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Writer's picture: jessicajessica

Updated: Jan 28

Person in yellow jacket writing in journal that is resting on their lap.
Image Source: Pexels on Pixabay.com

I don’t remember much from my childhood—or even from just five years ago. My memories tend to come in fragments: a few specific events or a vague, generalized feeling that sums up an entire period of my life, usually defined by schools or jobs. What makes my memory even more peculiar is how I often recall things in the third person, as though I’m watching someone else’s life unfold. It’s strange, almost as if those memories don’t truly belong to me.


One day, I mentioned to my mom how I don’t remember much from my childhood and how I often recall memories as if I’m watching them from the outside. She paused for a moment and then asked me, “Will you forget me after I’m gone?” Her question caught me off guard, and I quickly reassured her, “I could never forget you—how could I?”


After her passing, as I navigated the unpredictable waves of grief, a troubling thought began to take hold: what if I did forget her? What if she became just another vague, distant memory, one I could only recall in third person? The idea was deeply upsetting, and though I tried to reassure myself that it wouldn’t happen, the comfort I sought always seemed just out of reach.


During the years I had the honor of being one of her caregivers, I often found myself studying her face and every little detail about her. I wanted to commit it all to memory. I treated each day as though it could be our last together, making a conscious effort to truly see her every time I looked at her. Even at night, before heading upstairs, I’d pause to wish her goodnight, always glancing back to meet her eyes one more time. Deep down, I knew that someday, she wouldn’t be there.


Early in my grief therapy sessions, I shared with my wonderful therapist my deep fear of forgetting my mom and the way my memories seem fragmented—or sometimes absent altogether. I told her that, deep down, I knew I could never truly forget her, but the relentless "what ifs" kept gnawing at my mind. I also admitted that I didn’t want to lose the memories of the week leading up to her passing, even though some moments had initially triggered vivid and painful flashbacks. I understood that forgetting can be the brain’s way of shielding us from pain, but I was determined to hold onto everything—no matter how much it hurt.


During one of our sessions, my therapist suggested I start writing down my memories. She also recommended a few guided journals and books on grief to help me process everything. One journal I found particularly helpful was A Daughter's Grief Journal: Daily Prompts and Exercises for Navigating the Loss of Your Mother (Link).


Inspired by her advice, I also researched free, private online journaling apps that work seamlessly across both mobile and desktop. After exploring a few options, I started using Goodnight Journal (Link), which I highly recommend for anyone looking for a convenient and secure way to document their thoughts.


One of the first steps I took to preserve my memories was writing a letter to myself in the journaling app. I also emailed a copy of it to ensure it was saved. In that letter, I detailed everything I could remember about the entire week leading up to her passing. It took time to complete, as I was still grappling with vivid flashbacks, but I’m so grateful I wrote it all down.


I also started a private "book" within Goodnight Journal—a collection of entries organized under one category—where I documented other memories and my emotions as they came. Interestingly, after my mom’s passing, I noticed memories from my childhood starting to resurface, as though they had been waiting to be uncovered.


If you’re someone who fears forgetting a loved one or the moments surrounding their passing, I highly recommend writing down everything you remember. You don’t have to revisit what you’ve written right away—or even ever—but knowing those memories are preserved in written form can bring a sense of comfort and security.


For me, documenting my memories has given me peace of mind. I no longer feel like they’re slipping away. If you have photos or videos, those can also be incredibly helpful in keeping memories alive. They’ve been a valuable part of my journey, too.



-j🌻

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Writer's picture: jessicajessica

Updated: Jan 28


A desk with an iPad calendar screen up, a blank notebook, and a keyboard.
Image Source: Pexels on Pixabay.com

The topic of returning to work often comes up in the online grief groups I’m part of. Many people feel they’re not ready to go back, but their job won’t grant them more time off, which is incredibly frustrating. On the other hand, some are eager to return to work because it helps them avoid fixating on their grief and gets them back into a routine. If that approach works for you, that’s wonderful!


Then there are others who are fortunate enough to take more time off work and feel they truly need it, only to be subtly criticized for doing so. It’s never stated outright, but the message is clear: they’re made to feel weak and pressured to "get over it."


As someone whose job was incredibly supportive during my mom’s cancer and passing, I consider myself very lucky. However, I did receive some judgment from a few people when I mentioned needing more time off (though not from my employer). It was clear they weren’t thrilled that I was able to take that time for myself.


I noticed a significant difference between the people who genuinely believed it would be best for me to return to work and split up my bereavement time, and those who seemed to resent me for being allowed extra time off. The latter often focused on how they didn’t receive any bereavement time and had to return to work the next day, or how they were only given a few days and had to go back. Despite explaining that I needed more time due to the acute grief I was experiencing—along with flashbacks of my mom’s passing and the days leading up to it—it didn’t seem to matter. Because they had to endure minimal to no time to grieve, it felt like I should suffer the same way.


I didn’t listen to them, and I’m so glad I didn’t. When I finally returned to work, I was in a better place emotionally and mentally than I had been before.


Ultimately, if you’re able to take more time off work and feel you need it, I say go for it. Don’t let anyone’s judgment or negative comments sway your decision. You have to do what’s best for you and your grieving process.


-j🌻


(Please note, I’m fully aware of the privilege I had in being able to take more time off. Not everyone has that opportunity, and I don’t take it for granted. I’m incredibly grateful to my employer and boss for their empathy, support, and flexibility during that time.)

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Writer's picture: jessicajessica

Updated: Jan 28


A person making a heart with two hands, with the rising sun centered in the background.
Image Source: Pexels on Pixabay.com

After my mom passed away, I found myself feeling like it was inappropriate to smile or laugh. I kept thinking, How can you feel anything other than sadness right now? It felt like a betrayal to her memory—not to mention to my own grief—if I wasn’t in a constant state of mourning. Any moment of happiness seemed like I was pretending everything was okay when, deep down, it wasn’t.


Then, I remembered a conversation I had with her—one that I feel incredibly fortunate to have had.


One evening, as I was brushing my mom’s hair—a simple act she had always loved since I was a child—she told me she didn’t want me to be sad when she passed away. I immediately replied, That will be impossible. Of course, I’ll be sad. But then she told me she didn’t want me to be sad forever. I promised her I’d do my best not to be.


As the caring, selfless person she was, she went on to say that she wanted me to be happy and to move forward with my life—not to stay “stuck” in sadness. While I know part of her words were shaped by my struggles with depression, they were also spoken with pure love, hope, and a deep desire for my well-being.


After that reminder, whenever I found myself smiling or laughing, I would quietly tell myself, There you go, Mom, you got your happiness!


As time passed and I worked on various methods to avoid falling back into that crippling depression (therapy has been a lifesaver—I can't recommend it enough), I started to feel like I was making her proud every time I experienced joy, cracked a joke, or smiled. I realized I was doing exactly what she wanted me to do. Now, I feel like I’ve allowed myself to be happy, and it’s had a truly positive impact on my grieving process.


As I mentioned earlier, I fully recognize how fortunate I am to have had these kinds of conversations with my mom. But I truly believe that, for those who didn’t have that opportunity, your loved one would want the same for you. I’m certain they wouldn’t want you to feel guilty for experiencing positive emotions, and I know they wouldn’t want you to remain sad forever.


It’s definitely easier said than done, but one technique that helped me when I struggled with guilt was reminding myself that my mom wanted me to be happy.


In my opinion, moving forward with your life doesn’t mean leaving your grief or your loved one behind. It means bringing them with you, and what better way to do that than with happiness?



-j🌻

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