A Journey Through Grief, Healing, and Reflection
My recent post about my mother’s passing inspired me to share more openly about my journey through grief, healing, and self-reflection.
Losing my mother was one of the most painful experiences of my life, one that sits alongside other traumatic moments, including the car accident that nearly took my son years ago. Her death forced me to confront the layers of grief I had only understood in theory: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. It’s different when you live it. It’s different when it’s your mother.
The Call That Changed Everything
An early morning phone call from my sister shattered my world. In shock, I only heard fragments of what she was saying. There were no clear explanations yet, only disbelief and devastation. Hours later, the funeral home confirmed the cause of death: a massive stroke.
Living in Colorado while my family resides in Puerto Rico meant I had no time to think. The funeral details arrived, and the next morning, I was on my way to say goodbye.
Thirteen exhausting hours of travel left me alone with anxious thoughts. After landing, I picked up a funeral wreath. When the florist asked what I wanted written on the ribbon, I couldn’t speak. With compassion in her voice and experience in her eyes, she asked if she could choose the words for me. She did, and they were perfect.
Facing Goodbye
After arriving at my sister’s home, I finally learned the details of my mother’s last moments. All I could do was hold my family in silence. The next morning, we had a private viewing before others arrived to pay their respects.
Standing face-to-face with the woman who had given me life, who had wiped my tears and cheered for my smallest victories, broke me. I wanted to hug her, to whisper the same words I had repeated many times: Everything will be okay. But this time, it wouldn’t be. All I could do was sit near her, cry, and admire how peacefully she looked, almost as if she were simply sleeping.
The burial took place the next day. She was laid to rest on the same plot as my father. Watching her coffin lowered into the ground felt like watching an entire era of my life disappear with it. I left with a broken heart and an unsettling awareness: a generation had ended, and my own future suddenly felt fragile.
Waves, Stars, and a Moment of Peace
That evening, my husband and I sat on the beach near our hotel. The sound of crashing waves and the vastness of the night sky quieted my thoughts. For the first time since her passing, I felt a sense of peace. Her 80th birthday was only two months away. We had been planning a celebration for a year. Life had changed without warning.
I stayed an extra day to settle legal matters and walk through her home. Entering her bedroom—the place where she took her last breath, was gut-wrenching. I left with a teddy bear she loved and a ring to keep close to my heart. Then I returned to Colorado.
Anger, Regret, and the Things We Can’t Undo
The day after I came home, the anger came. I struggled to accept what happened and questioned whether I had done enough. Could I have called more? Visited more? Tried harder to understand her pain?
Her later years were difficult. She became bitter, resentful, and distant with her own children. I tried to be patient, knowing she was battling loneliness, declining health, and a life that no longer felt familiar to her. We offered solutions, including moving in with us, but she refused each time. Maybe she didn’t want to leave the home where she raised her children and where she watched my father take his last breath. Maybe she didn’t want to feel like a burden. All she said was that she felt most comfortable at home.
Eventually, bargaining set in. I tortured myself with questions that had no answers. Would more love, more visits, more words have changed anything? I’ll never know.
A wise thought my sister once shared returned to me: Perhaps every one of us comes into the world with a prewritten expiration date. The more I reflect, the more I believe it might be true.
Acceptance and a New Perspective
In the end, I’ve learned I must forgive myself. I did what I believed was right with what I knew at the time. There is no going back. Facing my mother’s death forced me to confront my own mortality and ask myself:
- Am I living the life I truly want?
- Am I using my time meaningfully?
- Am I holding back, thinking I have plenty of time?
Life is unpredictable. The time is now. Tomorrow is not promised. So what’s next for me?
Holding Her Memory, Not the Pain
I will always miss my mother. The longing doesn’t disappear; it softens. No matter how old we are, a part of us will always need our mother’s love. I miss her words of encouragement, her voice on our weekly calls, and the comfort only she could give.
Months later, I accept that she is gone, and healing has begun. Memories bring more smiles than tears, and joy visits more frequently. It is now my responsibility to keep her memory alive. I hope wherever she is, her suffering has ended. She deserves peace, far more than she had during her final years.
Losing someone who has loved you your whole life is incredibly hard. My mother missed my father every day for 15 years. I now feel the same longing she must have felt. I am grateful for the time I had with her, and I find comfort in believing she is reunited with him, free from pain.
A Dedication
I dedicate this post to you, Mom
a remarkable woman who shaped who I am
and whose love I will carry for the rest of my life.
When I lost you, I lost not only my mother
but also a piece of my childhood.
It was one of the most painful days of my life.
But I know I will be okay. Healing is a journey that transforms us,
and I will honor you by living my life differently, fully, intentionally, and with love.