Where Do I Belong

A monthly journey through the chapters of Never Belonging.

The First Row

She looks so beautiful.

Her clothing, hair, nails, and makeup are all meticulous. She never left home without taking great care with her appearance—classy, polished, and neat. Her skin glows like the sun shining on newly fallen snow in winter, untouched by salt, dirt, or footprints.

And just like her skin, her spirit seems to have an indescribable glow, one that could almost blind those blessed enough to have been in her presence.

Her life was marred by years of pain, depression, and illness. Yet today, all anyone can see on her face is peace.

Despite the many people who loved her, she never seemed able to believe that their love was genuine. She was always out of sorts, always feeling out of place, burdened by the ache of never finding the place where she truly belonged.

And yet today, so many people have gathered to celebrate her life. Tears escape their eyes as sorrow fills this place—the very place that seemed to bring her joy.

The church was her sanctuary. Her protection. A refuge from the perceived, and sometimes imagined, monsters that seemed determined to steal the love she believed belonged to her. Here, she could escape for a while. Here, she could pray. Here, perhaps, she could fight against the devil's curse she believed had imprisoned her.

I look at my mother, unable to accept that I will never again hear her voice, feel her touch, or see her smile.

Her smile was often hidden from us. Sadness had a way of smothering her, pulling her beneath its surface like quicksand. There were moments when it seemed as though the woman we knew was still there, buried beneath years of sorrow, desperately trying to find her way back to us.

But today, she is still.

Peaceful.

Beautiful.

Free from the sadness that so often covered her face.

I take my seat in the first row of pews.

The pastor steps toward the pulpit and prepares to deliver my mother's eulogy.