"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🌻

"grief & phone numbers"

Photo from Tofros.com

"Is it crazy of me to not delete my Mom's phone number by now?"

"My relative is telling me that I shouldn't be messaging my Dad anymore, but I feel like it helps me. What should I do?"

"I still pay for my parent's phone, but people are telling me that I'm not moving on with my life. Should I stop paying for it? It's not a cost issue."

These are questions I’ve seen asked often in online grief groups. Many people feel pressured to delete their loved one’s contact information from their phone, worried that others might think they’re crazy if they don’t. Some even continue paying to keep their loved one’s number active but feel discouraged by the idea of “wasting” money. Others might still text or call that number, only to receive judgment from others. (However, if someone else has taken over the number and informed you of it, it’s a good idea to switch to another form of communication, such as email, social media, or even old-fashioned letter-writing.)

But none of these things are crazy.

Society often encourages grievers to delete everything and move on, but you don’t have to follow that path if you don’t want to. You can still move forward with your life while maintaining a healthy connection with your loved one. If keeping your loved one’s phone number active brings you comfort and you can afford it, there’s no reason not to continue. If you find peace in keeping their contact information in your phone, then do so. If you still want to message, email, or text them (as long as the number hasn’t been reassigned), that’s perfectly okay too. You don’t have to delete your loved one to move on.

I occasionally send little messages and funny or endearing videos to my mom through Facebook Messenger, knowing she would have enjoyed them. Since we turned off her phone number a month after she passed, this has become my way of staying connected. At first, it was difficult to see that my messages were never marked as "Received" or "Read," but a friend offered a comforting perspective. She suggested I think of it as my mom "catching" the messages before they could even be delivered. I adopted that viewpoint, and now I find peace in seeing it that way. I also keep my mom’s contact information saved in my phone. While someone else probably has her number by now, it will always be "her" number to me, even though I know not to call or text it.

Ultimately, if it brings you comfort and is healthy for you, keep doing what you're doing. Don’t let anyone discourage you from maintaining a connection with your passed loved one. We live in a unique time where we can have a continued digital connection with them. While it may never replace talking to them in person or receiving a real-time reply, it can still offer comfort—and that is incredibly important during the grieving journey.

-j🌻

"Happy Birthday, Mom"

2024

Of all the "firsts" this year, my mom's first heavenly birthday was the hardest for me. I think it hit me so hard because, unlike other milestones like Christmas or birthdays without her, this one was entirely focused on my mom.

While I found some comfort in knowing she was celebrating the day with her twin sister, a deep sorrow weighed heavily on me. I had already cried several times before even getting out of bed. Still, I knew I wanted to celebrate her, and thankfully, my dad felt the same way.

Although the day was mostly quiet, my dad and I found small ways to celebrate her. We got a small ice cream cake for the evening, picked up her favorite birthday cake (which we had planned to use the following weekend for a bigger celebration with her son and granddaughter, though the weather had other plans), and grabbed her favorite mixed berry smoothie. Later that day, her granddaughter and I also celebrated her birthday digitally. It was bittersweet, but I’m so grateful we had that moment. Despite everything, I’m thankful we were able to celebrate her openly. To me, even though she’s passed, her birthday deserves to be celebrated, and I intend to continue doing so, regardless of what others have suggested.

That being said, if you choose not to celebrate your loved one’s birthday, that’s perfectly okay too. Some people prefer to mark the occasion quietly or alone, while others may choose not to celebrate at all because it brings too much sadness. I believe it's important to do what feels right for you, while also being considerate of those around you. For example, while I knew I wanted to celebrate my mom’s birthday, I made sure to check with my dad to see how he felt about it. If he had wanted to keep it low-key or skip it entirely, I would have respected his wishes and celebrated quietly on my own. Thankfully, he was on board, and I’m so grateful that we could share that time together.

Similar to Christmas Day, I found myself wishing for the day to end—not because I didn’t want to honor my mom’s birthday, but because I longed for things to "return to normal." I wanted to feel the comfort of my reshaped relationship with her, where her physical absence doesn’t hurt as deeply. That night, I spoke to her, as I always do, and read her birthday card out loud. I wished her and her sister a happy birthday and eventually drifted off to sleep.

Overall, I believe birthdays can be incredibly challenging without our loved ones. They often leave us uncertain about what society deems "appropriate" when it comes to celebrating or not. However, I think if you feel the need to celebrate, you should do so in a way that feels right for you, while also respecting others' boundaries and limitations. I'm sure your loved one would appreciate and understand whatever you choose to do.

-j🌻