Missing Mom

My mom died three years ago today. I woke up this morning feeling tired, but honestly, I think that is grief wrapped around my heart.

It has been three years of grief, three years of missing, three years of wondering, and three years of changes. It feels like yesterday I lost the sweet woman who gave me life. The sweet woman who encouraged me and cheered for me in all aspects of life. The death of my mom changed me and I long for the comfort, the calm, the encouragement, and the love she gave me.

There are no timelines when it comes to grief. I don’t want to be rushed through it and be told “it will be okay,” or “time heals,” because honestly it won’t. Time only reminds us of how fleeting life can be. The things I have learned in three years, while also experiencing more loss is that grief is a journey.

It is human nature to feel deep grief for someone who mattered so much. It does not matter if it has been one year, two, twelve or twenty, we grieve in different ways and we cope in different ways. I believe I will carry the loss of my mother with me all of my days–and I am okay with that.

I want to remember how my mom lived. I want to remember the road trips. The laughter that bent her double and made us all laugh even more. I want to remember her asking to have a bite off of someone’s plate when she ordered a meal. I want to remember the copious amounts of hairspray she would use on my hair when I was younger, the perms she gave in what we called her “kitchen salon.”

I let my mind wonder about what she would think now, seeing the kids grow and change. I’d like to think that she would beg to take a trip to see Kirsten and Bruce, she’d be eating Subway every shift Caden worked, and she would be at every soccer, baseball, or basketball game that Oliver played in. I let my mind wonder about what she’d say about so much–jobs, house, cars, trips, the list could go on.

I can remember exactly what I was doing three years ago when my dad called. I just picked up breakfast and was talking to a friend on the phone. I yelled for Kirsten in the house, we drove to my parent’s house, and I don’t even remember how fast I was going, but I knew we needed to get there. We listened to music, I think The Judds, and tears streamed down my face.

Grief isn’t black and white. It’s not linear. It’s not predictable, and it doesn’t always make sense. Grief is whatever you need it to be. Grief will change from one minute to the next. So, if you are grieving for someone you love and care about, give yourself permission to grieve in whatever way feels right for you, AND for as long as you need.

There is no good time to say goodbye to a loved one or to let go of the people who mean so much to us. People who mattered, people who made a difference in your life and still do. The death of a loved one will leave a void that cannot ever be completely filled–the missing, I just don’t think it ever ends.

Grief can be exhausting and that is why self-care is so important. Sometimes self care gets pushed to the back burner in this process and even basic things like staying hydrated, moving your body, eating, taking a walk, or even sleeping seem like the most difficult task or thing to accomplish in a day.

Grief impacts people emotionally, physically, and cognitively. It takes a toll on someone’s mind, body, and heart–trust me, I know. Small things can make a huge difference. I tend to think of things my mom liked: getting her nails done, getting a sweet treat or a bite to eat, having a nice purse, and comfy shoes.

So I hope (and I know) somehow my mom can see me now–seeing the life that has come after a huge loss. I hope she can see her grandkids that she loved so dearly. I hope she’s proud of the woman I have become.

Love you much mom, and miss you terribly every single day.