5

5 years… half a decade? It seems like yesterday, but a lifetime ago all at once. This year I found myself hoping that somehow this date might just come and go without my mind or body paying much attention. But somehow it’s always taken me by surprise – with a building irritability and tension in my mind and muscles that starts weeks before and peaks in a deep outpouring of emotion on the day of the 28th.

I remember when she and my dad sat my brother and sister and me down and told us the diagnosis. Being the drama queen that I am, I ran upstairs to my room scream crying “I can’t live without you” and she followed after me and I was reassured “you’re not going to have to.” 

Fast forward to 5 years ago, today. Easily the longest day of my life. Time. Stood. Still. Thinking back, that day was so surreal. What was just a normal Saturday for everyone else, was ground-shattering for me. I remember my brother and sister and I took a trip to Shoppers Drug Mart to buy tampons in the middle of it all. Waiting in line looking around me I was so envious of anyone passing by because what was for them a casual weekend errand run was for me, the last day I would ever get to see my mom.

I don’t think I’ve ever actually shared the fine intimate details of that gruelling day with anyone and I’m not about to - that shard of memory is mine to carry. But let me tell you, I’ve seen a lot of people die (#nurseprobs), and watching someone you love take their last breath is a whole other playing field. It was exhausting. At times you fervently wish for it to be over. And then you feel guilty for thinking like that. But the bond that my dad, brother and sister and I formed as a direct result of our shared experience, heartache and loss is something that is really special and something I would not trade for the world.

Instead of going into the deets of that day, I want to fast forward to the future. “Time heals all wounds”, right? While I agree in a sense… time sure doesn’t take away the sting when I say the words “I lost my mom” out loud. Those words don't seem right. A “lost” sock can be found again. This isn't just a missing sock, ya know? This is a huge hole in my gut, which will never, ever go away. 

Time, however, makes her scent fade. Time makes the sound of her voice distant. Time makes our memories together harder to remember. 

While I wish I had some insight for anyone reading this who might be going through a similar situation, I don’t. I’m just using this as a creative outlet and a way to process my grief.

Lately a lot of thoughts go through my head: could I have done more to be a better daughter? Would she be proud of me or disappointed in my choices? As I wrestle with these complex emotions, I realize the value in allowing myself to process whatever feelings bubble up, however normal or absurd they may seem.

Most people in their 20’s rely on their parents for support in one way or another. When you lose your support system at a young age, it leaves you to figure certain things out on your own. I feel like I am missing out on so much guidance she had left to give. I’m just starting to realize how much life I have left to live without her. Sure, she missed out on my university graduation, she won’t be there for my wedding (who am I kidding), but really, I just miss her advice on things like what to wear, who I should date, and my next move in my career. 

She was the definition of a bad B. She was a consummate sage - a certified life coach. She offered boundless wisdom to anyone who needed it and could walk you through any problem you were facing. So for every celebration, every milestone, any time I think I’m getting somewhere… there is an aching sadness that goes along with it. Would she approve? What would she think? Am I heading in the right direction? I honestly just wish she could guide me when I need it the most, which I’m learning the hard way, is right now in this season of life. 

Sadness will wash over you at unexpected and inconvenient times. People always think that the holidays are the hardest for those who have lost loved ones. Or, maybe certain dates like deaths, birthdays or anniversaries. The truth is, some days are worse than others – but those days are unpredictable. Maybe it’s a Tuesday, and you’re driving home from work and “All About That Bass” by Meghan Trainor comes on the radio and forces you to completely break down. Maybe it’s a Sunday afternoon at the park and you’re pushing your niece on the swing and you’re instantly catapulted back to the same moment with your mom. Maybe it’s walking into Walmart and reaching the Christmas decoration aisle. Maybe it’s the drive from the airport home when the leaves are changing colour. It’s not the holidays or the “special days” that are that hardest. It’s the Tuesdays or the Sundays that suddenly jolt your senses and break you down. Those days are the hardest.

I have such a heavy heart because while I know deep down that Mom was proud of me, I never got to actually show her the woman that I am capable of being. I think that’s the toughest part. If she were still here she would share in my celebrations, motivate me when I am down. She would encourage me to keep going, to find who I love and what it is that makes me passionate and go, even if and when the rest of the world isn’t in support.

So to any of you reading this who made it this far… don’t take your mom for granted. If you still have your mom, tell her you love her. Seek her advice and wisdom, like right now. And for those of you reading this who don’t have your mom in your life, go that extra step to make her proud, live the life she wanted you to live, be the person she wanted you to be. 

When you miss her do something to honour her, something that can bring you joy. For me, there are a few ways I honour my mother. First, I talk about her often. Even if it makes people uncomfortable, lol. I want the people in my life who never knew her – the friends I’ve made since she died, my co-workers, my future partner – to learn about her. I am who I am because of how she raised me. Second, I wear her jewelry, listen to specific songs that remind me of her, light a special candle, go for a drive on a rainy Friday. These are tangible ways for me to remember her style and good taste, her scent and her humour, but it’s also a personal reminder: for 20 years, she was with me, and her presence was a beautiful gift.

Most importantly, when you miss your mom know that it is okay to miss somebody that much, because that’s what unconditional love is and that’s what she has given you. 

I consider myself the luckiest woman alive… I really do.. even if everyone says they have the “best mom in the world”, I still believe mine was unique. She was everything I aspire to be and more. Whenever I am missing her, I also remember how fortunate I was that I had her in my life. I wouldn't trade those moments for the world. Remember: grief and gratitude aren’t mutually exclusive. 

Grief is like the ocean, it comes in waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim.