This is the last Friday in August, and I find myself in a strange sort of place. A middle ground of sorts. We've certainly enjoyed our summer, but I am definitely ready for fall. For cooler weather, football, shorter days, mellow sunshine, cute cardigans and scarves. But I sort of don't want fall to be here either. Because it will be a year ago this fall that my mom went into the hospital and started the horrible, downward spiral. Up until now, I can think back to a year ago and remember when life was "normal", when we were living our carefree lives together, not worried about the future. But when fall comes, and then winter, I will have to remember our cold, anxious days in the hospital. The roller-coaster of paralyzing fear and hopeful expectation. The long days spent sitting in a stale waiting room, or sipping a cup of coffee in the hospital cafe, or watching my mom struggle to breathe. I am fearful that my good memories will get swallowed up by the bad. I am fearful that I will forget what my mom was really like, but only remember her in a hospital bed. It has almost been four months since she died, and with each month's passing, I feel a growing empty chasm between the day I last saw here alive and today. With each day it grows wider and darker.
I guess what I am trying to say is that there was an end. An end to an era in my life. An end to my life with a mother. I sometimes get stuck in the end, in the growing void, feeling worried and sad. But then I remember that this is also a beginning, a beginning of a new chapter in my life. It is not a chapter I would have written for myself, but God ordained it to be, so I can lift my head and embrace this new beginning.
"Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. " Philippians 1:6