Dear Journal,
Last night was hard.
I was snuggling with my oldest daughter, who is 10. We were talking and laughing before settling in for sleep. As I stared into her eyes, I was suddenly overwhelmed with memories of our mother–daughter trips—just her, my mom, and me. In that moment, grief rushed in without warning. It took everything in me not to burst into tears.
She rolled over, closed her eyes, and asked me to rub her back. As I did, my eyes turned into faucets. I tried so hard not to let my voice crack or let her hear me crying. I didn’t want to upset her. She doesn’t talk to me about what happened, and I know how hard this loss has been for her. She was the first grandchild and incredibly close with my mom—her Nana.
On the other end of the spectrum is my youngest daughter, who is 4. She’s been asking for pictures of Nana. My husband was so thoughtful and bought her a digital picture frame that scrolls through photos. It sits in her bedroom, playing a steady stream of memories of my mom. She loves it. I love it too—but it’s emotionally difficult for me to walk into her room and see those images playing, especially the more recent ones.
Over the holidays, my dad, brothers, and I went through countless photos, organizing them and creating photo books. Even still, seeing these moments—frozen in time—can feel heavy and overwhelming.
Somewhere in between is my son, who is 8. He understands what happened and talks to me about it from time to time. Some nights when we snuggle, we share memories of Nana and cry ourselves to sleep together. There’s something quietly healing and heartbreaking about those moments.
Each child is grieving differently, and I was told to expect this by the nurses at the hospital. Still, knowing it doesn’t make it easier. It’s incredibly hard to grieve as a mother while also holding space for the grief of three little people. There are so many emotions I’m trying to process—ones that don’t even include my husband. I know I should ask more about how he’s doing, but right now, I honestly can’t handle more emotions. Maybe that’s something I’ll grow into as time passes.
Tomorrow marks four months since my mom has been gone. I keep moving forward, reminding myself that some days will be manageable, and others—like last night—will not. As I sit here sobbing while writing this, I want to leave myself with one final reminder.
I want my kids to remember Nana. That is my number one priority. No matter how much it hurts me, I know I need to find the strength to support each of them in remembering just how amazing she was.
With love,
The Shattered and Glowing Mama