This is Part 3 of my series exploring God’s work in my life through instability, absence, and healing. In Part 1, I shared the constant movement of my childhood and how it shaped me. In Part 2, I reflected on the mother-wound — the absence of my mum and how God has been gently bringing healing to that space.
Part 3 explores the season that shook me most at that point in my life: my mother’s death. I didn’t realise then that God had even greater lessons planned for me in the years that followed. Even without a close relationship, her passing stirred grief, confusion, and deep reflection on life, loss, and grace. Here, I share what God taught me about sitting with grief, processing emotions, and learning to trust Him through even the most disorienting seasons.
Scattered and Shutting Down
As I reflected on my past while writing Parts 1 and 2, I realized that my mother’s death still shakes me, even years later.
Her death shook me to my core, leaving my mind unsettled and my heart heavy — yet on the outside, I carried on as if everything were fine. I couldn’t articulate the storm inside me, and one of the ways I cope with pain I can’t explain is by shutting down.
That very day, I even went online, trying to figure out if what I was feeling was normal — how do you grieve someone you hardly knew? I needed to know I wasn’t losing my mind. I also remember writing in my notes that day: confusion on a hundred, and then some.
“Coulda, woulda, shoulda… heavy and mixed feelings kind of day today. Crazy how the death of someone you should have known or been connected to, but hardly knew, can actually affect you.”
When someone you hardly knew dies, your grief may manifest around different types of thoughts, emotions, and secondary losses than it would if you had known the person well. For instance, your grief may focus more on abstract losses, like what could have been or should have been, than tangible losses.” — Eleanor Haley
The guilt was overwhelming. I wondered if I should have softened my heart or made room for her in my life — even just a little. But the truth is, I had grown from the little girl who longed for her mother into a woman who didn’t know where to place her.
Having my own son complicated things further. I couldn’t understand how a mother could leave her child. Yet, as I grew older, I began to see that my mother herself may have been carrying wounds I never knew about. She had me very young and may not have had the support she needed. Later, I learned she had lost two children before she passed.
That realization didn’t excuse her absence, but it taught me something vital: give grace — again and again — because we rarely know the full weight people are carrying.
“Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” — Ephesians 4:32
A Shock Unlike Any Other
This was the first death that truly shook me. With other losses, I had some opportunity to show love or care while the person was alive. But here, it felt like the opportunity had vanished forever.
For over a year, I didn’t even know the circumstances surrounding her death. I didn’t know anyone who had answers. Around Christmas 2022, my dad gave me a few contacts to reach out to, but none of them knew anything either. It left this strange, unexplained hole — one I couldn’t properly describe to anyone, not even to myself. When I eventually learned what had happened, another wave of guilt surfaced, and I found myself wondering if things might have been different if we had been in touch. Even now, it remains a journey. Some days I still sit quietly with myself, wondering if I’m even allowed to ask some of the questions that remain in my heart.
Her death also revealed how short life truly is. It forced me to stop running on autopilot — constantly chasing the next thing or trying to fix everything — and to start auditing how I was actually living. At the time, my thinking became, “Life is short. Do what makes you happy.” But over time, God has been reshaping that desire into something deeper than just happiness — into healing and purpose.
“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” — Psalm 90:12
Even now, writing this, that realization feels heavy. Her death changed something in me. Parts of my old way of coping stopped working, and I’ve gone back and forth between seeing that change as a breaking or a necessary awakening.
Confusion and Loneliness
I didn’t immediately run to God. Honestly, I was confused for a long time. I knew something inside me had shifted, but I didn’t know how to fix it. There was also a loneliness in that season I didn’t have words for.
Looking back now, I see how gently God has been leading me back to the roots of old wounds — inviting me into emotional healing, helping me face pain I had tucked away, and teaching me how to live fully again.
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” — Matthew 11:28
Lessons in Grace
One of the hardest truths I’ve learned in this season is that life is too short to withhold grace — from others or from ourselves. We do our part where we can, and trust God with the rest.
Her story reminded me that every person carries hidden battles. We often see only fragments of someone’s journey. Grace becomes necessary because none of us knows the whole story.
“Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.” — Luke 6:37
Moving Forward
I am still learning to:
- Sit with grief without rushing to fix it.
- Allow confusion without demanding immediate clarity.
- Give myself permission to mourn what never existed.
- Trust that God sees every hidden pain and is guiding me toward healing.
“Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.” — 1 Peter 5:7
This loss deepened my awareness of my emotions, my fragility, and my need for God’s presence in every season.
Closing Thought
Sometimes healing doesn’t come in the moment of loss, but years later when God gently brings us back to face what we survived but never processed. And in that return, we discover that grace — for others and for ourselves — is often where true healing begins.
Closing Prayer
Father, Thank You for holding every part of my story, even the parts I didn’t understand at the time. Thank You for Your patience as You lead me back to places of pain, not to hurt me again, but to heal what was left broken.
Teach me to give grace — to others and to myself. Help me release guilt, unanswered questions, and regrets into Your hands. Continue shaping my heart through every season of healing.
And let the lessons born from my pain become comfort for someone else walking a similar road.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.
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