The Grief of Death. The Purpose of Pain?

I used to love mornings! I felt most alive and excited to live out God's purposes for me. But ever since my mom's death, mornings have been painful, mostly sad and empty. My elder sister told me that she also received commentaries about how losing a mom allows us as human to experience that extreme pain that can't even be explained! Some tried to make the sense of it and they'd suggest that it could be that the special connection with the one who first carried us for 9 months and brought us to life is now gone - and that's where the hurt could be coming from. I could personally say that experiencing the loss of a motherly tie has somehow affected my sense of existence. Hence, that emptiness.

This week, I have just received my mom's medical abstract and final diagnosis about her recent passing. And it says "Hypoxia". It is the condition of reduced or lack of oxygen, leading to insufficient air available to the lungs affecting the entire body, or local, affecting a specific part of the body. It can cause damage to multiple organs and lead to fatal complications (medicinenet.com). The cause of her death was respiratory failure.

I can't help but burst in tears, loud sobs and deep sighs just imagining how she went through that agony. I felt more than pity for her. I grieve. My whole being still is sad and angry, but I'm sane. I'm not bitter.

I quarantined right away after her declared death and I was mentally and emotionally challenged for days because fear has somehow gotten the best of me and had shown up behaviorally with the likes of panic attack. Although physical symptoms didn't really develop and my oxygen level looked fine- 98-99%, I felt weirdly breathless throughout my quarantine days. There was one certain time that I woke up in panic mode gasping for breath with my mind confused where I could turn the oxygen tank on! That 10-ish seconds passed me by and I realized that I could still breathe on my own. Probably, 'twas a muscle memory in my head that picked up the "time to change mama's oxygen tank".

To share my context, while tending to mama at the hospital, my mind had been alert for days with all the to dos and my body felt supernaturally awake but sure restless. I received quite a number of heads up (to importantly take care of myself so I could take care of mom) from my dear family, relatives (auntiesss and uncless + cousinssss) and friends from the church community. Those reminders were not unnoticed and there was not a call that I wasn't teary or shaky when I bade goodbyes. It felt nice being thought of when I couldn't even think of my welfare. I slept for 30 minutes max in a day (I would love to sleep more but I just couldn't) for almost a week while honestly conversing my thoughts out loud with God until words weren't enough then groans and tears pleaded for mama's life. Though there were moments of high hopes and solid faith, the situation almost but legitimately felt like hell. I've never visited hell - but the "hellness" of the "suffering" made me feel that God was somehow absent. It felt like He was not there. I'd been declaring life and been asking Him to do His thing and that He would show up miraculously - to touch my mom's lungs and revive her from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. I'd prayed my boldest, then bolder until I could only wish that I would have prayed boldly. There were episodes that I doubted my faith but I did not doubt God's sovereignty and His best intentions for my mama. I knew He's able. I knew He has a purpose for all the hell we'd been through but I too dared but shyly asked,

"GOD, what then have You been up to"?

Yet amidst unanswered questions and prayers, my ears cannot unhear what He's been telling me since Day 1, "I'm just here. I'm here. I'm with you. I see you. I'm crying with you. I sit beside you. I'm holding you."

He's been speaking but I wasn't fully heeding at the onset.

His comfort and sweet company has been just sinking in.

"I'm just here. I'm here. I'm with you. I see you. I'm crying with you. I sit beside you. I'm holding you."

Selah.

Oh, my Lord, my God! Even in the the face of hell and death, nothing can take me away from Your presence. You are always there. Always near.

"You're closer than my skin"

"There's no space between You and I".

"You're closer than the oxygen I'm breathing in."

"I breathe You in".

"You are 'God with us'"

"Immanuel".

(Give "Starlight by Amanda Cook" a listen. I'm pausing to listen to the song again.)

Psalm 139:7-8, a praise song of David:

"Where shall I go from your Spirit?

Or where shall I flee from your presence?

If I ascend to heaven, you are there!

If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!"

Here's what I've been realizing:

The absence of suffering and the presence of comfort could easily make us feel loved and secured. And the presence of hardships should not make us "feel" loved less nor abandoned because God's presence still utterly encompasses everyone of us at every moment everywhere.

So maybe but personally, these could be what God has been up to!

To experience the intimacy of Christ in suffering;

To receive God's comfort like no one else could do;

To strip me from my self - assurance and find courage in Him alone;

To sanctify, solidify my faith that's not just circumstantial;

To purify my mind from the disappointments of life;

To teach my heart to surrender everything to God;

To help my soul comprehend that He's still good and God;

To identify with His grief towards man's separation from Him. I terribly miss my mom. His heart ached for the lost.

To deeply remind me that my purpose continues despite the loss because I'm never losing the connection with my Creator - the Giver of my purpose, the Author of my life.

I don't know when will I love mornings again. But I'm looking forward to waking up most alive to live out God's purposes for me as I receive His healing.