Remembering My Mother: Navigating Loss and Memory
Three years have passed since my mother died, and the early days were unbearably fragile. Slowly, I began to rejoin the world—running errands, taking a class at the gym, making lunch plans—but every step felt like hard work.
There is no manual for telling people your mother has died. There’s no guide for navigating the estrangement and fractures that often define mother-daughter relationships. Sharing loss is messy; it isn’t just the polished stories we hold up—it’s the banged-up pieces too.
When someone shares their brokenness, look steadily, hold the pain with them, and then ask about the good moments. Ask about gardens and lilacs, about sunsets, about the quiet details that make a life feel real.
In my memory, she grew tomatoes next to the lilac bushes. Maybe that’s not exact—but the essence remains: sunset, sunlight, small gardens, and a lifetime of moments tucked in a box of photographs.