July 1: Remembering Her, Trusting Him

Today is July 1, and it’s a date that will always carry weight for me.

Fourteen years ago, just after midnight, my mom took her last breath. Even now, saying that feels surreal in a way I don’t think ever fully goes away. Time moves on, life grows around the loss, but certain dates… they take you right back.

My mom lived most of her life in pain. Not the kind of pain that comes and goes, but the kind that settles in and becomes part of your everyday existence. After a major car accident in her early twenties, everything changed for her. What should have been the prime of her life became the beginning of a long, exhausting battle.

Over the years, things only became harder. She went through three major surgeries on her neck and back, and instead of relief, she was left with severe nerve damage. The entire right side of her body was consumed with pain. Eventually, even standing or walking for short periods became too much.

And as if that wasn’t enough, her health continued to decline. She developed type 2 diabetes and Graves’ disease on top of everything else. Her body just kept fighting against her.

It’s hard to put into words what it’s like to watch someone you love suffer like that. There’s a helplessness that sits deep in your chest. You want to fix it, take it away, trade places—anything—but you can’t.

And yet, despite all of it, she kept going.

The night she passed, something shifted. As much as it broke my heart, there was also this quiet knowing that she was finally free. No more pain. No more suffering. Just peace. I truly believe the Lord came and took her home, and that she is whole again, resting at His feet.

That belief has carried me through the years.

Because grief… it doesn’t leave. It changes. In the beginning, it’s sharp and overwhelming, like it steals the air right out of your lungs. Over time, it softens. It doesn’t disappear, but it becomes something you learn to carry. The memories that once hurt so deeply start to feel warmer, even comforting.

I still miss her. That hasn’t changed. It probably never will.

This week, especially, is always a mix of emotions. My birthday is July 6, and the year she passed, we held her memorial service on July 5. So the first week of July has this strange blend of grief and celebration. Loss and life, side by side. It’s bittersweet in every sense of the word.

But through it all, my faith has been my anchor. On the hard days—and there are still hard days—I lean into the comfort that I am not alone in my grief. The Lord has held me through every season of it. There’s a peace that doesn’t always make sense, but it’s there.

Today, I remember my mom not just for what she endured, but for who she was. Her strength. Her perseverance. The love she gave, even when she was hurting.

And maybe that’s what grief slowly teaches us—to hold onto the love more than the loss.