"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🌻

"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🌻