When I draw near to the fourth hole on the golf course, I have an urge to skip the elevated fairways and the difficult putting green. The flag on the green cannot be seen from the tee box because the approach is from an impossible angle and the yardage measures almost 400 yards. It is part of the game, though, so I sigh and trudge up the hill looking for my ball and continue doing the best I can to walk through it.
I played hole #4 on Mother’s Day. The comparison of the two challenges astounds me. In difficult days, I am reminded that my family has changed and is no longer “whole” because there is one key member missing: a son, the first-born son. Like hard golf holes, difficult days like birthday celebrations, holiday gatherings, life events, and anniversaries require courage and fortitude to walk/play.
The fourth tee box has an awkward placement that is contrary to the open fairway and my ball usually ends up in the chasm that lies to the right by the trees. Grief is an abyss that lies just under the surface in days like Mother’s Day. Memories of the little boy who first called me “mama” and hugged my neck tight in love, gives me strength to hit out of the pit after my tee shot lands there.
Hitting the ball out of the gap is challenging because the slope of the fairway goes straight up! The incline is hard to climb (especially if I am pushing a cart) and the next shot rarely makes it to the green. While climbing out of the breach, I look up to see James ahead of me at the top of the hill, waiting for me. I nod my head, recognizing that he is ahead of me in most situations; he is stronger and has a better perspective. I breathe a prayer of gratitude that he has been by my side through the loss of our child. His godly perspective is usually more mature and much wiser than mine.
As I hike the steep hill, grumbling about this hard hole and remembering that one of my sons will not be with us, I recall one of the last Mother’s Days he was alive. We had been unsuccessful in connecting throughout the day, so he called late in the evening, right before bedtime. I can hear his voice as he commented that he couldn’t imagine not talking to his mom on Mother’s Day. I found the strength in the memory to climb higher up the hill and slam the next shot within a few feet of the base of the green.
The surface of the green is still higher in elevation so the chip at the base of the green is uphill and difficult, but I am almost finished. As I lean away from the hill to look at the back of the ball for my chip shot, I think about my son’s love for his wife, who he also honored on this day. The overwhelming gratitude that he loved his family and his life is a solace in grief. My chip shot lands inches from the hole!
With putter in hand and a smile on my face, I climb the elevated surface to the green. There is one more stroke needed to put the ball in the hole, but before I make the putt I look out over the scenery from the lofty perch. I can see clearly the distance I have walked, and the difficult terrain I have maneuvered. The fairways are green and the trees have budded to paint a spring day of awesome beauty. In my vision, I recognize those who have given me stamina and strength to push through these difficult days: my faithful husband who is my rock, my precious sons who encourage me and make me laugh, my extended family and friends who pray with me, and memories of a son who is celebrating Mother’s Day in eternity.
I carefully line up my last stroke, and I make the putt!
I did it! I walked the hard terrain and climbed the elevated surfaces. I hit the ball out of the pit and looked up to higher ground. I stood on the top with a new perspective and appreciation for life and those who have lived. I recognized the steps I had taken with my God, who has carried me when I could not walk.
I remain grateful.
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