When I was a child, I vividly remember being consumed by the fear of losing my parents—especially my mother. I was so attached to her that the idea of life without her was unfathomable. If she went on vacation with my father or was simply late coming home, anxiety would set in. Where is she? What’s happening? As children, our parents are everything—they are our survival. If we’re fortunate enough to have loving parents, they are our source of love, safety, and protection.
As I moved through my 20s and 30s, that same anxiety lingered, but it shifted form. I no longer worried about whether my mother would return home on time. Instead, the fear became: How will I cope if I lose her? How will I navigate this chaotic world without her advice, love, and support? The anxiety would be so intense I had to force myself to shut down the thoughts because the fear was too big, too unfathomable. How could I ever live in a world without her?
In my 30s, I experienced the heartbreaking reality of watching my mother, still so young in her 60s, deteriorate due to Parkinson's disease. It slowly took away everything she loved: her voice—once the source of so much laughter and wisdom; the sparkle in her eyes, which had lit up so many moments; and her ability to move—the joyful dancing and warm hugs that had always been her way of expressing love.
When my mother passed away at 42, I was thrust back to that little girl whose worst nightmare had come true: I would never see my mom again. The grief was excruciating. My body and mind were experiencing shock and pain I had never felt before. Grief was a whirlwind, overwhelming me with waves of anger, sadness, disbelief, shock, and hopelessness. At times, the emotions were so intense that I felt numb—my body’s way of protecting itself from the sheer weight of it all.
As a therapist, I’ve had the privilege of sitting with countless clients over the years as they’ve shared their personal experiences of grief—whether from the loss of a parent, child, grandparent, or close friend. I've also witnessed the profound sorrow that accompanies the slow loss of one's abilities due to chronic illness, accidents, or suicide.
The ways people cope with grief vary widely. I’ve seen clients turn to work, or addictions as distrractions, while others are overwhelmed by depression. What I’ve come to understand is that skipping the painful process of grieving doesn’t give the emotions the outlet they need. The only way through such a profound loss is to allow yourself to fully experience the pain and all the complex emotions that accompany it.
I’ve observed that, as humans, we often do everything we can to avoid feeling pain. However, the danger is that if grief is not properly processed, it can negatively impact our mental and emotional health, as well as our current and future relationships.It also doesn’t honor the great love we feel for those we lose, as with great grief is a reflection of the great love and great loss we experience. The stronger the grief, the more it reflects the depth of our love and connection.
With time, however, I’ve come to realize that grief often brings with it a deeper appreciation for how fragile life truly is. It reminds us that nothing is guaranteed, and in that, it urges us to live fully in the present—because that’s the only certainty we have. Grief is quiet and loud, gentle and fierce. But over time, it is a reminder that love and grief go hand in hand and is a shared human experience on this earth.
Years later, I can now look back and remember my mother’s beauty, her unyielding zest for life, and the powerful imprint she left on so many people. Grief never truly ends, but it changes shape over time. Now, I can smile when I think of her, with a deeper appreciation for the people I love. Grief is a reminder to live loudly and love strongly. It may never completely go away, and there are moments—like when a Tina Turner song comes on, a song my mother and I used to dance to when I was a kid, or that I played for her in the final month of her life in the hospital—that I burst into tears. But even then, I know that the love I felt for her reminds me that nothing is permanent and love is the most powerful. No one is permanent. What does live on is the imprint we leave on those we love—and that, in the end, is what lasts.