It’s been over a year since I lost my mom. Honestly, I try not to count and track the time, as I’m always worried I’ll obsess over it and make it even harder to move forward. It feels like both a lifetime and a blink of an eye since I left the hospital where I last saw her. I was the last to leave the room, and there were no words that could have prepared me for how difficult it would be. I vaguely remember a nurse entering the room, and I recall wondering how she could come to work every day and be confronted with so much grief. But I also know now that behind such heavy grief is: love.
It’s yearning, laughter, memories, and comfort.
Some days, I can’t remember what life was like before my mother passed. Other days, I grab my phone to call her, as I always used to do, before pausing and feeling the wave of grief hit me again.
The hardest part lately has been learning to celebrate without her. It’s the aftermath: promotions, starting a business, making new friends, traveling somewhere new. In such a short time there are many stories that I’d share with her. And part of me understands that having stories to tell is actually a good thing. It’s a sign that I’ve been moving forward and she’d be so proud. So, when I can muster the energy, I write them down and try to share them with her that way.
A part of finding a new normal has been the realization that I need to take things at a slower pace. A lot. Before, I was always rushing from one thing to the next, which, in retrospect, wasn’t the best for me. Now, I find myself taking more time for myself, for the little things. I’ve learned that it’s okay to say no and that it takes time to learn how to prioritize your mental health. And I’m still working on it.
I’ve also become more mindful of my grief triggers. For some, songs, smells, or places can send people into a deep pit of grief. For me, it’s shows, seeing holiday decorations, or hearing my phone go off from a Facebook notification reminding me of her birthday this past July. Some grief triggers I can prepare for, while others I just have to breathe through. I’ve learned to be gentle with myself during these moments. I’ve learned to recognize them and to take a step back if needed, which can sometimes mean weeks of rest.
A year later, I’m starting to talk about her more. I still catch myself sharing stories as if she were here, as if nothing has changed. It’s like a habit, a way of coping. But I’m also starting to realize that talking about her is a way of honoring her memory.
Grief never leaves. It changes us in ways we can’t fathom before it happens. Losing my mom shook the very core of my being. But it also taught me the strength I never knew I had and made me better recognize the grief she went through and that others have experienced. It taught me to appreciate the moments, to love deeply, and to never take anything for granted.
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