Unapologetically Grieving

No one loves you like a mother. And losing that kind of love doesn’t just hurt – it changes everything. At nearly 50 years old, I’ve never felt more child-like than I did when I lost my mom. And still do. It’s like being separated from her as a child at the mall and that panic you feel when you can’t find her – permanently. It’s being homesick for her forever. When I lost my mom, I lost a huge part of myself. I lost my future with her and all of the beautiful memories we should still have together. But I lost so much comfort in my childhood memories too. She was the first person to hear my heartbeat, to feel me move, to LOVE me. There’s just something so unexplainably painful about losing that connection. Some days I still reach for her without thinking, like she is just somewhere out of reach. Other days it lands all over again that she’s not here, and there is nothing I can do with that except carry it. And it’s so heavy. I’ve come to understand grief as something that lives in my body now – and it will for the rest of my life. I’ve also come to understand that there are a lot of people in my life that do not know what to do with that. Some people think I should be “over it”. Some people are just simply uncomfortable with my grief. My grief is reshaping relationships. Since losing my mother, I’ve learned I won’t apologize or make myself smaller just because my grief makes someone else uncomfortable. What I carry is real, and it doesn’t need permission to exist. There are moments when I can feel the shift in a room when I say her name and I used to think I had to soften myself in those moments – make it easier, lighter, more acceptable. But grief doesn’t work that way. It doesn’t become less true just because it is hard to witness. I am learning to let it be what it is, even when it is heavy, even when it doesn’t fit neatly into conversation, even when it makes other people unsure of what to say next. I will never stop talking about my beautiful mother, because love like hers does not disappear simply because she is no longer here. Speaking her name keeps her close to me. It keeps her laughter, her nurturing spirit, and the ways she shaped my life alive in a world that so often expects grief to become quiet over time. I refuse to treat her memory like something I should keep hidden to make others comfortable. She mattered. She still matters. And I will carry her with me openly, unapologetically, for the rest of my life. And so that brings me to this blog. I hope my stories, reflections, and honest testimonies about grief help you feel less alone in your own. More than anything, I hope this space gives you permission to grieve openly – to speak your love, your anger, your sadness, and your longing without shame or apology.