For those unaware, I lost my mom on January 9th. To say that the journey since that day has been messy would be a bit of an understatement. I wish this inevitability was something you could prepare for, but it isn’t. The pain, the ache of loss, haunts my days. It grasps me with ice-cold arms at completely random, inconvenient, and unexpected times. I am a completely different person than I was at the beginning of 2024. I can’t quite say I’ve lost my spark or my fervor for life and the things I love, but everything is different now. I could ramble on about the changes I’ve experienced, about the fact that a morning shave, the same activity I was doing when I got the call from my dad, can evoke fear and distress in me. But I’d like to share some simple truths about grief, and what the grieving process has been like for me.
Everyone Experiences Grief in Drastically Different Ways
Admittedly, I’m not a crier. It’s an activity that I prefer to avoid at any cost. That isn’t to say that when my mom died, I didn’t cry uncontrollably – because I absolutely did. There are some wounds so painful that you cannot shut them out, no matter how much you might try. I spent the days leading up to the funeral with a few cries. I made it through the eulogy I delivered for her without breaking down, but the weight eventually caught up to me. However, since then, I have consistently asked myself, “Why aren’t you a weeping, sobbing mess? Why aren’t you feeling this intense agony? Are you really so careless?” I am admittedly hypercritical of myself… to a fault. I spent so much of my time worrying about whether I was grieving the way I was “supposed to” and if the fact that I wasn’t in a constant state of despair made me a worse person.
Here’s the thing—we all grieve differently. I am not a crier, and it’s okay if you can’t cry. The way you grieve does not make you a worse person nor does it dishonor the loved one you’ve lost. Give yourself some grace and grieve in whatever way feels right—whether that’s diving into a hobby, a good book, starting a non-profit in their honor, or just doing something that you and they enjoyed. It’s also totally okay to sob your eyes out while listening to “Yesterday” by the Beatles.
They Are Gone, But Their Impact Stays With You
This one hurts to write. There are still times when I’ll think to myself, “I gotta text or call mom about this!” There are times where I catch myself talking about my mom as if she isn’t gone, and then I remember and feel that reflexive tightness in my chest as I wrestle with that pain again. Despite that, my mom left some very distinct marks in my life, aside from the many good memories we shared. She instilled in me a love of “Seinfeld,” the narrator of the show “Forensic Files,” Olive Garden breadsticks, the stories of people, and the stories of music, and most importantly, she left me with an unshakeable desire to leave this world a better place than when I entered. These are the things she left for me, and I will always remember and cherish them.
Think about your lost loved one. How did they impact your life? How did they change you? What about them inspired you? I believe these questions and the answers they bring can bring a deep sense of peace—at least they did for me.
It Does Not Get Easier, It Becomes Different
In the wake of my mom’s death, my partner, Grace, and I had some serious conversations about what life meant to us and what we wanted to do with it, about taking care of ourselves, and many, many other things. But something that frequently came up is this: not having a mom sucks. It has never felt easier; I’ve never stopped missing her; I’ve never once thought, “It’s okay if I just move on and forget about her.” I could never do that. However, everything is different now—losing a loved one, especially your mother, changes you in a lot of ways.
I told Grace during one of our many late-night chats that the person who walked into the ER’s quiet room died that instant and went to join my mom. It’s the day I say that I really grew up and became a man. Death changes us all in different ways. I remember distinctly sitting on my couch one afternoon, looking around at everything in my apartment and asking myself, “Does any of this fucking matter? I mean, seriously, does any of this shit make me happy?” I watched as the inner workings of my brain changed. Suddenly, I was no longer worried about the immediate future—about what I was going to do this weekend or what my next purchase was going to be. My thoughts shifted from that to how I can experience the present moment more intentionally, and how I can be more intentional about the future. And even then, as time went on, I found myself beginning to question every aspect of my life—that’s how I knew that the monumental change in my life had taken hold.
It’s only moving forward
Grief changes you; it shifts your goals; it changes you at your very core. The person you were before that grief cannot exist anymore. You can never be that person again. You can only be who you are now and who you want to be in the future—the only path is forward, continue to push yourself forward, as hard as it may be.
Hold on to those you love. Cherish your time with them, live in the moment.
A Poem
I hear the birdsong,
like an echo of your leaving
The seasons change
without warning
an unwelcome goodbye.
It’s as if I can hear
your voice, your footsteps
beside me…
like an echo of your leaving.
The spring breeze ruffles
dead autumn leaves, as I
yearn to fill the void
but all that remains is
the echo of your leaving.
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