When the Pain of Loss is Too Much, Coping After a Deceased Parent, Guest Writer: Danielle Roose

I was 13 years old when my mother became sick and it was only a three month long battle of ovarian cancer that took her life. I saw the sunken skin, rotting teeth, the coma, etc. I was 13 and I saw it all. As a 13 year old, I still needed her...heck, I'm 23 and I still need her. I still want her and I have had to learn how to keep living life when she lost her life. I spent most of my teenage years engulfed in getting high off of cough syrup, drinking alcohol, and going through in patient mental institutions just to TRY not to feel the motherless life that I was now being asked to live...by who...God? Because I sure didn't ask for it. How could he do this to my family? How could God do this to a 13, 15, and 20 year old with an alcoholic father? DOESN'T HE KNOW WHAT THIS WOULD DO TO US? He did. 

 At first it tore us apart. I grieved aggressively through substance abuse and mental implications. While my older sister grieved a little quieter and my father drank himself to jail, anger fits, and manipulation time and time again. But God knew. 

 Fast forward seven years and my sisters are my best friends in this life. At this time, I have become an adult who identifies with substance abuse issues BUT does not act on this as much as fantasizes how to not feel the pain of never having my mother to go to. I decided I had had enough and went away to bible college, thinking it would fix me. But it didn't fix me, it revived me. God knew. God in his grace, took me on this journey of self discovery while I was there, not in substance abuse or motherlessness but in Him. I always identified and measured my life by the amount of tragedy and grief I had gone through. I have always been one to feel deeply, whether in grief or excitement and while I have always loved music/played instruments, I never thought that God would use me in this. I began to have these intimate moments with the Lord through song and prophetic worship. And while I was at bible college I was able to serve on our worship team through leading songs and playing the guitar. What an experience! This became my safe haven. The intimacy that music can give you is how the Lord revealed himself to me in a season of self-discovery. BUT...

 Fast forward two and a half years of specifically working on my relationship with God and myself... I went on a bit of a bender of my old ways when I went home for a weekend. This resulted in finding out I was pregnant in the middle of worship internship with my college. Summer of 2019, my life was turned c o m p l e t e l y upside down as I welcomed Jameson Lee into the world. People have sex all the time and never get pregnant, but I did after this one time. So much backlash from the Christian community, so much judgement towards myself, but also so much support from the people that God had put in my life through leaders and friends made at college.  And yet again, I have to weather this without my mother who I KNOW would have given nothing but gracious support. Becoming a mother without a mother is always something I worried about after her passing and now that I am here, I am seeing the Lord in a way that I know I wouldn't see if she were here...because God knew. My son is the epitome of J O Y; something I always struggled with finding in my life with constant grieving. 

 Every season felt like yet another thing to figure out without my mom rather than something to enjoy. But God in his grace knew exactly what He was doing. He used my ability to feel so deeply and turned it into leading people into the intimacy of His presence through worship. He took my inability to find joy in life for years and gave me a son who gives people joy with everyone he comes in contact with. He is one now and I pray daily that God uses this natural joy in him for something G R E A T E R. So while I do love my mother and wish she could be here on earth to meet my son, I also know that I would not be where I am without her passing. It's humbling, really. To come to terms with her passing. It has lead me to see greater things, to grow up, and to be a mother that I am proud of being even though I don't have her to turn to. The Lord, so graciously, took the waves of my life that the enemy could have used to crush me, taking me higher. So that His glory could be seen in my life and experience Him ways that I never could have.

DanielleRoose

My name is Danielle Roose. I was born and raised in Richmond, Virginia. I am a mom to the best little boy, Jameson, and a lover of all things music.

Losing My Mom Made Me Who I am Today, Guest Writer Rashida

I saw a quote on Instagram from a fellow grief blogger that said, “The Grief That Broke Me, Built Me,” and it really, really hit me in my soul. Recently I watched an episode of This Is Us where Randall asked Kevin if he ever wondered what his life would be like if their dad hadn’t died. Kevin answered no....which I honestly don’t believe. Randall said he does every single day.  

It has been 14 years since my mom passed away. I miss her every single day, but I can’t say I wonder what my life would be like with her still alive just as much. 

You see, I’d accepted that the death of my mom caused my life to go in a completely different direction long ago. It happened almost instantly. One direction change that always stands out to me is where I went to college. Before my mom passed away, I was set on going to Missouri State once known as Southwest Missouri State). My aunt went there and from the moment I set foot on campus for her graduation I told my mom that’s where I was going. Where did I actually go? The University of Missouri to pursue journalism because it was closer to home in case anyone else decided to die on me. That one choice changed the course of my life yet again.

Fast forward to now I’d be lying if I said I wish my life were any different. I once said I’d love it if my mom were here, in this exact life that I have. But I know that wouldn’t be true. I may not have gone to Mizzou, met Ben, had Dom or have P on the way. When I look into Dom’s blue eyes and kiss that perfect nose that he got from my mom, I’d be hard-pressed to want an alternative life. I am happy. I’d do all of the heartbreak all over again if I knew I’d get to this place. I can’t regret any decision or life event that resulted in Dom. Motherhood is a bit healing like that.  

Losing my mom made me who I am today, and I have done an immense amount of work to love that person. She is strong. She is beautiful. She doesn’t take shit. She stands up for herself and what she believes in. She is gritty. She is scrappy. She can rise above anything. She is unbreakable because she’s been through the worst and she still stands. She is me and I love every piece of her. Even the dark parts. It’s hard to imagine a different me now.  Life is made of many little shifts in direction and I’m not saying I don’t miss my mom. I do! I’d give anything for her to meet her grandbabies. But I think at some point in the grief journey you begin to appreciate the time you had with someone more than you grieve the time you lost with them. I couldn’t tell you when that shift happens because grief is not linear. And though I like the way my life turned out so far, that doesn’t mean one memory of my mom doesn’t sometimes bring me to my knees in tears. 

I’m Rashida. A motherless mom on a mission to build a community that provides support to moms like me. Moms who are navigating both grief and motherhood.

www.themotherlessmomblog.com

How to Open Up Yourself to Motherly Support Post Loss, Guest Writer: Laura Duck

After an incredibly brave and awe-inspiring fight with cancer I lost my mom when I was 17, about 9 years ago. Even though her cancer journey was over 5 years, nothing can prepare you for the day your mother takes her last breath. It was a constant rollercoaster of hope and disappointment, accompanied by the dreaded teen years of hormones, hate and confusion. I was difficult to say the least.

After mum died on 23rd October 2011, I really struggled to let people in as I was stuck in this constant thought cycle that no one was my mum and therefore no one could comfort me, advise me or even love me because they weren’t her. I equally developed really unhealthy relationships with mother-like figures, especially the mother of my friend’s. They would naturally want to care for me and I would latch onto the glimmer of hope that they would love me like my mum did and everyone else wasn’t good enough. Both led to even more disappointment as I was ultimately searching for a square to fit my circle shaped hole.

It wasn’t until I started therapy 4 years later that my perspective changed. My therapist carried out an exercise with me that helped me to see that not one person can fill my mum's role but tiny bits of lots of people can help. She started by asking me to think of all the things I missed about my mum, focusing on 3 areas; her head, her arms and her legs. For example:

Her head - I missed her pride, her wisdom, her perspective, her advice and support

Her arms - I missed her hugs, her guidance, her cooking, her comfort and protection

Her legs - I missed her walking with me; whether that be her understanding and being able to walk in my shoes, or physically to go places with.

it could be things I missed physically or emotionally, literally anything I longed for and my therapist wrote them down around her.

I later transferred what was written onto a piece of paper that surrounded a photo of my mum and I.

Later in my sessions I was asked to write a list of my support network. This could be anyone from my dad and best friend to a colleague or a neighbor. Anybody who provided support in any kind of way. Once this list was complete, I was asked to match the list with the things I missed about mum; who could help me and provide me with the things that I was missing. Slowly but surely I realized that although I was right no one can comfort, advise or love me like my mum, there are many people who can comfort, advise and love me anyway and give many of the things I missed. 

I later used this to create flash cards. I wrote out all the things I missed and on the back I wrote out all the names of the people in my support network that I could reach out to. This meant in any moment of panic or frustration, all I needed to do was identify what it was I was longing for and the people I could lean on were there, on the back; all I needed to do was call.

It is easy to isolate yourself in grief, especially when the person you lost left such a gaping hole behind, but it is so important to remember that you are not alone. 

I learned that no one can replace my mum and that is in fact the beauty of it.

My name is Laura, I am 26 years old and I was born and raised in the UK. I love to travel and have spent many of the years following my mum’s death exploring the world and carrying her spirit with me. She keeps me safe and is my own St Christopher.

When They Are No Longer a Phone Call Away

So you use to talk on the phone alot, or a little?

Maybe for a reason, or for no reason at all.

How’s your day?

Guess what?

You’re not going to believe this!

I miss you!

See you soon!

Thank you mom!

Thank you dad!

How do you cook ____?

Can you help me with_____?

Just wanted to say hey.

One of the most common things I hear people grieve after they experience the death of their loved one, is not being able to call them. It’s the weirdest feeling.

If you haven’t experienced this, imagine a street you drive everyday.  Now imagine that it’s gone. Their texts and calls, your texts and calls to them are programmed not only in your phone but in your mind.

When I got a cell phone at 17, shortly after I moved out, my mom became consistent at “good morning” texts. It made me feel connected and made me feel like she was never out of reach. It was simple, yet anchoring. Her texts became a routine part of my day, like brushing my teeth.

I can’t tell you the amount of times during my first year after her death, that I went to grab the phone to tell her something or to see how she was feeling. Sometimes it took my breath away, sometimes it was embarrassing, and sometimes I just wanted to chuck the phone (let’s be honest).

The feeling of forever not being able to communicate with her was incomprehensible to my body and mind.

When something new, good, or hard happens in our life we want to connect and share that moment or information with someone. Usually someone we trust and feel seen by. I believe that’s the way we’re created, it’s in all of us. You don’t have to experience the death of someone to know that. It could happen in a break up or a divorce.

So, this isn’t an article on how to identify triggers that make you want to pick up your phone and connect with your loved one who for a split second, still felt like they were alive. Why is it not that kind of article? Because it is your road to process, and because 99% of the time the triggers are a surprise. I’m sorry.

The moments I just wanted to get my mom’s advice on something or ask her how she made her popular bread, I’d want to yell at the top of my lungs.

You’re not alone if you’ve called your loved one’s cell phone to hear their voicemail.

You’re not alone if you haven’t deleted their phone number out of your cell.

Mostly, just please know that you’re not alone.

It’s not just in your head, in your heart, or a matter of self control or strength to remember that they’re gone and that you can’t call them. It is so much more.

It is rewiring months, years or however long you had with them of habits, patterns and memories. Our brain has a lot of work to do after we experience the death of a loved one as what we once knew as normal disappears.

The next time you reach to grab your phone out of second nature to call your loved one, will you close your eyes, take a breathe, and say out loud what you were going to say to them?

Afterwards, either share the moment with a trusted friend, journal it, or tell me here on the Healing , Hope & Wholeness website. They may not be on the other end of the phone, but we are.  

Grieving the Death of Someone You Never Knew, Guest Writer: Lindsay

When it comes to death and grief, people often say to “think of the good times,” or “cherish the memories.” But what if you didn’t get the chance to know your loved one? What do you do when there aren’t any good times or memories to help you cope with your loss? How do you grieve a relationship you never got to have?

I’ve had to answer these questions myself because my mom was murdered when I was only one year old and unfortunately, I don’t remember her. Growing up without my mother was the hardest experience of my life but I also didn’t know any differently. Yet when I became an adult, I realized how much I missed her and what little right I’d thought I’d had to grieve compared to everyone else. Just because I wasn’t able to develop a relationship with her doesn’t mean my pain should hurt any less but that’s what I used to believe.

Given the tragic and traumatic circumstances of my mom’s death, it’s only natural I’d feel overwhelming anger and sadness. But I ignored and minimized my pain because I couldn’t understand let alone explain the intense yearning I felt for someone I never knew in the first place. Grief is tricky like that. There’s also this widely held belief that what you don’t know or can’t remember won’t affect you so I was afraid others would think I was too much to handle, too sensitive, or seeking attention if I brought it up. The times it did come up were just as challenging though because people would usually shut down or exploit the conversation like it was a soap opera.

For a long time, I acted like nothing was wrong when the truth is, it’s the strangest feeling to mourn someone you never shared your life with. It’s an infinite, massive hole of longing except you don’t even know what you’re pining for. Like wanting to hug or talk to them just one more time yet you can’t imagine what that would’ve been like in the first place. There are endless questions about who they were, what they were like, and what made them tick. At the same time, you’re never satisfied with any details you do get because frankly, you want the chance to know who they were without a third party filling in all the blanks.

In a lot of ways, I felt like an outsider too. Even though I carry the same weight as anyone else who’s lost someone they love, I don’t have the reference of before and after she died. I can’t remember struggling through those year of firsts without her. I can’t relate to the pain of what it’s like to pick up the phone from habit to call her after she’s gone. On the other hand, I know her death shattered me to my core and I’ll never know what life without grief looks like. There are so many things that I compared my unique experience too and it only made me feel more confused and alone.

As I got older, the more I struggled so I had to find ways to create meaning and connection with my mom’s memory to help me cope. I’d spent so much time justifying my pain that I began with giving myself permission to grieve on my own terms instead of believing what society said it should look like. Bereavement is different for all of us and it’s okay if you’re “still” grieving. Your experience is valid and your pain matters no matter how long it’s been.

I also started leaning in to the pain instead of trying to fix it or will it away. We’ve been taught to “do” something with grief but instead it’s about acknowledgement and letting yourself feel whatever comes without shaming yourself out of it. More and more, I’m learning that grief just needs to be seen and brought into the light but that can’t happen when you’re ignoring or judging your feelings. Healing can’t be forced by keeping your grief small.

Another thing that helped was engaging in positive outlets that remind me of my mom, like dragonflies {her spirit symbol}, roosters {she collected them}, and running {she ran races}. I even had my middle name Joy tattooed on my wrist in her handwriting. When I was little, I used to sift through her jewelry box for hours just to feel close to her and that inspired me to make remembrance keepsakes to help you honor your lost loved ones too. Now I get to help others who are suffering while also keeping her memory alive and it’s comforted me more than I could’ve hoped.

There are many meaningful ways to cope but if you don’t know where to start, I created some free resources like journal prompts, music playlists, and self-care reminders to help you connect with your loved one and manage the roller coaster that is life after death.

Very few people talk about bereavement, let alone all the complications that arise from sudden or tragic loss. Grief is lonely enough without thinking you’re not allowed to feel the way you do but as I’ve shared my story more, I realized how many others can relate and that I’m really not alone. Neither are you. 💛

Navigating Life as a New Mom Without My Mom

I lost my mom in October 2010 to Ovarian Cancer and at the time I knew life without her was going to be hard but nothing could have prepared me for the journey it has been. Of course I found my smile back and laughing started to get easier but there isn’t a day that I don’t feel a little lost without her reassuring smile, words and presence.

And this is truly evident now that I have children of my own. I consider myself a new mom. My son is three, my daughter is two and we will welcome Baby #3 in February. Life is busy and I find myself wondering what life would look like if she were here. Would the anxiety that I experience still occur? Would I second guess my decisions or choose a different path because she’d have advice? I’m sure some of that would occur but I’ve tried to cope with all of that by emulating the incredible mother she was and continues to be.

During my grief and especially during my pregnancy I challenged myself to carry on my mom’s spirit. For 90% of the people at my mom’s visitation and funeral, their next day was normal. For a child or spouse, it’s different. And becoming a mom, without the one person whose experiences I value most, was very hard. I struggled with allowing good or fun to happen because I hated that she was missing out. That self-destruction wasn’t something I wanted to bring children around. And while it never got severe it wasn’t healthy and it wasn’t how my mom wanted to see me.

Every week I try to incorporate something that reminds me of her and allows me to share her with them. For Hayden-Keith’s baptism I wrote a children’s book of my mom’s life, from her childhood to death. It has definitely helped me talk about her to my kids in a way that they can understand and visualize. Hayden-Keith recognizes the names of his Grandpa and aunts throughout the story and thinks it’s pretty neat he knows the characters. We also try to visit a park and look for bald eagles, go on a family walk and talk about Angel Grandma Kristi or get ice cream and I’ll find a way to bring her up.

This has helped me cope with the idea that she isn’t forgotten. Any time someone so present in your life passes the loss is different for everyone but it truly can throw off everything. Every day is hard and there will always be new things that bring up the anxiety I experience of her early and unexpected death but the way my heart feels when Hayden-Keith and Leah-Kristi get excited to see a Bald Eagle (my mom’s favorite bird) or how proud they are when we bake one of her recipes just makes those hard days a little brighter.

If you’re already in your grief I recommend finding ways to incorporate your loved one into your every day or every other day. Find comfort in knowing that the things they loved to do can be done by you, in their memory and honor. You can find Jessica on her blog: www.simplylovingyou.comInstagram: @jessicalynnhull

Dear Mom by Becca & Ceci

 As Rebecca and I sat in my dorm room floor in 2011 we decided to lay it all out there. The unanswered questions, fears, and thoughts we had for our moms. The ones we didn't get to ask. While the questions seemed endless, and so easily came to mind like a conversation we've been longing to have, a letter started to form...Dear Mom. We both knew that there would be certain events that would come up in our lives we would desperately want our moms for. They are things that we pictured with our mom by our side. It physically felt good to say the questions I had for my mom, out loud. Even though they remained unanswered, I've seen them be fulfilled in different ways.

In my book Healing, Hope & Wholeness I share Rebecca and I's friendship history and how our paths crossed when I was 17. Our friendship was sparked by a guitar and having someone to harmonize with and has grown into more like soul sisters.

Listen to our song Dear Mom, here.

Finding Your Why, Guest Writer: Rebecca Ash

My journey started in 1996. I was 8 years old when my mother got cancer. I was 13 when she passed away. I am 27 now and healing is still a process. I am no longer dealing with the grief of the loss or the pain that I once felt. I am at a point now where I have accepted that my life is what it is because of my journey through the pain. I chose to have the courage to step into my grief and feel its weight and learn to let go. I have accepted now that if I never felt the sting of loss I would never have been able to give help to those going through the same process.

In many ways meeting Ceci was the true beginning of my process to finding hope. Even though it was six years after my mom passed away when we met, I was now an adult and could more fully grasp the weight of what I went through as a child. Being there with Ceci, when her mom passed away, was a whole new side of the journey. Seeing her emotion and feeling her sadness in those moments made me truly relive the places my heart was at when I was young.

Part of the healing came from revisiting those emotions in myself but also from being able to give comfort to someone else gave me a greater sense of purpose for what I had gone through. I finally felt like there was meaning to my pain. Out of the loss we both felt was birthed a beautiful friendship that I truly believe has changed both of us.

I guess I have always been the kind of person that wants to know “why” for everything. In this situation the answer was Ceci and the other women I have met that have gone through the loss of their mother. They needed me and because I had walked that path before, I now could walk with them. This was my hope. This was what gave me hope for the future. Knowing that somewhere again I will meet a young woman feeling the despair of loss and the anguish of losing a loved one, and I will be able to take their hand and tell them I understand. Each time I do, a part of me heals just a little more.

When Ceci asked me to write this blog I had a hard time because although I knew what healing meant, and what hope feels like, I truly cannot say that I know what wholeness means. I know that no matter how many wonderful people come into my life there will always be a missing piece. A missing person. I hope that someday I grasp the truth of what wholeness means to me but all I can do for now is remember my mom’s beauty in the moments that I long for her. Remember the things she taught me and the legacy she left. This is the journey, and in it there is so much beauty. 

*You can reach Rebecca via Insta: @Beckisha

Finding Meaning in the Time You Had, Guest Writer: Kara Krittenbrink

"To have been loved deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever." - JK Rowling

How do you describe the most important person in your life? I don’t even know where to begin on describing my mother. I could write a novel explaining the incredible life she lived and how important she was to the people in it. A devoted mother of two who never missed a baseball game….a loving wife to her high school sweetheart, an aunt, a sister, a daughter, a friend… She was the person you went to for advice and the listening ear when you needed it. Most importantly she was my best friend.

In 2007, my mother was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer. I can still remember that day quite vividly. I was in class at OU and got a phone call from her. My professor had stepped out for a moment so I answered the call. She said that she was at my house in Norman with my dad and brother. Immediately I knew something was wrong and I rushed to my house to see her. Anyone that has gotten news like this knows that saying you are shocked doesn’t quite do it justice, I was shaken to my core.How could this active and healthy woman have a disease that was slowly breaking down her body? At 47, she had so much life left to live, this couldn't be happening to her! Although my parents didn't share it with me, her diagnosis was pretty bleak from the beginning. She fought as hard as anyone could and all the time stayed the incredible mother to my brother and I. Even when she lost her hair and felt weak she still came to my brother’s sporting events and my sorority functions. Only her last 6 months did I truly see her as someone that was sick. Soon after her 50th birthday, my mom lost her (nearly) three year battle.

That was over 5 years ago and each day I deal with grief. When I was first asked by Ceci to write a post for her blog I didn't believe I was qualified. Who am I to write anything about healing? Because many days I still feel broken. I miss my mom every minute of every day and sometimes that feeling is overwhelming. But that's when I realized, who better than someone that does feel broken to write about grief and coping with it.

Grief is a day by day process. It is something that you don't get over but you learn to cope with. One of the key ingredients is finding hope! Sometimes that can feel like quite the challenge but you have to know that it is there. One of the most important things that someone ever said to me while I was grieving is that whatever you are feeling right now is valid. Grief can bring anger, sadness, confusion and 100 other feelings. Sometimes you live with one feeling for awhile and other times you can go back and forth thru them all very quickly. Just knowing that what I feel is ok and normal helped tremendously. There are many ways to grieve and everyone does it differently. Also know that it is ok to have happy days. In the beginning it takes awhile for them to come, but when they do you can’t feel guilty. Being happy or joyful doesn’t mean you miss that person any less or didn’t love them enough. The happy days are a gift!My mom and I had a special relationship. In the 22 years I had her on Earth with me, we were always close. I told her everything and looked to her for advice all the time. I looked to her help with school, friends, faith and many other things. She was my favorite shopping partner and I can blame my lipstick obsession on her too! While I was in college, it was pretty common for us to talk 2 or 3 times a day. Having this relationship taken from me was devastating, I not only lost my mother but my mentor too. Now I’m able to take all the hopes and dreams she had for me and in return, they give me hope. I know she was excited for all the possibilities in my life and what I could do with it. In the last year, I’ve realized I can take this and use it to push me thru the dark times. I remember that I have this life that I want to live and fulfill in the way my mom would want. I still want to make her proud. I can’t let her death get me off track from all the great things that we talked about... all the wonderful possibilities.

I also know that I can still take her with me during every step of my life. I take the wisdom, love and advice she gave me. The love she had for me gives me confidence when I pursue new things and make changes in my life. The wisdom she bestowed on me helps me in life decisions. When I’m having a hard time with something, many times I will think about how she would have handled it.

Loss is one of the greatest challenges in my life. Finding hope thru everything my mom gave me while she was here gets me thru the dark days. 

-My name is Kara Krittenbrink and I'm excited to be guest blogging today! I grew up in Okarche, OK and currently live in Edmond, OK. I work in Oil & Gas. I have a style blog at www.everydayk.com where you can find me, and on Instagram EverydayK_

Grief is a Footnote, Hope is not, Guest Writer: Amanda Cox

Hey friends, my name is Amanda and I’m grateful to get to share a season of my story with you today. Back in 2009 I met Ceci while going through a year long discipleship program in Southern Cali. Afterward, I moved back to Virginia, where I have stayed ever since. Flip through a few years and I now find myself married to my incredible husband, Peter, and working as a designer and office manager for a local business. I blog about my current newlywed days over at www.medium.com/amandajadecox and would love to connect with you!

There is a line from one my favorite movies, “Liberal Arts”, that I keep coming back to. It comes during the scene where Jesse Fisher leans over a college student’s hospital bed after his failed suicide attempt. With compassion and humility Jesse says, “Listen to me man. This right now, all of this stuff you are feeling…this is a footnote.”

It’s been five years since I’ve seen my mother’s freckled smile in front of me. I let Jesse Fisher’s words sing to me softly as I remember the chaos of the summer of 2010.

Whenever one experiences death, it always feels like a whirlwind. Whether one has weeks, months or even years to prepare for a loved one’s departure, it seldom soothes the way we’re told it would. It is nice to say a final “good-bye” but the sting is still the same as if they were ripped from you at no warning.

The summer of 2010, a doctor discovered a tumor the size of a small watermelon inside of my mother. What was supposed to be a routine hysterectomy turned into a nightmare diagnosis within a few hours. I was away at camp when it happened, but was encouraged to stay and finish my time there. I can imagine my mother had something to do with that, she always wanted me to live the best life possible. She knew how excited I was about camp that summer. So there I remained a few more weeks and then returned home.

A woman met me at the front porch when I pulled up to my childhood home on Stanberry Drive. She had a pale face with her bones outlining sunken flesh. She was my mother, but sickness had morphed her body into something fiercely sad. I hugged her. I was home.

Dead end after dead end is what medical treatments looked like. By the time they had found the cancer, it had already spread to too many places. It was unredeemable by medical standards. Yet we prayed and chose to believe that maybe, just maybe, we would experience a miracle.Nothing can truly prepare you for your parent’s death, or any death for that matter. I don’t say this to scare you, but to let you know that whenever it comes, it doesn’t have to make sense and you don’t have to be ok with it. I spent June, July and August with my mother and then as the summer breeze left, so did she. Her southern hospitality, immense appreciation for dessert after dinner and warm mama hugs went with her. Nothing felt secure or in control for a long time after her death. Our family grew apart and peace seemed hard to find. But that changed, even if ever so slowly, over time.It hurts less today than it did five years ago. Sometimes her memory cripples me and I have to let silent tears sing me to sleep. Sometimes a hug from my amazing mother in law reminds me that I can’t hug my first mother on this side of heaven again. Sometimes I sing loud and off-key to a country song in a tribute to my mother and just laugh at myself. Sometimes I am sad, but most times I am happy at the thought of her.

Even though I will never get to place my future curly haired children into her arms for her to kiss and snuggle, I know her legacy lives on. And it is a strong one.

If there is anything I really want to get across to you today friend, whether you have experienced death or not, is this: It will not always feel this way and there is hope.

The truth is, we’ve all experienced levels of loss in our lives. It may not be death, but it still stings. So from Jesse Fisher to Amanda Cox to you staring at this screen, I hope you can carry this with you and let it bring you hope for all the dark days you have had, and for when they come again, unexpected as they do:

“All of this stuff you are feeling…this is a footnote.”

Dear Mom Journal

 One of my favorite tools that someone shared with me after I lost my mom was the idea of having a “Mom Journal.”

I loved it (still do) and highly recommend it!

So what’s a mom journal? For me this journal was/is a safe, judge free, private place where I could write letters to her. It was so good for getting my expectations of the future out in the open as big events or accomplishments would approach. One of the things you are grieving when you loose someone is the future. It sounds kind of weird, but all of a sudden everything that you imagined for your life (even though nothing is guaranteed) isn’t possible anymore. It’s gut wrenching.

I’m not talking huge plans, like you have it all figured out and this massive perfect blueprint is demolished. I’m talking college graduation is coming up and naturally you pictured both parents being there, but they aren’t. I’m talking about the day you find out your pregnant and you want to call both of your parents. I’m talking about the moment when the love of your life gets down on one knee and asks you to spend forever together. Or simply when a song comes on the radio randomly and it makes you think of them.

My Dear Mom journal helped me be real with myself regarding how I was feeling and helped bring down the anxiety levels for whatever the occasion may have been. This journal isn’t intended to be weird or spooky, it’s intended to lighten the load and keep sweet memories. Because as years go by you may find that remembering small things like their favorite candy bar, favorite park, or the sound of their laugh, becomes a bit more challenging.Please feel free to use this idea and make it your own!Here are some things I included in mine:

• Future expectations-the things you pictured him/her being there for

  • Write what you pictured it being like originally

• His/her favorite things

  • To eat

  • To do

  • Places

  • Activities

• Favorite memories of you and him/her

• Letters giving them updates on life

*This is parent loss focused but it can definitely be adapted for different relationships, for your own healing, hope, and wholeness journey.