. She couldn’t seem to stop.

“I’m sorry. I can’t be anything but kind. I guess you need someone with a drill sergeant mentality.”

“Yeah. Someone to just kick my butt and be mean to me so I don’t keep thinking about how much I love my mother and how much I loved being a mother. How much I wanted to be a mother just like you.” Her voice was watery, her eyes still dripping.

“I’ve been praying for you. But I know the best thing that you can do right now is to make yourself get up. You be the drill sergeant. Don’t allow yourself to wallow. You have to get out of the wallowing and put yourself back in life. I know it’s a cliché, but time really does make it not hurt quite so much.”

She hoped so. She couldn’t wait for a whole lot of time to pass so she wasn’t hurting anymore. Until the pain could dull some. She didn’t realize that a nonphysical blow could hurt so much.

“I’ll try,” she finally said. More to get her mother out of the room than because she actually wanted to get herself out of bed. Even though she knew her mother was right. She needed to be a drill sergeant. She needed to force herself to ignore the pain and get on with life. She could come to grips with it eventually. A little bit at a time, rather than in big chunks.

“I’m afraid that if you keep wallowing, eventually the pit that you’re in is going to be so deep you’ll never be able to get out. You have to get out now while you still can.” Her mother patted her arm and then brushed her hair away from her forehead the way she had when she was a little girl.

---