Two Years Without Mom

My mom died – two years ago today. My world changed forever. Time has softened the edges of grief, but the ache remains. I still feel the pull to pick up the phone, to call her when I’ve had a stressful day, or when something happens that only she would react to in exactly the way I needed. That impulse never goes away. Life moves forward, but it doesn’t feel like it should. There’s always a missing piece, a space where she should be.

How Life Has Changed

Her absence reshaped my family. I cherish the time I have with my dad and siblings, knowing our time together is precious. I watch my nephews and nieces—too young to fully know her—and ache that they won’t get the full “Nana experience” the way my boys did. Holidays don’t feel the same without her. I feel a responsibility to carry her traditions forward, but I can’t quite recreate the magic she had.

Visiting her grave was almost unbearable at first. Each step toward her headstone felt like a reminder that she was truly gone. But with time, it’s become a ritual of love rather than pain. My dad still visits often, carrying a quiet, steadfast devotion that is both heartbreaking and inspiring.

Dreams and Signs

Three weeks after she passed, she came to me in a dream—or maybe it wasn’t a dream at all. It was a visit. I can still feel the hug, the warmth, the vividness of it. Later, I saw her again—running, smiling, full of joy. Those moments brought me peace, reminding me she is somewhere safe, whole, and happy.

Balancing Grief and Living

Her death changed how I see the world. I think about death more often, maybe fear it more than I used to. But it also makes me live differently—procrastinate less, embrace moments more, take joy in simple things, and say yes instead of maybe later.

There’s a fine line between living in the present and being a responsible adult—between chasing bucket list moments and making sure the mortgage gets paid. I want to embrace the now, because tomorrow isn’t promised. But I also want to plan for the future—for my children’s weddings, for grandchildren, for all the moments still ahead.

Grief is unpredictable. Sometimes laughter fills my days, other times I find myself crying quietly in unexpected moments. Thursdays—the day everything changed—were once unbearable. Now they’re just Thursdays again. But September 14th will always carry weight, a date my heart won’t ever forget.

Moving Forward with Hope

That first year, I lost myself. I didn’t practice the self-care I strongly believed in. I was numb, unfocused, and just trying to get through. But this second year, I’ve done better. I’ve chosen to fill my time with things that bring me joy, to focus on what nourishes me, and to pour love into the people who matter most.

I will never stop talking about my mom. I’ll make sure her grandchildren know who she was—the vitality of our family, the laughter, the goofiness, the warmth. She was the heart of our gatherings, the one who brought fun and liveliness into every room.

I still just want to call her. That part never gets easier. But I carry her with me. I live in a way I hope would make her proud—finding joy, embracing life, and cherishing the people I love. And maybe, in that way, she’s still here.