Living with a deceased mom

My mom passed away in 2019 when I was 18 years old. She’d been battling breast cancer since the summer of 2013, had been in remission once, and had so many treatments and surgeries I don’t think I could’ve kept track if I’d tried. What started as very early-stage cancer and a double mastectomy ended up with her at home in hospice care with metastatic cancer in her brain, lungs, and liver. She died in my childhood home. She was at peace, being somewhere familiar and comfortable. My memories of that house, however, will never be the same.

I was in my junior year of high school when my mom’s cancer came back. I was training to become a ​​CNA and tried to help her through her treatments when I could. I remember going to some of her chemotherapy infusions when I didn’t have school. The nurses who cared for her were so kind and they made a world of difference for her. She had friends at treatment. One of her closest friends was from a support group. Thinking back, I feel like I should’ve pushed for her to get checked out sooner, should’ve seen the signs her cancer was back, but like a typical teenager, I was oblivious, too wrapped up in what I had going on to notice. I could just kick myself. 

I had just finished my freshman year of college when she passed. Just met and started dating my now-husband, even though I may not have realized it at the time. I’d lost loved ones before her. At the end of my senior year of high school, my beloved art teacher passed from a sudden heart attack and I haven’t truly painted since. That was nothing compared to the gut-wrenching, soul-ripping, hole-in-my-chest pain that came from losing my mother. No one should have to feel that pain, especially someone who’s only 18 or more so my little brother who was only 13 at the time. That summer, I was numb. Sure, I occasionally cried in the privacy of my bedroom, but returning to school was when all hell broke loose inside me. Going into my sophomore year of college, I was a two-sport athlete starting the actual nursing courses of my college career. By the time the year would be over, I would no longer be in any sports and I’d just failed my first college class. I’d sporadically seen a counselor throughout the year, but if there were two things to describe my life at that point it would be a hot mess and a downward spiral. I hadn’t been depressed for a full year (since high school) until my mom died but that sophomore year of college it all came crashing back into place. I partied and drank, I gave into sin, and I was wrestling my inner demons harder than ever before. I tried so hard to seem like I had it all together when on the inside I felt like an empty shell but at the same time, I was a flaming pit of tar and nastiness. I felt like I had nothing good left in me. My relationship with my husband was tumultuous. He fought so hard for me though, telling me every day how much he loves me and trying to pull me back from the edge when I was spinning out mentally. I would pull away, he would pull me back. I had told him before we started dating that now wasn’t a good time for me, but he fought for me even then, saying he wanted to be my shoulder to cry on. I’m not sure if he expected more than crying, but he definitely got more than he bargained for. He brought me to different faith-based activities on campus, he and my best friend made sure I went to church at least most Sundays, and slowly I began to heal. 

I’d always known that my mom was now in a better place and that she was no longer suffering, but her passing had brought up so many repressed emotions from deep within me that I was expecting that my faith had been shaken. I held on dearly to my relationship with God by the threads, but I still wallowed in the murk and mud for a while. By the time a year had passed since she’d gone to be with Jesus, the raw feeling in my heart had become more of a dull ache. I still miss her, but the ​​intense and violent sorrow that had gripped me so often for so long was no longer there. I can reminisce with fondness and maybe a tear instead of a full-blown meltdown with uncontrollable weeping. 

There have been life events that have plucked a heartstring a little harder than usual when I think of how much I would give to have my mom by my side. My graduation from college, my wedding day, miscarrying my first child, being pregnant again and delivering my rainbow baby, his baptism, and then moving home and moving again across the country to name a few. I feel like she’s missed so much, even though I know she’s watching from above. She wanted so badly to be a grandma, she’d only mentioned it to me a couple of times before she passed, but she was so ready to dote on her future grandbabies. I’ve felt that maybe if there were a reason for losing my first pregnancy, it would be so my mom would have a little grandbaby in Heaven with her. I know that may not be biblically correct, but for me, it gives me peace of mind knowing they’re together. Other family members have joined her since, a couple of grandpas and most recently my beloved grandma (her mother-in-law) who truly was a second mother to her. It’s a bond I’ve always admired. Even though my mom wasn’t her blood, they loved each other dearly as mother and daughter. 

Living with the loss of them is like having a weighted blanket thrown over my heart. It creates this heaviness that doesn’t quite go away no matter how used to it you get. It makes life feel all the more real and hard and wipes away the softness of childhood. You see more of the dangers in daily life. You feel less invincible. But it can also be seen as an opportunity for strength. Pull yourself up by the bootstraps and live life to the absolute fullest, for them. Go on the adventures you wanted to experience with them. Explore the world. Try new things. Don’t hyper-fixate on things you can’t control. Learn to be a little less serious. Most importantly, love unconditionally and without ceasing. Life is too short to put limits on yourself and how you feel for others. If you love someone, tell them. Go out of your way to show them. You won’t always have the chance to and you never know when it’s yours or their time. Best to not go with regrets. While the time right after losing someone you love can feel like your world is ending, it does get better. Life changes and is different, but it doesn’t end. Hold fast to those around you and to God and you’ll make it through. You’ve got this.