Guest Post by Sharon Morginsky

Even though my mom’s eyes were closed most of the time as she lay dying, she knew which of her children were sitting beside her. She rubbed my hand while we sat like she had my whole life. My hand, which is beginning to wrinkle and look like hers and my grandmother's and my great-grandmother's. It was her gentle way of mothering me right up to the very end. The simple act of rubbing the baby in my own belly in this 9th month has made me think of her rubbing my hand, undoing me with grief. I pictured her rubbing her belly when she was pregnant with me and then rubbing my hands at the end. Mothering before I came into this world and mothering as she left.

Guest Post by Sharon Morginsky

This is the first holiday season since my mother passed away from cancer.

I knew it would be hard, but I’ve been shocked at how hard it actually has been. The loss feels physical—I feel the sadness in my bones. I’m sure many of you know how that feels. The deep ache, the longing for what was, the memories causing your shoulders to shake with sorrow. It’s real, it’s hard, it’s visceral. Sometimes it feels too heavy to want to celebrate, to want to enter into joy with my kids. Some of you have felt that ache for many years. Sadness looms large during this season; I get it.

My mom died on the day of Kara’s passing, just 1 year later. I woke up the morning of March 22nd and knew that day would be the day Mom went to be with Jesus. For 4 days my dad, brother, sister, and I had sat vigil. She was alert and talking. In pain, but able to know which one of us was with her. She spoke to angels and she spoke to people on the other side of the veil. If I had heavenly eyes, I’m sure I would have seen the room filled with people we all loved, people who meant a lot to her. I lose my breath when I think of the way she rubbed my hand right up til the end, like she had always done.

Last fall our women’s Bible study read through Mark. I was only sporadically present due to a lot of sickness in our family. But I would read and study when I could; I read about Jesus healing the paralytic, making the blind man see, casting out all those demons into all the pigs, and even raising a little girl from the dead.

The other night I was driving home late by myself. Life felt heavy, and sadness overwhelmed me. A favorite song of Kara’s came on the radio: Gungor’s Beautiful Things. It tells a story of God redeeming beauty from ashes.

Even with the truth of the song, I felt weighed down by grief and sadness—Kara’s death, my own mom’s cancer, Syrian babies drowning...it sometimes feels like the sky is falling, doesn’t it?