"feeling guilty for feeling happy"

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🌻

"almost losing a pet after a loss"

Mr. Milo; 2023

This post is inspired by a personal experience I had recently, and I realize it may not resonate with everyone—and that's okay. To those who have faced the heartbreaking loss of a beloved pet, especially after losing a loved one, my heart goes out to you. I can’t begin to imagine the depth of your pain, but I hope that what I share here offers some comfort, even in a small way. If it doesn’t, please know I understand, and I am truly sorry.

Like so many others, pets have always been an integral part of my family and personal life. Each one of them has been a cherished family member—even the surprise baby gerbils that arrived unexpectedly after we were confidently told we had two males.

I have a wonderful and quirky cat named Milo, named after the main character in Skeleton Twins. Next month, he’ll turn nine, which coincides with the six-month mark since my mom’s passing. Milo means the absolute world to me, and I’ll forever be grateful to my mom for spotting him one day at PetSmart. We adopted him that very day, and he’s been a spoiled and cherished little guy ever since.

Recently, Milo had to undergo a urinary catheterization, a cystoscopy, and a perineal urethrostomy. I’m so grateful that alarm bells went off in my head that Sunday because we later learned he was at risk of kidney failure, which could have been fatal. Thanks to our swift actions, Milo avoided kidney damage, and his lab results came back good.

Still, the thought of losing him hit me hard as I watched the emergency vet techs take him away. At that point, all we knew was that he likely had a urinary blockage. And let me tell you, signing those waivers and making decisions like whether to resuscitate or not—it’s enough to make anyone nervous.

That night at home, we received an update that the urinary catheterization had been successful. The vets also informed us about Milo’s bladder stones and outlined the next steps and treatment options. After careful consideration, we decided to move forward with both the cystoscopy and the perineal urethrostomy, along with transitioning him to a prescription wet food diet. Once again, I found myself signing a waiver—this time for two major surgeries.

Once again, my mind couldn’t help but wander to the possibility of losing my cat. What if he doesn’t make it? What if something goes wrong during surgery?

Another thought hit me even harder: I can’t lose my cat in the same year I lost my mom.

As I’ve been working hard to shift my mindset toward more positive thinking, a comforting thought began to take shape. Of course, I would be absolutely heartbroken if Milo passed away. But the idea of him being with my mom brought me a sense of peace. I imagined her taking care of him for me until the day I could join them both again.

While I don’t necessarily believe in a traditional heaven, I pictured her sitting on pristine marble steps, holding out her hand with some of Milo’s favorite treats. I imagined Milo, ever the cautious cat, nervously surveying his new surroundings. But the moment he recognized her, I saw him prance over, squeaking in excitement (he doesn’t really “meow”). In my mind, she greeted him with a warm smile, saying, “You weren’t supposed to be here yet, Mr. Milo!” as he happily scarfed down the treats before curling up beside her.

I’m incredibly grateful to say that Milo is doing well and healing beautifully. I’m so thankful I didn’t lose him. Just the other day, I found myself saying to him, “Thank you for being okay and staying here with me. I’m not ready for you to leave yet. But if that time ever comes, I know your Grammie would take such good care of you, and you’d meet so many of your four-legged siblings.”

While I can’t speak from the perspective of someone who has lost a pet after losing a loved one, I hope these words can offer even a small bit of comfort and help ease the edges of pain and sadness.

-j🌻

"continuing bonds"

Image Source: Bella H. on Pixabay.com

When we brought my mom and her urn home, I would often wait until late at night to go downstairs and speak to her. I would fight sleep or nearly fall asleep while talking to her. I felt the need to do this privately, when no one was around, because I worried that if others knew, they would think I had "lost it" or hadn’t accepted my mom’s passing.

But over time, I learned that this behavior is an example of "continuing bonds."

And in reality, it’s perfectly normal and healthy.

Continuing bonds in grief is the process of maintaining a relationship with your loved one, even after they’ve passed away, rather than severing that connection right away. That said, if you feel that ending the bond is what’s best for you, that is perfectly okay too.

Everyone grieves in their own way, and I understand that not every loss is experienced the same. For some, the person they lost may have caused pain, and their passing can bring closure, even a sense of relief in cutting that bond. On the other hand, if you had a loving relationship with your loved one and feel that continuing that bond helps you heal, that is perfectly normal as well. Ultimately, it's about what feels right for you.

If continuing a healthy bond with your loved one feels right for you, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. You are allowed to talk to their picture, send them a text or email, or share updates with them in your mind. These actions are completely normal. There’s no rule that says once someone passes, you have to erase their existence and stop all forms of connection. And if anyone criticizes you for it, try not to let it bother you. In time, they might come back to you, apologize, and even tell you they now understand, because they too have found comfort in continuing their own bond.

Personally, I continue to nourish the bond I have with my mom. In August, it will be six months since her passing, yet I still talk to her before bed (albeit at a more reasonable hour and from my room). I send her silly videos I think she would enjoy, and I still hug "her" good morning and good night. These small acts bring me comfort and help me feel that she is still with me—and always will be.

This topic also ties into a previous post I wrote about "tenses." You can read that post by clicking Here.

-j🌻