Imagine you’re in a big shopping mall and you see a lost little girl. She’s standing alone, crying uncontrollably, as her eyes dart around with a look of fear on her face. She doesn’t know what to do or who to talk to. People feel sorry for her and approach, wanting to help, but no one can comfort her. All she wants is her mother.
When my mother died, I was that lost little girl. It’s exactly the image I had in my mind. The moment my Mom left this earth, I felt completely lost. She was my North Star, and the idea of navigating life without her was terribly scary.
There’s something about the death of a mother that hurts differently than other losses. In many ways, it rocks everything you thought you knew about life. Chances are you’re reading this because you understand. Perhaps you’ve dealt with, or are worried about, the loss of your mother too. While everyone’s circumstances are unique, I’ve learned that losing a mother is a very universal experience. It’s something that no one can wrap their head around until they go through it, and once you have, it’s remarkable how much you can relate to others’ pain. No matter how many times I write or talk about my mother’s recent passing, I still have a hard time believing it. I knew there’d be a day when I would no longer have her here. But nothing prepared me for the cruel suddenness with which she left us, or how profound a loss it would be.
My Mom Catherine was as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside. Everything about her was elegant . . . the way she dressed, her social graces, her perfect penmanship that made even her grocery lists look like wedding invitations. Her thousand-watt smile and gentle nature made everyone she encountered feel welcome and safe around her. I would give my right arm to see her smile again, eat one more slice of her famous spinach quiche, or answer the phone and hear, “Hi Honey, it’s Mommy.” As her only child left on this earth, her absence sits heaviest on me, and I miss all her beauty every single day.
Fight or Flight
My mother took care of her health, ate well, and didn’t smoke. In the course of only a few weeks this March, she became tired and developed a cough. She went to an outpatient doctor’s appointment but was admitted instead, never returning to the house she loved. “It’s lung cancer, but we can treat it,” we were told in shock. A mere nine days after being diagnosed, she succumbed to the aggressive disease that not a single doctor in one of the nation’s “best hospitals” realized she had. My already shaky trust in “experts” was totally gone.
I was home alone in my kitchen the morning I got the call to rush to the hospital. I remember it feeling like an out of body experience, as if I was watching someone else — not me, certainly — hyperventilating and scrambling to compose herself. I frantically tried to find someone who could cover school pickup for my young son before I rushed to the hospital. (That’s parenthood, by the way. “Crisis? Emergency? Nope, can’t react right now, but hold on a sec while I get a babysitter.”) I finally got in touch with a neighbor and rushed to meet my father at the hospital where I hoped we’d have a chance to say goodbye to my Mom.
But we were too late.
Unprepared
There is something so tragically ironic about seeing the woman who gave you life lose her own. No matter how strong you think you are, no one is fully prepared for how it feels to lose their mother. I think we all feel like our moms are invincible. We are extensions of them, and our biological and/or emotional attachments to them are incredibly powerful connections. Our need for their guidance and protection is so great that it overrides the logic that we must lead our lives after they pass on. It’s been three months since I lost my Mom, and I still can’t fully understand that.
Both of my parents have always been incredibly youthful. They are the furthest thing from “elderly” — not in their appearance nor the stylish way they dress or the sharp way they think. But aging hits everyone, and as time has moved on, I’ve felt this instinctive need to protect and nurture them, much like the way they did for me when I was a little girl.
Losing my mother mentally transported me back to my childhood. I’ve been pulled back to that simpler time when my whole life revolved around my parents, before adulthood and marriage and kids and careers came along and switched my focus away from the insulated little world I once knew. Losing your mother leads to a regression of sorts, where all you want is to curl up in her lap and feel her protecting you again.
The day my mother died was the hardest day of my life. I am haunted by every traumatic moment, from the image of her that I don’t want to remember to the way I physically shook as I sat with my little one and told him his Grandma died. Despite my extreme physical and emotional exhaustion, it was impossible to sleep that night. I vividly remember lying in bed experiencing every textbook symptom of panic and anxiety there is. My palms were sweating, my legs were shaking, my thoughts were racing, and I had palpitations so fast that the sound of my heartbeat in my ears was deafening. There I was — a licensed mental health clinician who had helped so many people through the same symptoms — now struggling to find a way to calm my body through this nightmare. I finally focused very hard on my breathing to relax, and somehow, fell into a brief, restless sleep.
The first night was definitely the toughest, but nights in general are hard for me since losing my Mom. She was a night owl like me, so I miss being able to text her at all hours. She recently told me that she had not shut off her cell phone since the day I left for college, in case I ever needed to reach her late at night. I couldn’t believe she was that protective into my adulthood, but it just proves how much moms are our forever lifelines.
If You Know, You Know
I used to look at friends who had lost their mothers and feel such sadness for them. I didn’t understand how they managed without their moms, and it made me dread the day I had to say goodbye to my own mother. I’ve quickly learned that this experience is something that can only be understood by those of us who have gone through it.
I was blessed to have a loving, ever-present Mom. But regardless of the relationship someone had with their mother, this is always one of life’s hardest losses. Even people with strained relationships with their mothers have a proven pull to the woman who birthed and/or raised them. I remember one of my psychotherapy professors in grad school saying that even children who are abused or abandoned feel a natural desire for their mother. It’s innate. No matter what you felt toward her in this life, you will undoubtedly struggle once she’s passed on, either mourning your relationship or the one you wish you had.
Flashbacks
Losing your mother brings out your inner child like nothing else. Since my mother passed away, I’ve returned to my earliest memories more often than I ever have. Some memories rush to my mind unexpectedly, while others I consciously tap into for comfort. That saying “my life flashed before my eyes” could easily apply to the death of one’s mother, since every memory you have starts with her.
My Mom used to sign every card and note with “always and forever,” and I felt that from her. She doted on me and took the best care of me all my life. In pictures of us from when I was little, she’s always fussing with my hair or holding me close protectively. Even in my adulthood — like last summer when I was petrified before a surgical procedure — no one comforted me like my Mom. No matter how old children get, we always need our moms. How I wish I had her here to make this better.
Childhood memories are often blurred or fuzzy, but some pop up clearly like home movies inside my mind. I remember my mother dotingly tucking me into bed one night when I was sick with a stomach bug. I can picture her teaching me math as we shopped the back-to-school sale at Stern’s. And it feels like yesterday that we were sharing tuna fish salad and Stoned Wheat Thins on the big plaid couch in the house where I grew up. Our long-term memory is wild, but I cherish the way it now allows me to visit with my mother over and over again.
Riding the Waves
They say that grief comes in waves, and I’ve found this to be true. It’s a low-key constant, even in between the day-to-day joys. The busy nature of life and parenthood keeps me distracted enough that some moments I find myself humming or laughing, almost forgetting my grief. But some days are just plain hard — there’s no humming or laughing, and every annoying little inconvenience that would normally irk me upsets me to an unnatural degree. Grief is always right there underneath the surface, and sometimes it takes very little to trigger it.
It hits me at the oddest times: I’ll begin to cry when I’m walking home from school drop-off, when I’m in the shower, or when I’m sitting in traffic. Nights are the hardest. When the day finally winds down to a quiet stillness and everyone else is asleep, I stare at the ceiling and hear nothing but the sound of my teardrops hitting the pillowcase. I replay the events of late, trying to make sense out of what I still can’t comprehend. I’ve found that these waves of grief are very normal. While you may wish they didn’t come at all, you will learn to ride them, because feeling your way through them is unavoidable.
Do What Helps You
After I lost my mother, I began asking myself a million questions (Did she know she was going to die? What was she thinking about that last day? Was I a good daughter?) Some questions can only be answered by her, and some I hoped others would answer for me.
My mother told me she loved me all the time. In fact, her worst trait was probably the way she smothered her family with love! And yet when she died, I desperately felt the need to be comforted by someone telling me my mother loved me. I waited and waited, but no one soothed my pain with those words. When my college roommate finally said something about how much my Mom loved me, I teared up and demanded her account of our history:
“Really? Did she? Do you think so?!”
“Oh Lara, you were the sun, the moon, and the stars,” she answered.
That’s what I needed. This one specific thing that only I knew about soothed me in a way that other people and things hadn’t. I realized then that who we talk to and the kind of support we need is very individualized. I’ve found some people to be very comforting and respectful of my grief, while some people say all the wrong things. I’ve learned to surround myself with those who ease my pain, and unapologetically avoid those who are not helpful. People who act supportive or share happy memories of my Mom comfort me, so I stick close to them. There is no handbook for this terrible journey, but the one rule may simply be: do what helps you.
Writing, not surprisingly, has been cathartic for me. A friend who lost her dad years ago suggested I journal as I grieve my mother, because she wished she remembered more things when she needed comfort. In my saddest moments, I’ve also turned to visualization. If my thoughts are playing upsetting images of my Mom being sick, I close my eyes and picture her young and healthy, holding me close as a little girl, which eases my pain. While some people might find this crazy, I also still text my Mom (her phone is still connected.) There’s something so comforting about seeing a message marked “delivered” into the universe. Even though I can’t get a text back, it reminds me of our old exchanges and gives me hope that she may “receive” my message.
It’s important to remember that everyone grieves differently. We all feel feelings in our own way and at different paces, and what helps one of us may not help the other. Therapy or grief counseling is, of course, another important option for many people, if they are ready to commit to opening up. As long as our coping doesn’t involve harming anyone (including ourselves, such as through substance use,) turn to whatever helps you the most.
Good People
In the middle of all this pain, many wonderful people have been so caring towards me and my family. From lifelong friends to people online who I’ve never even met in real life, people’s kindness has fueled me.
So many good people have shown up for us: my neighbor who took care of my son and baked him cookies until I was ready to pick him up; my father’s college roommate who took him in when he needed to escape the house he shared with my Mom; my high school friends who would check on me at all hours of the morning and night; the people on social media who sent me condolence gifts. Each and every person has helped me through my grief by reminding me of my mother’s generous and compassionate spirit.
Signs She’s There
I often wonder if our loved ones see how hard it is for us without them here. Do they see the pain we feel? Do they wish they could comfort us when we’re crying? I can only imagine how much my Mom must want to ease my sadness if she is watching me go through this.
People tell me all the time: “She’s always with you.” I know it’s well-meaning, and I’m sure it’s true, but to someone with such a fresh wound who still feels guilty for leaving my mother behind somewhere, it doesn’t resonate. I desperately want to “feel” my mother and believe she is with me, but I often struggle with it.
Then someone — a stranger online no less — shared her recent experience of losing her mother, and she explained it in a way that made sense to me. She said our mothers are always with us through the voice we hear inside. She reminded me that moms’ words of wisdom and lessons never leave us, and we can tap into them for comfort every day. “Notice the things she taught you and her influence on everything you do, and you’ll realize how she’s always with you.” I loved that take on something that’s so abstract for me, and now I notice my Mom around me more — when I dice an onion in the checkerboard cut she taught me, when I pick an outfit I know she’d like, when I’m questioning my comma usage in my writing (“when in doubt, leave it out!”) She is always there.
It also recently hit me how so much of what I do as a mother I got from my Mom. I notice it in the little things, like how I check my son’s forehead for a fever by kissing it instead of using my hand, or how I channel her goofy maniacal voice and threaten to eat his face for being “too cute” just like she’d do when I was little. It’s funny how you don’t realize just how much your mother influenced you until she’s gone. I wish I had told her how much I appreciate all the things she unknowingly taught me, but I hope she knows. I’ve begun to see how people live on, and in my mother’s case it’s through us.
A friend recommended the book “Signs: The Secret Language of the Universe” by Laura Lynne Jackson, a psychic medium. It’s a great book for people like me who desperately want to connect with or believe in our beloved’s presence but are inherently skeptical. Laura explains the immortality of souls through evidence from various disciplines, the difference between our physical bodies and our energy, and the scientific fact that energy can never be destroyed. She encourages us to ask for specific signs from the Other Side, and be open to receiving them instead of shrugging them off. After all, not everything can be “just a coincidence.” I took her suggestion and asked my Mom to come to me by showing me HONEY or BEES, since she always called me “Honey.” From that moment on, I began receiving so many inexplicable messages through images of honey bees! I like to think that it’s become our new way to communicate.
It’s not always easy to believe in the presence of those we lost, but I’ve started to notice my Mom when I’m not necessarily looking. One afternoon, after volunteering at my son’s lunchroom just as my Mom used to do at mine, I left the crowded school and all the noise inside disappeared as I shut the door behind me. Outside there was no one in sight, and I was relieved to have some quiet “me-time.” As I walked across a peaceful park straight into the sunshine, I looked over my shoulder because I swear I felt someone was walking with me. That was it — no pomp and circumstance, no trumpets from heaven or pixie dust in the air — it’s just a feeling you get. At that moment, I knew my Mom was walking beside me… and I smiled.
A Lifetime of Lessons
Like anyone who loses a loved one, I have regrets. I regret not speaking up more to the doctors who failed my mother in a flawed healthcare system that values money and national ranking over caring, individualized treatment. I’m upset that I didn’t defend her age when I saw her being dismissed by people who should have been her advocates. I’m angry that I didn’t demand more thorough care, or harass her doctor with my many valid questions. I also regret that I didn’t take more pictures with my Mom, get the recipe for her chicken soup, or ask if she had some last words of wisdom that would help me in a world without her. I never got the chance to.
My mother was deeply religious and felt comfort in her strong beliefs. I wish I had half the faith that she did. In her last week, we had a deep, long, meaningful conversation that I will never forget. I still remember where I was standing when we talked, and how much we bonded and cried. I told her how unfair all of this was to her, and how she didn’t deserve cancer. I told her how proud I was of her, and how her little grandson said that she is “so brave.” She told me she had been praying to the Virgin Mary, and it helped her not be afraid. And then she said words I’ll never forget: “Faith is tricky, because it’s based in something you can’t see, so you just have to believe.” At the time I thought she was talking about God. But now when I recall those wise words, it almost feels like she was reminding me to have faith in her presence when I struggle to believe that she’s with me. Maybe I got those last words of wisdom I wanted after all.
Losing my mother has taught me that time stops for no one. Parents age right before our very eyes, even those as youthful as mine. It’s the clearest reminder of how quickly life moves, how fleeting childhood is, and how much you need to stop and soak every day in. So tell people whatever it is you feel! Tell them if you’re angry with or worried about them, and tell them that you love them. Tell them your favorite memory, so you can share it with them instead of looking back on it alone. Good thoughts, no matter how big or small, are wasted unless they’re shared!
A few years ago, I had the foresight to start saving voice mails from my Mom so I would always have them. I am so glad I did! Now when I need to hear the comfort of her voice, I play them. It moves me to tears, but hearing her talking directly to me feels like her warm embrace again. Being a mother myself has made me understand the love my Mom had for me. I must’ve told her that I loved her a thousand times when she was sick, and “I love you” were the very last words we said to each other as I left the hospital on her last night. I know she knew, and so do I.
The loss of a mother is one of life’s most painful milestones. It leaves a hole that I’m sure will get smaller in time, but never fully close. It changes you, but it also reminds you of who and what matter in this world. It’s proof that in some ways, we’re all fighting the same battles, and what a difference kindness and empathy can make in each other’s lives. Leave it to our mothers to teach us such important lessons . . . in this life as well as the one after.
What Lara Wrote 
Very good article. I am very sorry for your loss and my condolences go out to you. I can certainly relate because I too lost my Mother on June 18th, 2024 following a 2+ month hospitalization. It’s been slightly over 3 months and her loss has been devastating and the lowest point for me ever by far. I know that everyone experiences loss but it is unbelievably difficult. Basically life-changing and things will never be the same. So many childhood memories and flashbacks. To make matters even more difficult my Dad died last year around Father’s Day of 2023. Overall it’s been a rough 12-18 months. I have no siblings or any wife or kids to help deal with the grieving process and the loss and many times I feel like being in a row boat in the middle of the ocean. I have one relative left on each parental side but everyone else is gone. I did keep some recent answer machine messages of my Mom and am glad that I did. Once again a very good and helpful article and the last paragraph is especially true, losing a Mother changes you. Losing both parents absolutely changes you and puts a whole different perspective on life. Being an adult orphan is certainly a new chapter but I have to try and forge ahead the best I can.
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Thank you so much for your thoughtful response, Jeff. I’m very sorry about the loss of your parents. In talking to other people who have gone through parent loss I’ve realized that, although nothing makes it easier, there is some comfort in knowing others understand. It helps to remind us that even if we feel alone, we are not. I’m glad my words resonated with you, and I’m glad to connect with people like you who understand my experience too. I hope you are managing as best as you can since you posted this comment. I am sending you healing thoughts.
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Thank you so much Lara. I really did find comfort in your lovely words about your mum. I have now subscribed to you! 😊
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I appreciate that, thank you! Very glad that people who understand the experience are finding comfort in my words. ❤️
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Hello Jeff just tried sending you a message. Didn’t appear to send. So this is just a follow up to see if you did. Michael.
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Hi Jeff, also just read this very emotional piece by Lara. I resonate with you as I too have lost mum and dad. They died 5 days apart in December 2021. Also lost my brother in 2018. I have no other siblings or a partner or any children of my own. I have never found anyone in my position. Everyone I know still has a sibling left or a wife etc. So it’s nice to actually message someone who is in the same position if that makes sense. I’m still struggling big time. The past when mum was here seems like a different lifetime, like a dream. Mum’s passing hit me the hardest even although I wasn’t particularly close to her and I was closer to my dad. Mentally I’m not coping and the present time now seems unreal as well. Anyway, I’d love to know how you are coping and just thought I’d send this random message.
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I’m so sorry for your losses, Michael. Thank you for reading and sharing; I’m glad my words resonated with you and hope you and Jeff find comfort in this space.
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This was a good read.. My mom died December 7th this year.. 11 days ago to be exact. She had a stroke two days after my dad’s death last year. She wasn’t the same after that but she tried and lived me and my sister.. She was so sad with my dad’s death and her health. Man I miss her.. And I’m glad you said you felt like you had an outer body experience cause that’s how I felt for a few days. How do we manage without our moms.. I know we have too but I’m a lost little girl looking for her momma.
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I am so sorry about your profound recent loss. The pain at 11 days is so raw. It’s been several months for me but I’m still haunted by the moments you’re going through right now, so I completely understand. One of the only things I find comforting is connecting with people who get it. I’m glad you found my piece when you needed that understanding. Anything I can do feel free to reach out. Sending strength to you and all us lost little girls looking for our Moms.
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I lost my Mom in August 2022, a day before my 56th Birthday, and in an instance my life changed forever. I suddenly realized I had lost both my parents, since my Dad passed away in 2003.
The next two years were truly the hardest days of my life. And sadly a few of my friends, who I had supported during their time of grief, barely called a couple of times and that was it. Some tried to give me the usual platitudes about being strong and moving on. Didn’t help one bit
I deal with it one day at a time and in addition to the enormous loss, it’s also the regrets that are so difficult to manage sometimes.
I try to keep myself busy, but it’s not the same and many a times I feel Nothing matters anymore. But I have no choice but to keep active and moving.
I never asked for much and my parents were my greatest source of joy. Life can be very cruel sometimes.
But all I can do is try to look after my health and cherish their memories.
God Bless
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I’m so sorry. I expect it will take me years to work through losing my mother too. And yes, there are unfortunately people who don’t know how callous their comments come off. There are, however, many who understand, and I appreciate the opportunity to connect with people like you who do. I’m glad you continue to cherish your parents’ memories. God bless you too.
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I lose my mom when I was five years old and all I do is write to her about everything that goes on in my life. It helps me feel closer to her and it inspired me to write a book; something I’ve always wanted to do.
Mom,
Where do I even begin? The things I want to tell you:
Today my tears slowed for a moment and the words begin to flow. So I want to tell you all the things that I think you should know.
Everybody misses you; everybody feels the pain of loss, grief and misery of never seeing you again, but I feel it most of all. I’m angry that you left when you promised you’d stay here with me. I feel abandoned because you choose to go away.
I’m worried that I failed you. I’m scared that I let you down. Although you decided to leave us; I wish you were still here. I understand this is forever; I feel empty. If only I could’ve told you I loved you one more time.
I feel like it’s my fault that you’re gone even though I know it’s not…but I found you that morning and I was only five. If only this wasn’t goodbye. I wish you would come back but I don’t want you to suffer again. Remembering you is easy, I do it everyday…but missing you is heartache, it never goes away.
If I could visit heaven for one more day, the pain in my heart would temporarily go away. I’d put my arms around you and whisper how much I miss you and love you. Living life without you is one of the hardest things to do. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about you. If I had one wish…it would be to hug you as tight as I can one last time. The love I have for you is infinite. you’re the most beautiful memory I kept locked away inside my heart.
Until we meet again.
Love your little girl,
Tamia Saxton
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A very long time to go without her. I’m so sorry. Thank you for being here and for sharing.
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Hi Lara,
I am deeply sorry for the loss of your mother. I wanted to express my heartfelt sympathy to you.
I also lost my mother two months ago, jan 2025, due to a sudden heart attack at night. She was perfectly fine the day before, but the next morning, she never woke up. Your emotional and beautiful text resonated with me deeply, and I found myself crying as I read it. It’s remarkable how our experiences mirror each other despite the differences in culture (I am from Iran), age, and gender. It seems that grief transcends these boundaries, and the feelings we experience are universally shared.
Your words have a profound way of capturing the emotions I feel. Thank you for putting into words what so many of us feel. I hope we both can come to terms with this great sadness soon and find the strength to embrace life once again.
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Thank you for such a moving message, and please accept my condolences on the loss of your dear mother. I know how fresh your wound is right now, and I am glad to at least have provided you with some small comfort through my article. It is so true what you eloquently said about this experience transcending all boundaries. It comforts me as well to connect with kind people like you who understand. May we both find strength and healing through the presence of our beautiful mothers’ spirit. ❤️
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Hi Lara,
Votre récit m’a bouleversé, vous avez trouvé les mots justes … ma Maman chérie s’en est allée fin 2024, comme votre maman un canc.. très agressif . Votre expérience d’une des pires épreuves de notre vie ressemble beaucoup à la mienne…. que Dieu nous donne la force et la quiétude pour surmonter ce terrible manque . Merci d’avoir partagé cela avec beaucoup de sagesse … et je dirai que vous ressemblez sans nul doute à votre tendre Maman. Que nos mamans repose en Paix. Prenez soin de vous
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Hello Jasmin, Thank you so much for reading and sending such a heartfelt comment. I am very sorry for the loss of your dear mother — I know what a hard year 2024 was. As much as I can’t believe it, it will soon be one year since I lost my Mom, so I’ve been quite emotional lately. I find some comfort in connecting with people who understand, so your words moved me to tears. May we both continue to be healed by our mothers’ presence. God bless you, Lara ❤️
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Just Beautiful, thank you for this.
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Appreciate that, thank you for reading ❤️
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Oh gosh, did this move me to the core. Yesterday, it was my mother’s four year anniversary in passing. This truly moved me as much as I know it would’ve that same week she had passed. This was everything I needed and almost a confirmation of care and comfort from my mom to read this. Thank you, Lara, for your vulnerability in sharing your loss about your mother (in which I am sending so much love to you) and how much you’ve reached me in resonating with it. Just bookmarked it for a read again if needed. ❤
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What a beautiful comment Bethany, thank you. I can’t tell you how much messages like this mean to me. Knowing that my sharing my experience is a comfort to other people is such a tribute to my Mom.
I know that 4 years ago may sometimes feel like only 4 days ago, so I’m sending you love and strength at your dear Mom’s recent anniversary. Here to help anytime ❤️
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Thank you so much for sharing your experience. Your words were comforting and real to my own life. My mom died in 2020. She went to the ER complaining of chest pain and died 9 days later from metastatic lung and bone cancer. My life and person will never be the same. I’m the last surviving child. My big brother died in 2005, and my brother, who was 18 months younger, died in 2016. After reading your story, I know I’m not the only one. I can make it and keep going. God bless you!
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Dear Patricia,
Thank you for this beautiful message. You have no idea how much it means to know my experience can help others through their grief. I’m so sorry for your losses; I lost a brother before my mother as well. It’s quite a heavy load being our mothers’ only children left, but it’s also an honor to be the ones through whom they live on. That’s a wonderful reason to keep going! Here for you if you ever need it. God bless you too ❤️
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Lara, I am so glad I stumbled across your blog. I’m up at 2am missing my mother who passed 12 days ago on April 28, 2025. Ironically, she passed of lung cancer as well, after a few months of being misdiagnosed. I’m am only child, my father’s death anniversary is coming up on May 22, it will be 20 years. So, I am a parentless, only child at 45 years old. Tomorrow, May 11, 2025 will be my first Mother’s Day without her, followed by her birthday on June 9 — I smile thinking she would be texting me about things she wanted for her birthday right about now lol.
A night owl like you mentioned you & your mother were, we were too. I miss being anle to call and text her right now because she would be up. I even have good gossip to share and I’m left telling her, gosh I wish you were here to get this tea!! Lol.
Your words were so soothing, especially your advice of seeking comfort in those with great stories of my mother. I recently wrote a post on Facebook stating just that, as some family members that were estranged from my mom tried to deflect their guilt me. Not my burden to bear. As my mom’s friend said, they should have done right by her when she was here.
Your words were confirmation that I chose the right pathway of cutting them off just as my mother had done to protect her mental peace. I will focus on my village — my aunt, cousins, friends and even my Facebook friends that have been wonderful.. the good people you referenced.
Thank you for sharing your story. Sending hugs to you for helping those of us who are grieving the loss of our mothers. You’ve encouraged me to do the same — in due time.
Many blessings to you.
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Shay, I am so sorry for your very recent loss. I know how fresh and painful the wound is right now. I’m thankful that you found me too, as it comforts me to know my words can provide some bit of comfort to others who understand. Our moms’ stories are so similar, and like I said, I’ve found the whole experience of mourning a mother to be very universal.
I’m glad you’re figuring out what is best for you. Only we know that. And oh the gossip — so many times I look up to heaven and tell my Mom stories out loud! I imagine her giggling at all of it! Those good memories that make me smile ease the heartache a bit.
Tomorrow is a tough one, especially for you as it’s your first Mother’s Day without her. Acknowledging it may help you find a new tradition to form in her honor. As alone as you may feel at times, please know that you are not alone. Look for signs of her. Stay close to people who comfort you. And reach out to me anytime… you know I get it.
God bless you.
Sending so much love ❤️
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Wow this article made me cry but also was like I was writing it. Almost the same way my mom died.
It has only been 2 weeks and I’m lost and reading this gave me hope.
what also gave me goosebumps was the article was written Lara… my mom’s name is Laura… and the first comment I see was by a guy named Jeff…
my name is jeff. Weird. It was eventually meant for me to read apparently haha!
thank you Lara! For your soft words! Love this!
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I’m so sorry for your recent loss, Jeff. You were definitely meant to read this. I’m sure your Mom led you here! Since today is Mother’s Day I know it’s not easy. Sending you hugs and strength today and in the days ahead!
Lara
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wow… this was made for me to read and im glad I did!!! Your mom passed the same way mine did… 2 weeks ago:(… being a momma boy… ive never felt so lost but reading this gave me hope. Ironically it gave me goosebumps reading it. Also considering my moms name is Laura… and the first comment i see is by a guy named Jeff…. and my name is jeff. It was made for me to read lol. Sounded like I would have wrote this with just a few edits. Hit home and wrote beautifully.. thank you so much!!
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I needed to hear this today. Thank you. I’m 9 days out from my mom’s passing and it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever dealt with. I miss her so much.
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I’m so sorry for your loss, 9 days is still a very fresh wound. I am thinking of you and wishing you comfort and healing. ❤️
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Hi Lara. I lost my mom last year to lung cancer too, she got diagnosed at the end of November 2023 but she was gone the following March. Initially they wanted to give her immunotherapy or chemotherapy but in the January she started having severe chest infections after another and so they couldn’t give her any treatment and she just basically declined quickly – more frequent and longer hospital admissions, fluid on her lungs because of the cancer quickly spreading, it was horrible to see her go through this, having the fluid drained and see how unwell she looked, her being on oxygen all the time too. We lived together and I was her caregiver for a few years previous to this because she had arthritis and a cuff tear in her shoulder and so needed help with her day to day life, only by chance after a shoulder scan did they find the cancer so unfortunately she was probably living with it a while, with no symptoms up until that point, that’s the insidious thing with most cancer how it often creeps up on people.
I’ll never forget how on our way to an appointment in the car she said “I didn’t want to leave you this soon” with tears in her eyes. That was real tough to take but I was trying to keep positive and said to her you’ll be fine. But she wasn’t going to be. In the end I was allowed to sleep at the hospital on her last 3 days on this earth but she started to become agitated and couldn’t get out of bed at all or go to the bathroom, for someone who was so independent through her adult life that was awful to see such a quick decline. On her last day she passed away basically in her sleep whilst sedated, the only saving grace was she wasn’t agitated at that very time. Anyway it’s been 16 months since she passed away and truth be told I still struggle most days. I was closer to my mom than my other siblings and she even said to me I was her favorite – my sisters and brother seem to have moved on quicker than me because their bond wasn’t always as close.
I miss mom like crazy and sometimes think maybe if she had treatment she could’ve lived longer or even miraculously got cured because 3 months from diagnosis to her passing wasn’t enough time to get used to the fact she wasn’t going to be here any more. I sometimes feel like I don’t have the same amount of enthusiasm for things anymore despite me being an outgoing person, I don’t know what it is. Like nothing excites me anymore, I’m on antidepressants but they just kind of like numb things a little for me but not totally. I’m in the same house we shared and it’s still weird that she’s not here to greet me as I come home with a smile on her face and I miss eating out with her and stuff, watching the TV etc. I think the sad thing is once your mom passes away that one person who loved you unconditionally is now gone, the one person that carried you for 9 months. I’m not a spiritualist person in general but I think there’s something after we leave here and somehow our deceased loved ones can see us, and when they want they can check in to see how we are. That’s what I like to think.
Thanks for reading.
Gary.
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Gary, I’m so sorry to hear what you have been going through. Since we both lost our mothers to lung cancer at the same time (March of 2024,) I completely understand how much it still hurts even though it’s been over a year now. I have gone through all the same questions, and continue to feel anger toward doctors who missed an earlier diagnosis in the off chance it could have saved her. Their physical absence is painful but so is the traumatic effect the experience left on us. My Mom told me just to believe, and that’s what I’m trying to do. I believe they’re watching over us and loving us, just in a different form. Tune in to your mom’s energy and I hope it gives you comfort.
All my best,
Lara
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