This is going to be an unusual entry, as if the title wasn’t enough of a clue. I’m going to talk about holding back from puking – puking my emotions, that is.
Let’s start with the whole disgusting vomiting thing.
You know what it’s like – that feeling of a sour stomach, a queasiness, a warning that your body is preparing to expel what it thinks is harmful to process, right?
Have you ever had that feeling but determined you were going to do everything in your superpowers to stop it from happening?
First, you try to convince yourself that it’s nothing, really. I mean, sure, you didn’t give thanks to Jesus for that sandwich from Chick-fil-A because, after all, it came pre-blessed. And that sushi from the kiosk in the food court didn’t taste too strange, at least no more than normal.
The next thing you do is think, “It’s only a little upset stomach,” then ask, “Where’s the Mylanta?” Yeah, that’s all you need.
The sweat begins to bead on your forehead. More excuses. More rationalizing. You find a place to lie down and moan a muffled declaration into your pillow: “I’m NOT going to throw up!”
Sometimes it works. Sometimes.
Well, this is the best way I can describe the feelings I have after the death of my mother, Rebecca Marie Baker, this past Tuesday morning.
It’s like I feel a familiar sensation, a pressure, a something… it’s like I know if I was so many other people I would have already broken down and wept. But when the urge comes my immediate response – and it’s actually a physical, tangible response – is to tap it back down. And I am not even sure if it’s on purpose. Actually, I know it’s not.
If the body eats something that is bad for it, the natural response is to expel it. To keep it inside and to digest it could be harmful.
But what of the heart? What of the emotions? What of pain and grief?
I mentioned this to my wife and she suggested I “let it out.” But the last time I cried uncontrollably was when I stood at the door of the bedroom of one of our daughters after she moved off to college.
I don’t like to cry like that. I don’t like being that weak. I especially don’t like people seeing me that way.
However, Jesus wept. Yes, He did.
But not every time.
At least that we know.
I know these last few weeks were difficult, and I know we talked a lot about you going to heaven, but now that you are gone, I’m going to miss you. I am glad I was able to tell you I loved you and to hear your weak voice whisper back, “I love you, too.”
I’m thankful I was able to sit by your bed, hold your hand, and sing Amazing Grace to you as you left this world of pain. I wish I could have seen the look on your face when you breathed your first taste of heavenly air.
I can only imagine what it was like for you and Daddy to see each other again.
This is why it’s hard to cry. This is why it’s difficult to grieve. You are where you were born again to go.
Your faith has become sight!
Be happy with those who are happy, and weep with those who weep.Romans 12:15 NLT
I’m happy for you, Momma! I’m sure there are tears of joy where you are, too.
10 responses to “I’m NOT Going to Puke! I’m n…”
A rough valley on our end Anthony, it’s possible our mothers have met by now and swapped stories. If I had your talent I would have painted a picture of my mom chasing her arch enemy (a young spike buck) out of the garden brandishing the old 30-30 (dad hid the shells) as a threat.
Now that’s an image! My condolences to you, also.
I’m sorry for your loss, Anthony. Your mom was less than two years older than me by 19 days. We think of death more often these days. I lost my mother in 1994 and I still haven’t cried. I know she is with the Lord so it is even harder to grieve now, especially since I don’t think it will be all that many years before we are reunited.
Sorry for your loss, but know she is in a better place now.
Twice. I cried when my mom passed, and three months later, as a teacher in the Autism program, kiddos watching music videos during snack time, when Edelweiss came on (the song she sang as my lullaby) and these youngin’s surrounded me and hugged me. (They are more aware than we realize!)
Otherwise, I rejoice at her Homecoming.
Love you, brother
I broke down tonight.
That was beautiful my Brother
I’m so sorry for your loss. Even though it’s a temporary separation, good byes are still painful.
Bless you friend.