One Year Since Losing My Mom: Six Lessons I’ve Learned
As May 2nd (the one year anniversary of my mom’s passing) creeps up on me, I am feeling an impending sense of dread. Naturally my mind goes back to the events occurring around this time last year, and I can’t even think about the day she passed. It’s too painful, even still. In an effort to do something productive with all the feelings and anxiety I have, I’m sitting down to process what I’ve learned in the past year. There have been lessons, and I’m determined to hold onto the good ways in which my mom’s passing might have some impact on my life. If you have lost a loved one, my heart is with you as I write this. I hope that perhaps these thoughts will help you in your journey of grief and life after loss.
Lesson 1 | The best way to deal with my intense feelings of grief is to do something proactive with them.
Shortly after my mom passed I came across this video. I still cry watching it, because it captures the feelings of grief so well - the sadness and the strange, unexpected joy mingled with pain when you share it with someone. I love the idea of being proactive with grief and I really latched onto that idea as I fumbled my way through every milestone and season over the past year. The idea of being proactive with grief became my anthem, my glimmer of hope over the past year. If I knew something was coming up that would be hard, I tried to think of a way to make something of it - to make it more special, to pay it forward, or to do something in honor of my mom. For example, when my beloved Koko Loko rose (the rose in the last bouquet I got to give to my mom) started blooming right outside my bedroom window, I knew I had a choice. I could either feel sad every time I looked at it, or I could do something with it. So I cut all of the flowers and arranged them with some herbs in a vase (just like I did this time last year for my mom) and gave it to a sweet woman at church who is my mom’s age and has been incredibly supportive to our family. This is just one small instance of being proactive with grief. I’m sure there will be many other ways I will discover to use my grief for good in the future. I am already planning something for this upcoming Mother’s Day - knowing that day will be hard, but wanting to transform my grief into something meaningful and productive. This blog post itself is an effort to take my grief and turn it into something helpful, meaningful, and productive.
Lesson 2 | Grief is unpredictable, but I can embrace the unpredictability of it, and anticipate that it will resurface often.
Shorly after my mom passed, a friend told me that grief comes in waves, and I’ve found this to be true for me. Sometimes it feels like bracing for a strong wave you think is coming, and it turns out to be nothing more than a little ripple in the water. Sometimes you’re expecting a little ripple and it turns out to be an enormous tidal wave crashing down on you. Sometimes the tide goes out, sometimes it comes in. There is truly no way to predict which waves will hit you the strongest, at least not for me. And as a planner, I initially found that frustrating, until I learned to accept and embrace the unpredictability of it all. The only thing that is certain is that sooner or later, the grief will resurface. I can expect that. I can accept that. I may not know when, I may not know where, but it will come up. I could be standing in line at the grocery store, or talking to a friend. I could go to bed feeling fine and wake up the next day with a heaviness that wasn’t there the night before. The more I have learned to accept the unpredictability of it, the easier it has been to just “go with the flow”. I’m a planner - and I like to be prepared, and while I can’t be prepared for the exact day and time that the next wave of grief will hit, I can prepare myself mentally that it will come at some point.
Lesson 3 | Grief CAN manifest itself in my body with very real physical symptoms.
As someone who has navigated chronic health issues for the majority of my adolescent and adult life, I’m no stranger to the concept that the mind and the body are intricately connected. In fact, I’ve spent many years learning about the connection between our brain, emotions, and physical symptoms. And still, the intense ways that grief manifested itself in my physical body caught me totally off guard. The physical symptoms of grief were impossible to ignore: crippling nausea and cold sweats waking me up in the middle of the night, crushing fatigue, piercing pain in my back and chest, heaviness in my limbs, unrelenting anxiety and panic attacks. It was only once I talked to several friends and family members that I realized these were all symptoms of grief, or rather, my body processing the grief and trauma of my mom’s passing. Knowing this didn’t make experiencing the symptoms any easier - they were still just as inconvenient and uncomfortable. But knowing they were likely the result of grief was reassuring. I’m a big proponent of trusting our God-made bodies to do what they were designed to do. When the body experiences grief and trauma, it often gets trapped inside with no way out. I learned to see it as a good sign that my body felt safe enough to release some of the grief and trauma that needed to dissipate. I learned to see my uncomfortable symptoms as a positive sign of healing - a step in the right direction.
Lesson 4 | It’s ok to set aside my grief when I need a break - I can unpack it later when I’m ready.
It was a beautiful Easter Sunday morning. My family and I were all dressed in our Easter outfits I’d planned out prior, sitting on the pew at church. The name and number of the next hymn momentarily flashed up on the screen - indicating we’d be singing it after the prayer, before it flickered back to black. The hymn was #313 “I Could Not Do Without You ”, and as soon as I read the words my heart started thumping in my chest. That was one of the hymns we sang at my mom’s memorial service. It was one of her favorite hymns, and I can still hear her voice singing it. I couldn’t blame the song leader for choosing it - it had been 11 months since her passing, so in theory it was fair game. Except that every time I even think about that hymn I get choked up. I knew that if I stayed in the pew and attempted to sing it, my mascara and carefully applied eyeliner would end up in streaks down my face and my neat white dress would be stained with tears. I also knew that I just didn’t want to be sad on Easter. Easter was supposed to be a happy day - and I really didn’t feel like crying and getting upset. Not today. So after the prayer was over, I got up and walked to the nursery in the back of the building. I knew my sister would be back there with her baby, and I knew it would be an escape from the hymn being sung, and that was all I wanted in that moment. We sat there together in the nursery, talking and attempting to ignore the song being sung on the other side of the glass. It was a coping mechanism. Some might say that isn’t healthy - that you shouldn't repress your feelings or block them out. That you should feel them whenever they arise. But this is what I’ve learned: it’s actually ok to ignore grief for a while. It’s exhausting to be sad all the time, and sometimes you just need a break. When I told my dear friend about what had happened, and wanted her thoughts about it, she wisely told me I was just saving the emotions to unpack later. I loved that phrase - so I’m using it here for lesson 4. Sometimes you just don’t want to cry on Easter and ruin your makeup. Sometimes you just don’t want to be sad - so don’t be! I have learned to not feel bad about setting those feelings aside - ignoring them - for a time. There will be plenty of time to unpack them later, when I’m ready.
Lesson 5 | No one can replace my mom, but I can be open to accepting help and support from others.
About 5 months after my mom passed, I had a bizarre health issue pop up. I’m still not entirely sure what happened - but as I understand it, I got a bad infection in my arm that spread to my lymph nodes. The most likely culprit is that I contracted a fungal infection through a scratch from the thorns on my rose bushes (yes, the roses that have been my joy since my mom passed - talk about ironic!) It was an unsettling time not knowing what was going on. The infection had spread rapidly and made me feel sick, followed by several rounds of strong antibiotics that made me super nauseous constantly. I was really missing my mom through all of it. During that time there were several women who made a point to reach out to me and checked in on me almost daily. If you had told me a year ago that I would have been sharing personal health details with those women I would have laughed - I remember telling Paden how strange it was to have those women be so involved in what was going on. And yet - I desperately needed them. I needed these women to help me through a tough time when I felt somewhat lost and unsure. I needed their love and concern. I have a feeling that they were mindful of me experiencing a weird medical issue without my mom, and that they made an effort to be there for me - and that truly meant the world to me. Each of the women has different qualities that my mom had - and while no one of them could be a replacement for my mom - together, they almost seemed to cover what I was lacking from her. Of course, no one could ever replace my mom, but I learned through the ordeal that even when it seems weird or uncomfortable to do so, I can accept help and support from other people who want to provide it.
Lesson 6 | The legacy a person leaves behind remains long after they are gone, and I want to be intentional about mine.
My mom left behind a legacy that is a tough act to follow, if I’m honest. She was so unique, so intentional, and so special. From the handmade soaps she gifted to others, to the many knitted baby sweaters, socks, and teddy bears she made for every baby that was born into our large extended family, to the secondhand books she bought and handed to friends with the note “I think you’d like this book”. She was always actively working on a project or planning something, even when it looked like she was just sitting in her favorite chair having a cup of tea. Of course her legacy extends far beyond the things she did - it is the person she was, the love she shared, and the family she nurtured. It was the meals she made, the recipes she had memorized by heart, the dreams she kept in her heart, and most importantly, her well known love for the Lord and his kingdom. That is the kind of legacy I want to leave behind - the kind that permeates the four walls of my home and impacts countless others around me. It’s a tall order. I have been thinking a lot about my legacy. What will people say about me when I’m gone? What will people remember me for? What will I leave behind? While I won’t go into the details here, I have been actively working on ways to strengthen and bolster my legacy. I have learned over the past year your legacy remains long after you are gone, and I want to be intentional about mine.
So there they are: six lessons. A year ago, I never imagined I’d be sitting here writing this blog post about what I’ve learned since my mom passed. Life without my mom feels strange, and I wonder if it will continue to feel strange for a while. I am holding onto my faith and hope of heaven, but also trying to remind myself of the lessons I have learned in this first year without her. My hope is that perhaps someone reading this who has experienced loss will find comfort, reassurance, and solidarity in what I’ve written, and maybe even just the teeniest glimpse of hope that there is purpose and meaning beyond your loss. If you can’t find purpose, maybe try looking for the lessons, I believe they are there if you look hard enough. And as always, my love to you as you navigate life after loss.