Mess It Up

SOUR

enough for you

five seconds flat

doomsday

ceilings

Good Riddance

I know it won't work

Best

for your validation

oh my

Upstate

Franklin House

This song is the hardest one for me to sing because it carries me back to the day my mom died. I can still see her in that room, connected to machines, her breaths shallow and strained. The sound of her gasping for air is carved into me. It felt like watching life slip away in slow motion, but being powerless to stop it. Those last days felt unreal, as if time had bent in on itself, stretching and collapsing at once.

You think you will have one last conversation, one final chance to say all the words you carry in your heart. I thought I would be able to tell her everything, to hold her hand and hear her answer me back. But instead there was silence, her body too tired to respond, her eyes slipping away until she just stopped breathing. That moment will haunt me for the rest of my life.

It was as if the world shattered in an instant, and yet the world outside kept going like nothing had changed. Grief is cruel like that.

But there is also hope. The song points me toward heaven, toward the promise that death is not the end. I cling to the truth that my mom is with Jesus, that she went home before me. The thought of seeing her again keeps me steady when the grief threatens to drown me.

The Bible says in Revelation 21 that God will wipe away every tear from our eyes, and there will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain. I hold onto that with everything in me. One day the gasping and the machines will be forgotten, and all that will remain is joy in His presence.

Until then, I sing this song with both sorrow and hope. Sorrow because I miss her more than words can hold. Hope because I know love is stronger than the grave, and one day I will see her again when I too go home.

The Day You Went Home

minor

Long Sleeves

Till Forever Falls Apart

I know it won't work

Gracie