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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🌻