On June 2nd, my mom passed away.
Loss of a loved one is one of those strange things in life. We know it’s inevitable; we understand, on some level, that everyone we love will one day be gone. But even when you expect it, you’re never really ready.
Some of you may know my mother had been facing health challenges for some time. It wasn’t exactly private—I’ve written about her journey before, and those blog posts are some of the most read on my site. Writing has always been a cathartic outlet for me, and that series helped me process what we were walking through as a family.
For quite a while, my mom’s condition had been stable, but it limited her quality of life. She spent most of her time at home, leaving only once in the last two years (to attend my brother’s wedding). So while we knew she wasn’t well, it had simply become our norm. And when something becomes your norm, you stop expecting change.
Until, suddenly, it changes.
This is my first experience losing a parent. Even though I knew it was coming, it still hit with a force I couldn’t have fully anticipated.
In the hours immediately after her passing, I went straight into “take-care-of-everything” mode for my dad. He was completely heartbroken. Like many couples, they had talked about arrangements here and there but hadn’t made any final decisions. I’ll never forget being on the phone with him when the coroner gently asked, “Where would you like us to take her body?” He didn’t know. How could he? It’s not the kind of question you think about until you’re forced to. I made a suggestion, pulling from the experience we’d just recently navigated with my husband’s family. My husband lost his mom less than three months ago and his dad two years (to the very day) before that.
From there, everything came fast. Burial or cremation? Memorial details? My mom didn’t have life insurance, and many of the decisions had simply been put off. So I stepped in—handling the logistics, the obituary, prayer cards, photo slideshows, phone calls, paperwork, and the endless details that come in those early days after a loss. All while trying to simply be there for my dad.
Thankfully, my brother and I were able to tag-team being with him. My brother lives 90 minutes away, I live 45. We made sure that one of us was with Dad every day. In those first 10 days especially, I didn’t want him to feel alone. My parents were married for 44 years, together for 47. His whole world changed overnight.
Now, as I write this, it’s been nearly two weeks since her death. By the time this post goes live, I’ll be approaching the three-week mark. And I’ll be honest—I’m exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally.
Between the running, the planning, the decision-making, and the processing, I’m spent. My brother, who is over five years sober, took this loss especially hard. As his big sister, I’ve tried to stay strong for him, too. I have to say: I’m so proud of him. At the service, he got up and spoke beautifully. No small task. I must have heard from at least a dozen people who commented on how well he did. Public speaking isn’t my thing— I’m more of a behind-the-scenes person (I think the details were pretty flawlessly executed, if I do say so myself). But seeing him up there made me proud in a way that words can’t fully express.
In the midst of all of this, a few things have stood out to me—lessons that grief seems determined to teach.
1. The Quiet Strength of Showing Up
The outpouring of support has been overwhelming—friends, family, team members, even people I barely know, have reached out, showed up, sent cards and flowers, prepared gift baskets, or simply let us know they are thinking of us. My team at #Strella stepped up so I could focus on my family, and for that, I am beyond grateful. But no one deserves more credit than my husband. Being the spouse in these situations is incredibly hard, and yet he has carried so much for me these past weeks. On top of it all, he had surgery just two days after my mom passed—a surgery we couldn’t postpone. Still, he has been by my side through every step.
2. Rediscovering Connection Through Memory
Going back to my parents’ house has felt like stepping into a time capsule. Sleeves and sleeves of printed photos from my childhood—my parents’ early years, family vacations, high school moments, friends, birthdays—all waiting to be rediscovered. Sitting down with those photos has brought back memories I had long forgotten. I’ve scanned many to share with friends and family, sparking laughter and tears. In some ways, these photos have allowed me to reconnect with parts of my life and family in ways that words never could. They’ve given us small, joyful moments in the midst of our deep grief.
3. When Perspective Becomes the Priority
I’ve always been an overachiever, a checklist person. And lately? My checklist has gone completely out the window. Some days I’ve barely kept up with the essentials. But this experience has shifted my perspective. At the end of your life—and even at the end of a long day—no one remembers how many tasks you crossed off. What remains are the people you impacted, the relationships you nurtured, the love you shared. I saw that so clearly at my mom’s service. The people who came, the stories they told—that’s what mattered. It’s a reminder for me to slow down, to be present, and to focus on what really counts.
Grief is strange. It’s heavy and tiring, but it’s also filled with moments of grace—moments that remind you of the good that remains, even in loss. I won’t pretend to have it all figured out. I’m still in the thick of it. But writing this, like the blog posts before, helps me process. And I’m grateful to have this space to share, even in the messiness.
Mom, you’ll be deeply missed here on earth, but you’ll always live on in our hearts. I’ll carry you with me every day, holding onto the good times and the memories we shared. I love you.
