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Browsing Tag: grief
My mom hasn’t been on the earth plane since 2016, but that doesn’t mean that the words people say to me still don’t sting. I’ve heard these 4 phrases more times than I can count. And although they may come from a place of love, they sure aren’t as comforting as one would think. Here’s why. “I’m sorry for your loss” This phrase is one of my biggest pet peeves. No matter who/what was lost, saying “I’m sorry for your loss” puts it back on the person grieving. I feel…
Over the last year, I have been inundated with emails, blog comments, instagram DMs, facebook messages, etc, from women who have lost their moms, moms who have lost their moms, dads who have lost their wives, etc. I have woken up to these messages. I’ve gone to sleep to these messages. I even got one on my birthday. If you’re here, then there’s a good chance you found me from an article I wrote on Motherly. Or, perhaps, you found me googling grieving your mother. Or, maybe you found me for my motherhood and…
Raising a daughter without your mom… An essay about raising a daughter without your mom. I roamed the streets of Dublin in a haze that shifted from confused to mad to heartbroken with every step. When I saw a small bookstore with signs in the window advertising a going-out-of-business sale, everything only 5 euros, I went inside, leaving my emotions on the street. They didn’t belong in such a sacred space. I found a book smeared in shades of lavender, a color my mom painted our downstairs bathroom. It was called “Love’s Last Gift…
Grief is the devil. He’s been around a lot lately, more so than I care to let on. In the shower. On the closet floor when I’m organizing my socks. On the drive to work. In bed late at night. When I spill something. When my son gives me an attitude. When my daughter won’t stop crying. When a thought pops into my head of something I need to ask or tell my mother. Grief is all consuming in the darkness. Grief is a never ending ladder in the light, one I keep climbing…
Grieving the loss of my mom It’s been a little over two months since I lost my mom to cancer. Dealing with my mom dying has been the hardest task I’ve ever faced. When I say the words “I lost my mom” out loud, they don’t seem right, because a lost sock can be found again. This isn’t just a missing sock. This is a huge hole in my gut, which will never, ever go away. Losing a parent means you’ve joined a club with people who understand that just walking out the front…
We had prepared for this day, as a family. We knew what was coming. We knew what her wishes were for after. Because, there would be an after – a time when her wishes were all that was left. I held steadfast to the idea that she would outlast the numbers. When she was first diagnosed with stage 3A ovarian cancer, I remember sitting in the cream-colored chair in our living room, my knees pressing into my chest. She was sitting on the couch across the room from me with my dad. “Fifty-five percent,” I said. “If you do…
Some years are better than others. That’s life, right? Well, 2016 was one of the worst of my life. I can say this in full confidence now that there’s a day and a half left of it. 2016, you’re a damn mutha fucker if I ever saw one, the biggest of bitches. Thinking about 2016 gives me similar feelings of falling into quicksand (which still seems like it should be a much bigger issue in life since all the television I watched as a child had someone dying in quicksand) or peeling the stringy…
*Please note this post may contain affiliate links from which I make a small compensation. If you purchase anything from these links, I truly appreciate you supporting this blog! Things do get easier. At least, I tell myself this constantly. Today. Today is EASIER! I shout at myself. Sometimes it sticks. Other times, I squish my eyes close and try to disappear. I have more happy days than sad days now. I really do. But the sad days are heavy. The moments are bold. They outlast my memory of the good sometimes. I can’t help it. I can…
I sit down on the chair at the island, dropping my backpack to the floor beside me. My mom has a newspaper in her hand and we chat about how my day was. She looks down at the paper and then back up at me, her bangs falling into her eyes. “Do you remember JJ?” she asks me. “Of course I do,” I tell her, wondering why she’d ask me a question like that. He was my first real love. He was the first boy I ever said those terrifying words to. I love you. She slides the newspaper…
If I’m being honest, I would tell you that the words “I’m sorry for your loss” aren’t helpful. I would tell you that they hurt more. I would tell you that I want to punch you when you say them to me. If I’m being honest, I would talk about how hard it is when I hear my son talk about his Mom-Mom and how much he misses her, how he tells me that “I wish Mom-Mom didn’t have to die” over and over. I would tell you that he’s cried twice…
