Dear Journal,
It’s been three months since my mother took her last breath. Losing a mother changes everything, and her final moments replay constantly in my head like a terrible dream. Grief has a way of looping time—making days feel both endless and gone too quickly.
Before our final goodbyes, my mother was able to give the gift of life through organ donation, and we honored her with an Honor Walk. I don’t remember the entire walk because I was sobbing the whole time, but I do remember turning a corner and thinking that only a few people had come. Then the ICU doors opened, and there were what felt like hundreds of nurses, doctors, and visitors lined up on both sides of the hallway—sending prayers, offering support, and thanking us for her donation.
The emotion was overwhelming. In one moment, I felt alone, and in the next, surrounded by love. We believe my mother helped save four people who were sick and in need. Even in death, she was still giving. While the ache of missing her is constant, I find comfort in knowing that her legacy lives on through others.
Today also marks my parents’ 40th wedding anniversary. They had planned a big trip to Cobo to celebrate with friends long before loss entered our lives. My dad still went. My brothers and I encouraged him to go, to rest, to enjoy time with friends. He sent us a photo he brought with him—a picture of him and my mom sitting on her side of the bed. His trip is meant to be filled with fishing and quiet moments, and I hope he finds peace there.
The first time my dad went fishing after my mom passed, his friend came home overflowing with excitement—talking about how many fish they caught, how they couldn’t get their reels down fast enough, and how he had never experienced a day like it. They said they knew my mom was guiding them to the fish, helping them find joy in the middle of grief. I hope my dad feels that same gentle presence on this trip.
As if navigating grief wasn’t enough for one day, we also had Breakfast with Santa with my in-laws. It was held at their church, surrounded by familiar faces—many who knew my mom from past gatherings. They wrapped me in hugs and reminded me they were thinking of me. I am deeply grateful for their love, even though moments like these are hard.
Parenting through grief is one of the heaviest things I’ve ever carried. Smiling for my children takes effort some days, but I show up because they need me. These shared moments—joy mixed with sorrow—are what I hope will carry us forward together.
Now, after a mentally and emotionally draining day, I’m going to turn on a favorite show and let myself rest.
With love,
The Shattered & Glowing Mama