9 weeks

It’s 9 weeks today since one of the worst days of my life, the day I received the phone call to tell me that my nephew had died. A visiting preacher to our church last year told me that my long season of grief was coming to an end. I thought that was a ridiculous thing to say, as my 99 year old mother was about to die. But when Mum died on 18 October 2023, I realised what he meant.

Losing a mother to dementia is a long grieving process. The old mum no longer existed. Thankfully she knew me up until almost the end. Some days I would say to her “do you know who I am?” and she’d say “you’re my daughter!” and sometimes she’d say “I have no idea”. I cried a lot over the last 12 months of her life - probably longer actually. But the last 9 weeks of my life I’ve cried like I’ve only ever done once before - when my dad died. I’ve cried every single day for 9 weeks. I almost didn’t cry today, but I did.

Mum was a Christian, she had lived her life. I know without a shadow of a doubt that I will see her again in heaven. I was expecting her to die for 8 years. She was ready to die. She loved God. She was ready to meet Him.

Tim was 26. He had his whole life ahead of him. He was smart, he was funny, he was kind, he was generous. He made stupid choices. 

When he was a baby I remember looking at him in his cot and thinking I couldn’t possibly love him more, even if he was my own child. He prayed for us to have each of our children. He spent holidays in our home. We took our kids to visit him in his home. 

We grew apart as he grew up. We lost touch a bit. He had his life and his friends, I had my kids. At some stage we reconnected and I would text him occasionally. I don’t remember when that started as I’ve changed phones since then. 

Last year he came out to visit mum (Mama). We had a great weekend with him. He had left it too late to see her, she wasn’t in a great way, and I think he struggled seeing her like that. She had lived near us for 8 years and he hadn’t been out to see her before then. But he reconnected with us and our kids that weekend, particularly our daughter. 

I prayed for him, I had friends praying for him. I loved him. I texted him, I rang him. I tried to let him know I was there for him, particularly after Mama died. I imagined him getting married one day and having children. I imagined him buying his own place, having my kids and their kids visit him and his family. All of those dreams died the day he did.

I’ve been angry with God, I’ve been angry with Tim, I’ve been angry with myself. I just want to wake up from this nightmare and be told it’s not real. 

The Monday after he died, I was attending the last session of a grief and loss course that I’d been doing for 8 weeks. The timing was incredible. I felt that the course had given me some tools to help me cope with the grief.

Over the last 9 weeks, I haven’t written down a single thing I’m grateful for, even though that’s one of the tools to help. 

I’ve come to the conclusion that only tears, time and talking about it helps me. A friend took me out to lunch a couple of weeks ago and let me talk about him for about 2 hours. I felt so much better for the next few days.

I journaled last week on the verse that God comforts us so we can comfort others with the comfort we have received. I have to believe some good will come out of his death. I have to believe I will be more equipped to help friends going through similar things. I have to believe Tim is with Jesus. I have to believe his death is the shock his mates needed to turn their lives around.

I can only hope and pray they do and that I never have to hear that another of them is dead.

Make good choices.