When my father died many years ago, I received the call while I was at work—in the middle of story time with my precocious preschoolers. My heart literally broke into a million pieces at the realization that I was fatherless. I had to grasp the desk in the office after I hung up the phone.
When my mother passed, several years after my father, that too took my very breath away. Again, I received the call at work; it was somewhat expected because the doctors hadn’t given her much time, but still everything was a blur. I wasn’t prepared. Who ever is?
The death of a loved one is a punch in the gut. My mother’s death solidified the bitter fact I was parentless—without a mother who was selfless and Godly and who tried to instill in me and my sister a sense of living life to serve others. Her passing hit different, even though I was a grown woman.
How could I cope with never being in her presence again? Never listening to her muse about life, love, and her dreams, or taking mental notes—especially on how to deal with those rough patches in my life? I needed her as part of my village. Those sorrowful shoes were several sizes too big, and I didn’t want to wear them, traipsing through each day pretending to the world that they fit fine.
I dreamt about my mother frequently after she passed. Whenever I woke up it took me a moment to realize it was a dream. I could almost smell the scent of the lotion she rubbed into her brown skin, and there was a calm that wrapped around me. She could always calm me whenever I was anxious, often sharing some sagacious wisdom like, “It takes a strong woman to fill that cup” or “This, too, shall pass.”
I knew she would want me to stop grieving and to live my life with joy, strength, and the resolve to be the best possible person I could be. That was the gift she had given me when she was alive. I just had to figure out how. I set out to write about her…a lot. She made appearances in my stories—especially my essays. Writing about her became my therapy, but at times it didn’t eradicate the pain of not having her in my life and the lives of her children and grandchildren.
I was always known for being good at comforting others in their times of need, whether it was the loss of a loved one, a break-up, a health scare, etc. Usually, I wrote a poem or some encouraging words in a letter or on a card in the hopes of anchoring their soul.
They weren’t exactly seamlessly crafted words. At a time when you’re being tested or going through a storm, those words don’t exist. But they were words I hoped would stand the test of time long after the mourners have gone, the divorce papers were signed, or the hardest part of recovery was underway. Those were the words I needed to offer myself as I tried to walk out of sorrow’s too big shoes.
Eventually, I learned to do just that. Slowly and with many relapses—but also learning to give myself grace—I began to relinquish those low-spirited shoes. Instead, I opted to feel the sun shining on my face, literally and figuratively. I had too many blessings to embrace to keep my head bowed in pain.
I also had to release any guilt I had about what I didn’t do or should have done better as my mother’s daughter. Guilt depletes you and keeps you stuck in the blues. Though our tapestry was flawed in some places, our relationship wasbeautiful—and as sticky-glue close as a mother and daughter could get. I was her butterfly; she was my cocoon. As she also was to my sister. We were her girls.
She’d want me to stay joyful, to keep creating, and to leave my mark on this earth—or, rather, to leave a message to all that happiness is our portion, a boundless part of it, no matter what life throws our way.
Now, whenever I feel sorrow’s too big shoes are beckoning me to step into them, to stay longer than I should in a place that will keep me revisiting darkness, I place them back in their shoebox and put them on the high shelf of my life. Then I put my size-nine feet into a pair of shoes that are comfortable, fearlessly step one foot in front of the other and walk towards the light.
Beautiful ones, no matter what kind of loss you may have experienced, the right-sized shoes are out there to continue your joy-filled journey.
How are you stepping out of sorrow’s too big shoes?
Juanita Lewis says
This is simply beautiful Sister. I’m still figuring it out but I have some wise counsel in this note. Continue to be blessed and a blessing!
Nadine James says
My condolences for your loss. I love and appreciate your story. Your words are helping me to move away from the pain for the loss of my mother. My mother passed on June 17, 2023. Our relationship was flawed and beautiful at the same time also. I will stepping out of sorrow today by continue to be the independent courageous daughter she raised. Blessings and peace.
Mytosha Dickerson says
My mother passed suddenly last year and I got the call while I was reading my babies a bedtime story. These past few months have been rough because I really feel like I’ve started to grieve. It often shows up when I need help the most and I usually get in a funk, but I’m trying to work on that. We were very close, but as a mother and wife in my 30s’ I feel this was a time I needed her the most. She loved when I would write so maybe that can be a form of therapy for me and a way to honor her.
Jacqueline Hall says
I was preparing a room in my house for my mother to come and live with me when she passed away suddenly. I went into a deep funk and lost weight because I didn’t feel like eating at all. My husband saw how much it affected me and made me go to the doctor, which I’m glad he did they found that my blood sugar was off the charts yet I still wasn’t eating food just fruit and fruit juices, I have a daughter and I have a granddaughter so I had to come to the realization that I too was here for them. I had to put on my big girl panties and come out of that depression. I still feel a little guilty sometimes for not getting that room done faster but I’m OK now and I know my mom is OK with where with where I am right now . Family gives strength in times of need, which is a very true statement. My granddaughter moved in with us as she was going to the local college, and it increased my life’s joy once again.
Cassandra Conyers says
I too lost my Mommy 2 1/2 years ago. I keep track of how long it’s been, because she was my Everything. I realized the other day that she was the greatest gift I have ever received, second only to my Children. Her unconditional love is weaved through my life’s journey, and I am so grateful. I do know she wants me to continue to live and enjoy my life. And I am continuing on. I miss her, but I know she is always with me. Thank God for giving her to me 💝
Jeanine DeHoney says
Thank you all for sharing such touching comments about your mothers beautiful ones. Our mothers are indeed gems who even with blemishes bestow so much in our spirit to help us in our own life/ love/ woman journey. Much love and light and blessings to you all.
Teresa says
I was truly blessed by this writing. I fully relate and it has given me a new perspective on my grief.
With sincere gratitude to the author of those words.
Juliana says
God Bless you for sharing your story. It reminds me of my own mother, she passed in 2020 ( I dream of her often, too).
Evalyne says
Thank you for sharing. This brought many memories to mind. I will give some thought to your question because it is worthy of consideration. Hopefully me answering your question will put me in a better place.
Felisicia says
This is beautiful! You eloquently wrote what I have felt throughout my years of loss. Blessings!