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Browsing Tag: grieving
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…
*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…
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…
