Dear Mama: How I’m Learning to Live With Grief
I don’t believe my mom ever really left.
The night before she passed, I sat beside her under hospice care. Her body was still here, but her spirit felt far away, quiet, distant, like she was already beginning to slip into the next place. Even though she wasn’t speaking anymore, I leaned in close and said,
“Come visit me, okay?”
That same night, I had a dream, one of those dreams that doesn’t feel like a dream at all. A white curtain was blowing in a soft breeze, letting a shimmer of sunlight in, It was peaceful. Still. Like the world itself was gently preparing to let her go.
That morning, my phone rang.
It was my dad.
He had been with her every single day, from morning to night, never leaving her side. That morning, he brought in a picture of them to show the nurses. He leaned in, gave her a kiss… and she kissed him back. Then she took her final breath.
She waited until after that dream.
Until after that kiss.
Until love had reached her from both sides, and she could finally rest.
The next night, the night she passed, I remember crying and praying. I prayed myself into another dream.
This time, she walked up my stairs.
She was wearing her bright fuchsia shirt, and there was a smile on her face. She looked like herself again, strong, whole, full of life. I stared at her in disbelief and said,
“Mom… you can walk.”
That’s when it hit me,
I was dreaming.
But it didn’t feel like just a dream.
She came into the room and wrapped her arms around me and my daughters, holding us there on the bed. It was warm. Real. As if she were saying goodbye—or maybe just hello, one last time.
Then I woke up, I didn’t feel alone.
The room felt full, like she had really been there.
It’s hard to explain, but her presence lingered. Not like a memory… more like a knowing.
A calm settled over me. For the first time, I believed she was at peace, and that somehow, she had come to give me peace, too.
What’s Been Helping Me Cope
Grief has no manual. No perfect formula. But I’ve found a few things that have made the weight a little easier to carry. Maybe they’ll help you too, or maybe they’ll remind you it’s okay to grieve in your own way.
1. Prayer
In the midst of grief, I discovered the quiet strength that comes from prayer. Taking a few moments each day to pray became a way to release my fears, ask for guidance, and feel a sense of connection with my mom even when she’s gone. Prayer gave me a space to express my love, my sorrow, and my hope, all at the same time. It reminded me that I’m not alone in this journey and helped me find moments of peace, clarity, and healing amid the sadness.
2. Spending Time With Family
Being around family has grounded me. We’re all grieving her in different ways, but we understand each other without having to explain everything. Sitting together, sharing meals, telling stories about her, it keeps her presence alive in our day-to-day lives.
3. Journaling
Writing has given me space to process what I don’t always have words for. Some days I write letters to her, Some days I write letters to God. Other times, I just let my thoughts spill out. It’s messy. Honest. Healing. There’s something sacred about putting your grief on paper, it becomes a conversation with your soul.
4. “Tell Me About The Good Old Days” Playlist
Not long after she passed, I started putting together a playlist of songs that remind me of her, some she loved, some that speak to how I feel. Music has this way of opening the heart without asking permission. When I miss her, I play those songs. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I smile. Sometimes I just sit and feel her near.
5. Taking Long Showers
Long showers became a kind of refuge for me. A place to cry without needing to explain. To let the water carry the weight I was holding, even if just for a moment.
Grief is heavy, and sometimes, standing alone under warm water gave me the only space I had to just feel it , without holding anything back.
It was quiet. Private. And in its own way, healing.
What Grief Has Taught Me
Grief isn’t something you get over. It’s something you learn to carry.
I’ve learned that presence doesn’t end with death, at least not always. My mom may be physically gone, but I feel her in so many places, in the quiet moments, in the music, in the way I move through the world. I’ve learned to stop rushing my healing. Some days feel heavy. Some days feel lighter. I’ve stopped judging either one.
Most of all, I’ve learned that love doesn’t end. It just changes shape.
If You’re Grieving Too…
First, I’m so sorry. This kind of pain is something only those who’ve been through it can truly understand.
I hope you find something, anything, that brings you comfort. Whether it’s writing, music, prayer, nature, or simply sitting with people who love you. Your grief is yours, and there’s no “right” way to feel it.
It’s okay to still talk to them.
It’s okay to miss them every day.
It’s okay to find joy again, too.
dear mama,
Thank you for keeping your promise.
Thank you for hugging us one more time.
Thank you for saying goodbye in the most beautiful way.
Thank you for letting me know you’re still with me.