On July 8, my sweet mother lost her battle with ovarian cancer, and my life will never be the same again.
I’d been vague about it here to respect her wishes of not wanting people to know she was sick again after a wonderful remission last summer, and I don’t know when she stopped reading here, but all I’ve ever wanted to do in life is make my mom proud, so I wasn’t going to not respect her wishes.
I know that I don’t know what’s ahead as far as grief, but I do hope to get back to some semblance of my normal life soon, and that includes writing here more. For the past few months, it felt so disingenuous to write about some! great! workout! when my mom was dying. I’m sure I’ll write more about all of this soon, but I want to read the words I spoke at her wake last night. (Not the funeral, no way in hell could I have gotten up in front of a full church to deliver these without losing it. Or tripping.)
A college friend of mine joked on a trip with my mom that she was six years old. “Well, I’m 4,†my mom replied. Father John yesterday asked us to describe my mom and one of the first phrases that came to mind was light-hearted. She loved Tinkerbell and Cinderella and watching Elf with me.
She touched everyone she met with that light spirit. That some of you only met her once or twice and are here is a testament to that. She loved when I brought friends home, and treated them as though they were her own children — unless they asked for a recipe for her famous, closely-guarded spaghetti sauce. I know she’s making a big pot of it in heaven right now.
She sang me “You Are My Sunshine†as a baby, and it became “our†song. It is no coincidence that the sun shone brightly every time I visited in these tough past seven months, on the day she left us, and every day since. I know that’s her shining down on us.
She was taken from us too early, but we are beyond blessed that the years we had with her were so full of life, and she lives on within us all.
Some other posts related to her journey:
Her Daily Burn interview about going into remission
When we learned she was in remission (in a sick twist, it was exactly a year later that she died.)
When we learned she had ovarian cancer
The Ovarian Cancer Research Fund Alliance, where we asked for donations in lieu of flowers today — and an ovarian cancer fact sheet
For anyone else who has lost a parent:
1. Would honestly love any tips on how to navigate the rocky road ahead (ice cream pun intentional: Carol loves ice cream.)
2. Don’t worry, she’s making your parent spaghetti sauce up there.Â
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It is such a situation. I am so sorry for your loss. Some days it just hits you out of nowhere and you can't help but cry. Others it helps to feel close to her by making one of her favorite recipes or eating a favorite meal of hers at a restaurant. Drinking her sweet tea. Running a race in her honor last November was a very emotional experience that I would not trade.
I am so sorry to hear this and sending lots of positive and healing thoughts your way. I lost my dad last August after his 3rd bout with cancer. He was in remission, but the treatments and sickness took a toll on his body and he died August 3rd, 2016. We had a tough relationship at the end as his depression from his sickness made him self-centered and sometimes nasty. With that said, I wasn't ready to lose him and to this day, even the smallest things will make me well up and think about him. Milestones are a bitch; it would have been his 64th birthday in June and it felt especially hard. I think about all of the milestones in my life he'll miss and that really breaks my heart.
So advice? I'm for sure no expert yet as it's just been 11 months since losing my dad, but I've been trying to remember the person he raised me to be and work to make him proud. I hold my relationships with others even closer because you just never know when they'll be gone. I give myself the grace to know that it's okay to cry when I'm sad and it's okay to be messed up for, well, ever, because of this. Don't feel like anything you feel is wrong, weird, out of line, or anything. We all grieve in our own ways, but try to live your life remembering your mother, her spirit, and her love.
Sending hugs your way!
I'm so sorry for your loss. My thoughts are with you and your family.
I am so very sorry for your loss. I truly wish I had some words to say here to that would make things feel better, but I hope it provides some comfort knowing that many, many people care about you (including a stranger on the internet :) )
I lost my dad when I was 23, more than 10 years ago. I'm no expert but I know it was the hardest thing I've ever dealt with and that even though I wasn't sure how I would survive, I can tell you that even though I miss him dearly I do have a good and happy life, and I know you will too. This may not be want you want to hear, but I think it takes at least a full year before you really begin to emerge from the deep grief. Every day won't be this intense, but I think you need to get through all of the holidays, birthdays, anniversaries without your loved one before you can really start to heal.
Over the next few weeks things will feel very raw, and it can be hard to shift into "everyday mode" and deal with work, chores, day-to-day stuff, but it can also be nice to have these distractions. Now is the one time in your life that you should be completely selfish -- let people know what you need, ask for help, disappear if you need to. Your job is to take care of number one and not worry about anything else. I will admit that I struggled with feeling a bit isolated in the months afterward. I felt like people expected me to be "back to normal" just a few months later and I just wasn't. I don't think my friends really understood what it was like (losing a parent was really the only thing I was ever first at, lucky me). Hoping your experience will be a little different, but looking back I wish I had spoken up more about needing support. There's no right or wrong way to grieve, it's just a process and you'll know what's right.
And I like the image of my Irish dad enjoying a good red sauce right now -- he may very well be trying to convince your mom to join him for a round of golf (he was forever promising/threatening to buy me a set of clubs so I'd learn) :)
I am so sorry to hear this, all the thoughts and hugs.
I haven't lost a parent, but lost a baby at the start of the year. Everyone grieves differently but these are some things that helped me:
- don't hide from the sadness. Feeling sad helps you move forward in your grieving
- the early days are the darkest. It's ok if you just spend a day (week) on the couch, crying
- when you feel ready, just try to do one thing a day - it might be doing groceries, or buying a coffee
- sometimes you'll do something and expect to feel sad, and won't. Sometimes you'll burst into tears out of nowhere, it's ok
- the first time you laugh, or go a day without crying you might feel guilty, but you don't need to. It means your brain is processing it all.
Grief is not something you get over, but learn to live with. Your mum's memory will always live on. xx
You did an amazing job writing that and delivering it beautifully on Tuesday. Your mom did am incredible job raising you. Love you.
I am so sorry to hear about your mother. I've been a reader here for years and was always impressed by the close relationship you shared. I am much older than you are (51) and have struggled to find comfort and closeness with my mom. I am so glad you had what you did and that will remain with you always. She sounded like an amazing mom, and you are a an amazing daughter. Hugs and love to you.
I'm so truly sorry for your loss. It was obvious through reading that you were beyond close to your mom.
longtime reader here, so sorry for your loss. It was obvious to your blog readers how much you adore your mom. My thoughts are with you and your family.
Thoughts and prayers with you and your dad. I bet your transparency and honesty are helping a lot of folks out too. This post is such a sweet tribute to her.