"a reflection of the first anniversary"

Image Source: Arbaz Khan from Pixabay

Having missed the opportunity to share my thoughts on the first anniversary of my Mom's passing, I decided not to publish anything at all. It felt as though the raw, real-time emotions of that day had already mostly slipped away, leaving my words less authentic than I wanted them to be.

As the second anniversary of my Mom's passing quickly approaches, I find myself reflecting on a particular feeling that still fascinates me. On the first anniversary of her passing, much like during holidays, special occasions, or monthly milestones, I permitted myself to feel whatever emotions surfaced—and I did. Leading up to the day, I felt a wave of anxiety that intensified my grief, and on the day itself, I experienced expected deep sadness several times. I also took a quiet moment to pause and reflect at the exact time she had taken her last breath.

What still intrigues me today is how it didn’t fully hit me until the evening of last year’s anniversary: making it through the entire year wouldn’t bring her back in her physical form. As strange as it sounds—and I’m not sure why I thought this—I had this unexpressed hope that enduring the year would somehow lead to her walking through the front door, wrapping me in the biggest hug, and telling me that she was back and how proud she was that I made it. Instead, I was met with a bittersweet mix of accomplishment for getting through the year and deep disappointment. A heavy knot formed in my stomach as the realization set in: this was only the first of many anniversaries. None of them would ever bring her back.

With the upcoming anniversary rapidly approaching, I can’t help but feel a familiar sadness knowing it will be just another of many where she won’t return. Another year gone by. But on a more hopeful note, it also marks another year closer to being reunited—whether in a warm afterlife or in the quiet embrace of nothingness. In the meantime, I’ll continue to try to live in a way that ensures I’ll have countless stories to share when that day finally arrives.

-j🌻

"the second birthday"

2025

Over the past two years, I've experienced a range of emotions surrounding these big milestones, allowing myself the freedom to feel whatever comes up—whether it's joy, sadness, or something in between. This year, my Mom's second birthday after her passing was no different.

That morning, I woke up with deep sadness. I read her the birthday card I had chosen, allowing myself to truly miss her privately. I wished that she could be here with us to enjoy her favorite cake and share in the celebration.

But then, something unexpected (but welcomed) happened—about an hour later, a wave of positive emotions washed over me. It felt like the excitement I get after months of keeping a gift a secret, and then eagerly watching someone special unwrap something I’ve carefully chosen or made just for them. I realized that, despite the sadness, I was excited to honor her, to celebrate her in a way that felt right for both of us.

The rest of the day unfolded with that same positive energy. There was also a sense of peace that carried me through. I truly believe she was and is happy that the day was full of positivity and love, though I know she would understand sadness.

That being said, no matter the milestone, I hope you permit yourself to feel whatever comes up. Whether you experience those emotions in the moment or choose to set them aside for later, I wholeheartedly encourage you to honor your feelings and let yourself truly feel.

Happy Birthday, Mom 💙

-j🌻

"christmas eve"

Image Source: Charles Thonney from Pixabay

It's hard to believe that tomorrow marks the second Christmas without my Mom. Looking back, I realize I haven't written here in quite some time—almost a year, in fact. I didn’t even write about the one-year anniversary of her passing, as I had planned. Now, as we approach the second anniversary in February, I feel that writing about that day now would somehow miss the depth of the love and pain I experienced.

I've been reflecting on how I feel about not writing here, and honestly, it’s a mix of emotions.

On one hand, I feel like I abandoned something important—the idea that sharing my grief can help others feel less alone in theirs. On the other hand, I think I’ve been doing exactly what my Mom would have wanted me to do: I've kept going.

I’ll never forget one evening when I was brushing her hair, something I’d done for her since childhood. She said, “Please promise me you won’t be sad.”

“I can’t promise that, Mom. Of course, I’ll be sad,” I replied. We didn’t talk much about what would happen after, because it was too hard. We focused on the present. But when we did talk about it, I cherished those moments, even though they broke our hearts.

“Please promise me you won’t be sad forever,” she said, emphasizing the word forever. “I want you to keep going. Go and live life.”

I remember shifting to hide my tears and saying, “Well, I think I’ll always be a little sad, but I’ll keep going.”

And I think that’s what I’ve been doing for the past nine months. Yes, we’re still very mindful of sickness and trying to protect my Dad, but in many ways, I’ve been following her wishes. I’ve kept going.

With a new job, I found myself with less time to schedule posts or write. I felt uncertain about what to write about here, and, as the first anniversary passed, I just stopped writing. When I did find time, I reshared posts about grief or created my own to share, but I didn’t feel motivated to keep writing here. And that's okay.

The last nine months have been a journey of finding new routines, new ways to incorporate my grief and honor my mom within my changing schedules. I’ve been learning a new industry, designing training materials, and training new hires, which has been incredibly rewarding. In my personal life, I’ve designed worlds for my niece and her family on Roblox and created atmospheric worlds for anyone to enjoy. I’ve focused on personal projects and often found myself stepping into my mom’s shoes, doing the best I can in her absence.

So, what does this all mean?

I believe there’s truth to the saying, “It gets easier with time.” Grief doesn’t disappear, but your heart and your world grow around it. And if you choose, you can tend to that grief when it feels right for you. Personally, I still talk to my Mom every day. I watch old videos just to see her and hear her voice. I continue to receive signs that give me comfort, and I know she is with me, always.

This Christmas Eve, I feel both gratitude and sadness. I know my mom would love to be here. But just like last year, I’ll do my best to make this Christmas special for my loved ones and celebrate the holiday with her in my heart, even if she can’t be here physically.

Take care of yourselves.

Happy Holidays, everyone.

-j🌻