It was the simplest of feasts. My family gathered around my mom’s table in Connecticut to celebrate Thanksgiving. Sitting at the head, Mom reached for her camera in the flickering candlelight and snapped our picture. Satisfied, she was. So pleased to be sharing this banquet of gratitude together, despite her being too weak to cook and having no appetite. At 65, Mom had lost her strength and desire for food to cancer.
“Whatever you do, don’t get a golden retriever,” my mom said. “They shed too much.” For once, my preternaturally insightful mom was wrong. Not about the shedding. Sushi, the happy-go-lucky, 2-year-old golden retriever we adopted from a breeder shed like a kennel full of dogs. On Nair. What she was wrong about was the not getting her.
Calling all warriors! Here is the final guest post in my series on motherhood, loss, and redemption, “Mothering Like a Warrior,” by marriage author and friend Dorothy Littell Greco. To read my own story or motherhood, loss, and redemption, click here.
“Mothering Like a Warrior,” by Dorothy Littell Greco
I’ve never fired a gun or drawn a sword but I assure you, I mother like a warrior.
Our eldest son got married at the tender age of 20. The wedding itself was a glorious celebration of God’s faithfulness and provision. My son’s bride is every bit his match. She is smart, passionate, devoted to God and fiercely loves our son.
I well-know the pain of losing a child. For each of us, loss is different, and yet God’s love is great enough to encompass them all. In this week’s Faith Notes Guest Post, The Weight of Sorrow, author Kim Findlay shares her own story of motherhood, loss and redemption:
I sat on my couch utterly exhausted. I’d been coughing for six days – deep, lung-wracking coughs that snatched at my breath.
As I labored to breathe, a thought swept over me. I was done. I was tired of breathing and wanted it to stop so I could rest. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? It’s not like I had access to something or someone that could breathe for me. Exhausted as I felt, I had to keep going. As tears welled up, I prayed for the strength to continue on and for the pressure to lighten. I prayed for rest.