MOM, WOMBIE, WE NEVER GOT MARCH. 🧸❤️‍🩹

MOM, WOMBIE, WE NEVER GOT MARCH. 🧸❤️‍🩹

Beloveds,

My mother died on Christmas morning.

We had plans.

We were supposed to take a vacation in March. She was supposed to see my new car.

I was so sure we had time.

We never got March.

❤️‍🩹

I’ve thought about that a lot.

Because sometimes grief isn’t only losing somebody.

Sometimes grief is losing future tense.

“We’re going to…”

“Next time…”

“When I see you…”

“Later…”

“March.”

Then suddenly we’re going to becomes we were going to.

And there are things you didn’t know were memories while you were making them.

The last ordinary conversation doesn’t announce itself.

The last laugh doesn’t say, Remember this one.

The last hug doesn’t come with a countdown.

Life is just life—

until something changes.

Then memory goes back and puts frames around moments that looked completely ordinary when we lived them.

🧸❤️‍🩹

Maybe you have a March.

Maybe it wasn’t a vacation.

Maybe it was a phone call.

A birthday.

A meal.

An apology.

A conversation.

A Christmas.

A visit.

A ridiculous little thing nobody else would understand.

Maybe you thought:

We have time.

And then you didn’t.

Beloved, I’m not going to tell you what that loss is supposed to mean.

I’m not going to tell you everything happens for a reason.

I’m not going to tell you to stop crying.

And I’m certainly not going to tell you that faith means grief shouldn’t hurt.

Jesus wept.

So can we.

🙏🏿❤️‍🩹

Faith doesn’t require anesthesia.

You can trust God and miss somebody.

You can praise and hurt.

You can laugh at something they used to say and cry thirty seconds later.

You can have questions.

You can even have complicated grief.

Maybe the person you lost loved you beautifully.

Maybe they hurt you.

Maybe both are true.

Maybe you’re grieving with gratitude.

Maybe anger.

Maybe relief.

Maybe guilt.

Maybe questions.

Bring all of it.

There is a chair for you.

🪑🪑

And there is something else I have learned:

Death gets one date.

Love gets the whole life.

Mom was more than Christmas morning.

She was more than the day she died.

More than my grief.

More than a story I’m telling you.

Before she was Mom, she was a whole woman with a whole life.

And Wombie and I still get to call her:

Mom.

🧸❤️

I don’t want the final day to become louder than every day that came before it.

The funeral doesn’t get to become louder than the laughter.

The goodbye doesn’t get to erase the hello.

Death gets one date.

Love gets everything between the dates.

And everything between those dates can contain an entire world.

🌎

That’s why losing one person can feel like losing a world.

Somebody reading this knows.

Maybe your person died yesterday.

Maybe fifty years ago.

Maybe you’ve been doing fine and something tiny brought everything rushing back.

A song.

A smell.

A recipe.

A photograph.

A phrase.

Bring their name.

They don’t have to stay outside.

❤️‍🩹

And Wombie—

same Mom.

Different daughters.

Different memories.

Different grief.

Neither one has to compete with the other.

There is room.

🪑❤️‍🩹🪑

Sometimes one person remembers something another forgot.

Sometimes memory comes back piece by piece.

🧩

And together we can say:

She was here.

Not merely:

Her death happened.

She was here.

She lived.

She loved.

She mattered.

And we are still here.

Which brings me to Jesus.

He said:

“It is finished.”

Jesus’ job is done.

Our job is not done.

We aren’t finishing Calvary.

We aren’t completing Christ’s work.

We aren’t anybody’s Messiah.

What belonged to Jesus to finish, Jesus finished.

🙏🏿

His work is completion.

Our work is response.

Love God.

Love one another.

Be somebody’s neighbor.

Call.

Listen.

Visit.

Feed.

Remember.

Protect.

Make room.

Pull up another chair.

Stay.

Love.

❤️

There are still people here.

So don’t spend your life terrified that every goodbye could be the last one.

That’s not what I’m saying.

I’m saying:

Let ordinary love count while it’s ordinary.

Love somebody while the day is still just Tuesday.

Tell somebody they matter while they can hear you.

Don’t wait for the funeral to discover somebody was precious.

And don’t wait for March.

Because sometimes—

March doesn’t come.

Mom,

I wish we’d gotten ours.

I wish you’d seen my car.

I wish we’d had more ordinary days.

But I won’t allow the day you died to become bigger than all the days you lived.

You were here.

You loved.

You mattered.

You still matter.

🧸❤️‍🩹

Beloveds,

your person was here too.

Say their name.

Tell their stories.

Laugh when the memories are funny.

Cry when they hurt.

Carry what was good.

And then turn toward somebody who is still here.

Love them.

Not because you’re afraid they’re going to die.

Because they’re alive.

That’s reason enough.

One person.

One chair.

One call.

One kindness.

One step.

One step.

One step.

And while we’re both still here—

let’s love this world together.

🌎❤️

Asking for A Friend,
Cassandra

#YourLifeMattersToMe

You are loved. You are NOT alone.

Keep on being…YOU!