Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Tag: #lettinggo

Holding Tight to the Pain of Loss

February 8, 2026 / / 0 Comments

I saw a video where a grieving mother told of how her friend had said to her, “I wish I could take away your pain…” and her reaction to this was a strong NO. She did not want her to take away her pain, any of it. I thought to myself I have said to others what her friend had said to her. It is not easy to watch someone you love in such pain. You wish you could take it away. This statement comes from a place of love, how could she be upset with such an offer.

She continued to describe her pain, the feelings of despair and the hardship of trying to breathe with a broken heart. These awful, life-changing attributes were hers. Because she lost her child. Hers because no one else had her relationship with him. Hers because no one could fix her fate. Hers because it was what she had left of him. His death left her with this pain. The pain of missing him.

What a beautiful way to see your pain. To hold the pain as a medal of honor. Yes, raw and cutting, but love remains and within the pain are the memories, the never-ending bond for your child.  I had looked at the pain as something you do one of two things with. You live with it, trying to become amicable, complaining of its tincture. Or you run away from it; you find distractions to ignore the hurt. Throughout the days, you might do one and then the other but the third option of holding it tight, selfishly letting no one touch it…well, that was new.

When I reflected on how I handle my pain, I realized that there are moments when I hold tight to it. Bittersweet moments when I am with Zane’s friends recalling his adventures that seems to naturally become part of our conversations.  It is why I enjoy being with them so often. Each time I am transported to another time where through stories I feel as if Zane has joined us, sipping a gin soda, laughing with us over his antics. Some stories I have not heard.  Some his friends have not heard, thus every time is like a new chapter being told.

I know some family and friends feel this prolongs my grief, thus my insistence to keep these relationships has been questioned. I have been angry with the inuendo that I should move my grief to a different space or pace to align better with the expectations of others, yet it feels self-seeking to not oblige.

Grief is the other side of love and there are no one-sized answers to how pain is held. One can only do what aligns with their current pain. Perhaps time and understanding are required.  The understanding that the need to hold the pain of loss is an equally important choice to letting it go.

The video I saw brought clarity. A mother, sharing how holding her pain close and not wanting anything or anyone to remove it made so much sense. When I hold tight to my grief, it softens. Within the angst of loss, I feel the eternal connection to my son through the shared comradery of his friends.  It is how I hold tight to my pain.

The Autumn of Motherhood

October 15, 2023 /

I have two friends who have not met but recently, both experienced the loss of their mother. Their moms each had in their own way, led a full and beautiful life and my friends found themselves on the path of preparing for their mother’s departure. One couldn’t help but notice the similarities and the subtle differences of their individual experiences. And as I spent time with each friend, I found myself comparing their story to that of my mother’s.

Each mother, in her own way, was a pioneer, boldly taking on life, caring for a home, a career and raising a family. As I listened to the lives of each, I realized how much we are subconsciously tailored to be maternal. We step up and accept the role of caregiver without a thought if this is an intentional role we need to play. We just know that it is. And we accommodate, taking a leave from work to help or bringing them into our home to care for, but always putting them first. Our priority is them. And our thoughts, our plans, our personal schedules become intertwined with what does mom need today.

When a parent has had a full and long life, it would seem it should be easier to say goodbye. We experience anticipatory grief, knowing that the end is near. We use the time to reflect and share old memories, squeezing in a few new memories that we hope will comfort us after they have left. We appreciate time. It supports us to come to a place where we can say, “it’s alright to go now mom. I will be ok”. Each of my friends had that opportunity. As did I. And although it doesn’t ease the final pain loss brings, it does help build the strength it takes to let them go.

When I knew my mother was ready to leave this realm, it was just after New Year’s.  She had Alzheimer’s and each day was another measure of how much she would remember. That particular day I was trying to explain to her that it was a new year.  “We begin again. It is January, we have winter, and then we will have Valentine’s Day and then St. Patty’s…” She cut me off. “No,” she said, with a shake of her head, and looked straight into my eyes. I got it. I took her hand in mine and whispered, “ok, mom, give me a little time to put your wishes in order, and you can go.” She died the 29th of January.

I know that my friends are at a loss. It has been fifteen years since my mom left and I still have days where I wish she was here to give me advice or remind me of a family member or just to sit and gripe with. She was my friend. And with my two friends, they experienced a similar relationship with their mom.  They went from daughter to friend to caregiver. The circle of life for the souls of daughters.

As they pack up their mom’s belongings and finish up the paperwork, they will begin to question if their own affairs can be in better order. It might be that they feel an urge to purge, or they might want to write out their own preferences for the time that they will be leaving family and friends. It is sort of a silent gift our mother’s give us. In their departure, they continue to teach us how to be better women for those we love and serve. The beautiful life of a mother is as our seasons are. And with Autumn, comes the grace of growing old.

“To all my friends who have lost their mother; As with the other ones we love across the veil, our mothers are watching us, guiding us, a part of our cellular make up that death cannot have.”

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