My mother/best friend

MrsPennyB, Your story is very similar to mine, as is the timeline. I was Mom's caretaker during her cancer and subsequent illnesses from 2012-2017 when she passed. So much of what you shared I could have written. I miss her terribly. She was also my best friend and taught me everything I know other than how to live without her. To make matters worse, I've had multiple other losses in my life since 2017. I am alone in my grief most days because I choose not to share too much with others. I'm the one they view as strong and composed, so I don't want to appear weak or frazzled even though some days I feel nothing but despair because of the change and trauma in my life the last two years. I'm grateful for this site and the resources it offers. Bless you, MrsPennyB, as you continue earth's journey without your mom. Perhaps our mothers met in heaven and have become friends. That's a nice thought. Take care.

Hi everyone,
I came on to My Grief Angels because I am recruiting participants for my undergraduate thesis research. As an aspiring doctor, I am interested in exploring the changing role of technology as it interfaces with the end-of-life. If you or someone you know has lost a loved one and would be interested in participating in my project, please email me at racelswi@umich.edu. Thank you!

Hi everyone my name is Rhonda Ferguson and I’m having hard because my mom was diagnosed in 2014 with cancer today 5 1/2 years md Anderson said there’s nothing else they can do with my cancer . My mom is in good spirts and I guess she is preparing me for her time . How do I handle this situation .

I know how you feel. We lost my mom on Friday Oct 1st and I'm so overwhelmed with grief and loss. I remember my mom told me, "The feeling of loss will always be there but over time it will become easier"

This is from a viral reddit response I came across a few years back. I only copied the main part of it, leaving out the user's names because I copied it and sent it in an email to my brother but normally I would include all that. You can google the first line and probably find the original post without any problem

Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.

As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.


My condolences to everyone experiencing the loss of a loved one but especially if it's their mom because mom is home and all things love

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