If You’ve Lost Her

mommy and me

We share a bond, you and I, if you’ve lost her. If you have watched your dearest friend leave this world, I stand with you. If you have heard the words, “She’s gone” echo throughout your existence, you are not alone. If you have felt yourself break from top to bottom with the ceasing of that once beating heart beneath your mother’s chest, you are my sister.

I do not know your name. I do not know your story. I do not know the woman you long to hug, the hands you wish to hold, or the voice you pray to hear. I do, however, understand the reaches of your grief, how it spills into every part of who you are and what you do. I know of those sleepless nights and the days you simply breathe through because you don’t know how to live anymore. I know of the gaping hole in your heart you think even strangers can see. And I’m sorry.

I imagine you have people in your life right now that are trying to help you through this. I hope you do. If they’re anything like the people I had, they’re trying to walk you through this time the best they can. They might tell you to cry. They might tell you not to. They may say it’s time to move on. They may try to tell you to hold onto the good. They may tell you to forget the bad. Remember they’re trying and trying is all they can do.

I will not tell you to cry. I will not tell you not to cry, either. I will not tell you to move on. I will not tell you to hold on. I will not tell you to forget a single thing. What I will tell you, what you need to know, my dear sweet soul, is the truth.

The truth is losing your mom sucks.

It hurts you in ways you didn’t know you could hurt. It turns your world upside down and inside out. It makes you question everything and everyone. It makes you mad. It makes you sad. It makes you feel bad for being mad and sad. It makes you feel things you don’t want to feel and admit things you don’t want to admit. It makes you a new person, sometimes better, sometimes worse.

The truth is you’ll never be the same.

You’ll never be who you were before you laid her to rest. You may look the same, dress the same, talk the same, but the loss will make you different. You’ll see things differently. You’ll feel differently. You’ll act differently. You’ll think differently. The biggest change: You’ll love differently.

The truth is you didn’t lose her.

Not really. She will forever be in your smile, in your hug, in your steps. She taught you how to do all those things, and so she isn’t really gone. You cannot see her, but you’ll forever feel her. You cannot touch her, but you’ll always be touched by her. You cannot hear her, but her words will still guide you. You didn’t lose her, but gained an angel.

The truth is it gets better.

I can’t tell you when the tears will stop. I can’t tell you why they stop when they do. I can’t tell you when the pain will end or how you’ll handle it when it does. But I can tell you that these things will happen. Your cheeks will one day be only stained and not wet with new tears. You heart will learn to beat with joy rather than suffer with ache. You eyes will readjust to this new life without her and you will see the blue sky again. There will be clouds that fill that same sky, and rain that falls, but it will still be blue and not the black it used to be.

The truth is that day will come.

Hold on to the truth.

❤ Like Baby Bear Soup

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15 thoughts on “If You’ve Lost Her

  1. I lost my Nanna when I was 18 to lung cancer, I’m now 24 and it isn’t easier. She’s my Mother. She looked after me, nursed me, clothed me, fed me, held me, all of it. This post made me cry and know I’m not alone, thank you. Could I reblog this? X

    Liked by 3 people

  2. Reblogged this on Outside the Coffee Cup and commented:
    After 6 years without her, this made me feel like I’m not alone with my pain. My Nanna raised me as her daughter and she lost to lung cancer. Please read this beautiful, caring post from a beautiful, caring person ❤

    Like

  3. Reblogged this on Emmagc75's Blog and commented:
    I had to reblog this beautiful post.
    Losing my Mom six years ago to cancer was the most painful time of my life. She was my heart and soul, my biggest cheerleader and just an amazing person. She touched so many people’s lives with her laughter, kindness and generosity. She taught me how to live with depression, even though she never suffered from it until after a stroke many years later. She also taught me to NEVER make apologies for having a chronic illness that was just a genetic luck of the draw.

    The most difficult part was learning to exist in a world where she no longer did. I can readily admit I was lost for a while. She had this way of making everyone around her feel loved and special. Over 800 people attended her wake and funeral and I know she was smiling because while she didn’t really drink, she loved a good party lol.

    Although there are still times the pain cuts like a knife and I forget how to breathe, those times are increasingly rare. Mostly I find myself so grateful to have had her as my Mom for 33 years.

    Her love, life and laughter live in my heart forever! So if you are lucky enough to still have your Mom, call her today and say I love you. It’s a gift and a blessing.
    Have a beautiful day xo

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Beautifully written. I lost my Gramma 5 1/2 years ago, and we buried her the day before my daughter’s 3rd birthday. And she still remembers Granny. ❤ My Gramma was my biggest supporter through my BP1 in the beginning of my diagnosis. I often go to her and my Grampa's grave and sit on the headstone to get peace. It's a beautiful place. May I reblog this wonderfully written piece?

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Beautiful expression of love and grief for your lost mom. I still have my mom, but she has Alzheimer’s–was diagnosed in 2010–so she is not quite the person she used to be. But we live in the moment, and each day is different, but that’s okay.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Reblogged this on SassaFrass, The Feisty and commented:
    I haven’t lost my mom, but the loss of my Gramma-all of my Grandparents really-hit me hard. It does get easier, and you do smile again, but the wound never really heals. It’s always there, smarting every now and then. You just have to grieve, let it run it’s course, and handle when the waves come and try to knock you down. It’s ok, because that day will come when you can see again, albeit a little differently ❤

    Liked by 1 person

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