Dear Mom

by SarahMae | August 8, 2016 8:56 am

Your birthday is tomorrow and I have a few things I guess I have to get out of me.

I want you to know that I know you didn’t know how to love me.

And yea, you broke my heart, but you were broken too. I know. But that sweet redemption[1] came in all its miraculous glory. Thanking God for that.

I put your ashes in the ground last weekend and covered them in lavender under the forked tree with the cross carved into it.

Your ashes, your body, your bones, buried on a mountain. But not you. You are with Him because you never let go.

He saw right into your heart and He loved you and you loved Him and it was such a weird thing, how you loved.

You were so complicated.

So layered.

So like a two year old, stubborn. But oh how you would laugh, loud and unedited. You sure could let it rip.

I had to grieve you twice you know. The first time was when I had to acknowledge that I would never have a mom, not really. Not the kind of mom that nurtured. I released you from my expectation. I forgave you and do still. The second time only three months ago[2], and the grieving is still present. I miss you, you know.


Read the rest at (in)courage[4].


  1. sweet redemption:
  2. only three months ago:
  3. [Image]:
  4.  (in)courage:

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