Written: December 6 2024

In the beginning I kept trying to memorialize her, I still do. But right after losing her I thought that maybe a beautiful ring with her birthstone on it would be enough to feel like I am carrying her with me – to heal. This sounds foolish and insane, but I have never been faced with the necessity to cope with something so traumatic. It was not enough, obviously, but the longing for her is relentless. 

It’s not just the ring. Her pictures went up all over the house, little mementos symbolizing her place in our family graced every dresser and table. Jewelry with her name, or birth stone, or birth flower graces my neck nearly everyday. Sweatshirts and hats proclaim “I wish you were here”. Dreams of rose bushes planted and murals painted on our backyard wall fill my mind. My left forearm will soon be permanently marked with the image of a little girl smiling and holding up a sword as she rides the Lion, seemingly returning to the observer – my gospel reminder that though she is absent now, she won’t be forever. Even “A Mother’s Lament” has become the place where she and I exist and live together. 

I’m trying to carry her with me when I can’t actually carry her. I’m trying to  know her and love her and be with her because her little toes, fingers, and knees shouldn’t be 5.6 miles away from me buried in a grave. 

I’m trying to be her mom. 

None of these things replace her like I, for some reason, subconsciously, believed they could. How could they? She is not some difficult break up to heal from, learn from and move on to one day be grateful that it happened. 

The loss of her is unfixable. It is not whether or not the wound will heal, could it ever? It’s about if this gaping wound will fester. By God’s grace, I’ll walk again, but I’ll walk forever with a limp. My gait through the path of life is forever changed, and the terrain has too.  I’ve been forced to travel with the burden of Gemma’s absence down a dark and treacherous path. I may become more able to carry the emptiness, but it will remain the same weight and the path will stay inescapable. 

She is not with me. I know this. 

But can a mother ever stop being a mother? 

No, I could never stop being her mom.