We all at some stage in our lives experience grief; whether it is a loss of a loved one, job, home, relationship, and so on. Twelve weeks ago I lost my mum.

As a Minister of Faith I have conducted weddings, funerals, and been involved all sorts of pastoral situations, but nothing prepared me for this season. It was unexpected. It was devastating. It was heart-breaking. It was harsh.
 
My mum was only 66. I remember the very day, time and place, when the doctors sat us both down and said those dreaded words, ‘cancer - advanced cancer.’ I glanced over at my mum, and leaned in to hold her as tears streamed down her face. I had no words. There were no words.
 
I felt nothing. People of Faith have their rock bottom moments too.
 
My mum raised me on her own; she was my mum and dad. Her name was Mary, and she was a typical Belfast woman. She was fiercely independent, private, and determined. She was never about applause or platform.

She was a woman of simple living, who loved her family fiercely, worked in Tesco, and had a strong grip of faith. She handled her final six months with grit, grace, humility and dignity. Interestingly, she never wanted to talk about her impending death. Instead, she wanted to enjoy every single moment, every sunset, every rainfall, every cup of tea, every movie, and every moment with her family.

THE WAY WE WERE: Rev Karen with her mum, Mary Lancashire (née McKinley) in their younger days
2Gallery

THE WAY WE WERE: Rev Karen with her mum, Mary Lancashire (née McKinley) in their younger days

A week before she passed away she asked me to take her to the beach. I will never forget watching her breathe in the sea air, soaking up every moment as the wind hit her face. She knew (as I did) her time was drawing close. My mum brought me into this world, and it was now my time to walk her out of it.

There is something about watching someone you love take their last breath. That memory sticks, stays and is replayed many times in my mind. You realise every breath is a gift to be treasured.
 
And now she’s gone.
 
Suddenly everything looks different
Suddenly you have no idea how to adjust to life without her
Suddenly you are faced with the deep sadness
 

‘Solvitur Ambulando’ means it is solved as we walk. Keep walking. Keep going. 

Grieving for me is private. A road where only a few trusted friends get to travel with me. But I do want to offer this to anyone who is grieving, and learning to live with a deep sadness. There will be days you think you have got a hold of this. But then out of the blue the deep sadness explodes, and you feel as though you can barely catch your breath, let alone get to your feet.
 
I have felt both. You are not on your own.

Keep putting one foot in front of the other.
‘Solvitur Ambulando’ means it is solved as we walk. Keep walking. Keep going. 
 
May the light pierce through the darkness of your broken heart and deep sadness, and fill you with hope.