My mom passed away 10 days ago. No, it was not expected. And yes, even though she was 86, it still feels too soon. My dad, who is 95, and many of her friends are still alive. So while I feel incredibly lucky to have had her until she turned 86, to me, it wasn’t her time yet. ( I cannot even imagine how hard it must be when you lose your mom when you are still young!)
As I navigate this new chapter of my life—losing someone who loved me more than she loved herself—I am learning about grief.
This is my version of grief, though, because one of my biggest realizations is that grief is deeply personal. Everyone grieves in their own way, and it may even feel different with every new loss.
That’s the first lesson: we cannot tell anyone how to grieve. Grief is uniquely our own. We can share what helped you if they are open to hearing it, but we can never prescribe how someone should grieve. Recommendations, to-dos, and do-not-dos don’t seem to help. I am feeling this firsthand now. The best thing we can do is let them know we are here and that we are thinking of them. Everyone already knows that nothing we say will take the pain away, but staying in touch matters.
Those simple texts meant the world to me. No advice—just “I’m here for you” and “I’m thinking of you.”
A grief counselor I listened to on my app said the worst advice is to tell someone, “You need to accept your loved one’s death; it’s the only way to move forward.” She explains that the best thing we can do is accept how we feel about our loss. That’s it. We can’t rush our emotions. We all have our timeline and we do not know how long.
The most important thing I’ve learned is to feel the grief as it comes. Not to push it away. It’s not going anywhere anytime soon. Instead, try to make it your companion. Grief will be with you for a while, so rather than ignoring it, acknowledge it. Live it. If possible, even make peace with it.
So, I let the tears come as they do—in waves. Sometimes the pain feels unbearable; other times, it feels softer, more like life. Yet, I am determined to face it as it comes. I’ve learned that denying or suppressing hard feelings never works. I’ve cried at the airport, in my bed, on the subway—wherever the grief finds me. I know I need to feel it.
Sharing my feelings, and pictures of my mom, and writing these words helps me. But that’s just me. I know some people need to grieve in silence. As with everything else in life, we are unique, and we need to respect that.
Most importantly, I’ve come to understand that grief exists because of love. I feel fortunate to have loved so deeply and to have received my mom’s love for all these years. Now, grief is my way of keeping that love alive.
There’s a saying: “When your loved one dies, you have 40 candles burning within you, and over time, some will go out. But one candle will burn with you forever.” Those who have lived it say it is true.
As I walk this new and painful journey, I know that my longing for my mom will never fully fade. But I will find my own way to keep our love and memories alive.
I know I am at the very beginning yet and I have so much more to learn. I know I have not fully grasped the idea that she is gone and that I will never see her again. That is a very hard truth to accept at this moment.
This is my way of coping as in everything else: I need to write and share to process this. I also hope what I am learning may help one more grieving heart one day.
I will miss you dearly Mom. I already do. You regretted giving me the name “Ozlem” which means missing someone. I know you always missed me when I was not around. Now I will miss you forever since you will never be around.
Thank you for giving me life and loving me so much so that I can grieve. I might have felt empty with your loss instead I have this grief as a gift of your love.
Your daughter
December 2024
Welcome to the club of motherless daughters, Özlem.
Such a beautiful piece. “Most importantly, I’ve come to understand that grief exists because of love. I feel fortunate to have loved so deeply and to have received my mom’s love for all these years.”
It is a gift to have loved unconditionally so the grief, too, has space for the imperfections. Theirs, and our own.
Holding you in my thoughts.
Thank you so much! “It is a gift to have loved unconditionally so the grief, too, has space for the imperfections. Theirs, and our own.”
Brooke: Big hugs to you in your time of loss. It is overwhelming, especially as an unexpected grief. My mother died at age 56, many years ago. That lone candle still burns for me, even after 42 years without her. Take care of you!
That is way too early to lose a mom Byron! Thanks for sharing it. I wish light and peace to all our moms.
Hello, Brooke or Ozlem,
Thank you for sharing your story. Your Mum sounds lovely and your honest story of your sadness that she has died and your love moves me deeply. My mother died 12 years before my father. Dad told me in his last year that every night before he went to sleep he shone his torch on a photo of my Mum (taken in 1938) and said “Good night, Daisy”. For him their love and relationship did not end because she was no longer breathing. It’s logical, anyone you love lives on in your heart. Lorriane Hedtke’s TED talk about this is beautiful https://youtu.be/KEexLVcUpwM. I hope you find these thoughts helpful in this difficult time. Here is an optional virtual hug. Best wishes, Nick
You are so wonderful and kind Nick. Thank you so much for sharing your dad’s touching story too. I will check out the Ted talk too. Thank you.