10 days ago, my mom passed away after a very long battle with ovarian cancer. I published a post the same day — “My Mom’s Suffering Is Over: Reflecting On The Best Of Times, Worst Of Times” — which I actually started writing while sitting next to her in her hospice bed, as she was having her last deep sleep, prior to finally passing and being out of pain (for me, writing in these kinds of situations can be really cathartic… I didn’t know what else to do with myself, after holding her hand for hours).
While this post will hopefully not be as emotional as the last one (though my eyes are already a little wet, ugh), I did want to take a moment to reflect on the past 10 days, which frankly just feel like a complete blur. Most importantly, I want to thank you all, and I’m not sure words can do justice to how grateful I am.
I can not thank you all enough for your kindness
I’m honestly speechless at the incredible amount of support I received after I published my post. Seriously, there’s no way I can describe how much the kindness and compassion shown over the past 10 days have helped me.
The wild thing about losing someone like your mother is that it’s supposed to happen in that way (in the sense that it’s better for a son to lose a mother, than for a mother to lose a son, as my mom had to deal with around three decades ago), but that doesn’t make it any easier.
When I lost my mom, I felt like a part of me was ripped away, that can simply never be replaced. And I still feel that. But it gave me such comfort to hear people share their stories, give their tips on how they dealt with loss, and just say that eventually it gets better. It’s not that it makes me feel better to know that others have suffered (or are suffering) as well, but it feels better to know you’re not alone, and that we all have to find a way to get through this.
The kindness I was shown (between the comments section on the post, emails, messages, carrier pigeons, etc.) made me collectively cry for hours. But it was good and helpful crying, and it really make me feel like I was not alone, and like I’ll get through it. So thank you.
I actually started making a list of some of the most insightful things people shared, and maybe I can publish all of those at some point in the future, to help others who are going through a similar situation. Like this one:
I wish I could tell you it gets easier – but it’s really that it just gets easier to deal with… I do promise that. I also promise you she’ll send you signs from the universe that she is still with you and your family – just keep your eyes and heart open… you’ll see them, no doubt.
Or this one:
From the words of someone who has gone through tragedy, “There will come a day, I promise you, when the thought of your mom, brings a smile to your lips before it brings a tear to your eye. It will happen. My prayer for you is that day will come sooner than later.”
That’s not even the tip of the iceberg, but let me just say it again — thank you, thank you, thank you. The comments helped me cry my eyes out, and then feel at peace. And there are messages I’ll go back to again and again over time, since I know that healing doesn’t happen overnight.
The past 10 days have been a whirlwind of emotions
The past 10 days have simply been unlike any other period in my life. In the first two days, I don’t think there was a waking hour that went by where I didn’t cry.
After my mom passed, those of us who were there with her went to her home (in St. Petersburg), and it was just impossible. I couldn’t stay there, because of course everything reminded me of her, and I felt like I couldn’t breath. So with the ability to handle everything remotely, I went back to my home in Miami, to be with Ford and our young kids, since they provide a great distraction and happiness.
But that wasn’t necessarily easier. When she was still alive, I’d send my mom pictures of our kids multiple times every single day. It brought her so much joy to see them. So after being reunited with our kids after they woke up and giving them an extra tight hug, I went to take a picture of them to send to me mom, only to realize… that’s not a thing I can do anymore.
Then we had breakfast. Our older son, Miles, likes a certain type of yogurt, which was always my mom’s favorite. It’s how he got into it. So every morning he tells me “papa, I’d like baba yogurt” (“baba” is what he called her). The way he refers to it now takes on even more meaning than it did before.
Then that night, I did the typical nighttime routine with Miles, which involves him picking out the books he wants to read from his bookshelf, and then we read them together. Usually he picks out something lighthearted, along the lines of “Brown Bear,” but that night he picked out a book I had never read to him before.
It was called “Love You Forever” (actually a book from when Ford was a toddler), and it’s basically about how life progresses. It’s about how the mother cares for her son, and then eventually the son cares for his mother. Of all nights, this is the one where he picked this book to read? Reading that without crying was not easy, I’ll tell you, but it almost felt like a sign from the universe.
In many ways, beyond the first 48 hours, it actually got a little “easier” emotionally. I was able to stay distracted making arrangements for my mom’s memorial, taking care of all the paperwork, etc. After all, there’s a lot to do.
I actually felt pretty calm by late last week, but then we had my mom’s memorial on Saturday, and all the feelings came rushing back right away. Being back home now, I feel a sense of peace and closure, sort of. That’s not to say the sadness is gone, but I am increasingly coming to terms with my new normal.
I know this might sound silly, but I’m so grateful for the fact that my “job” is really doing what I love to do all day. The airline, hotel, and travel industry is my biggest passion, and in all honesty, it’s also such an amazing distraction.
It allows me to do something I enjoy during a really difficult time. It’s one of the reasons there hasn’t been that much of a drop in terms of the amount of content over the past 10 days (aside from Saturday, which was spent entirely with family for my mom’s memorial), despite everything else going on.
There aren’t many people who can make a living doing what they love, so I’m very grateful for that, and never take it for granted. And of course I thank you all for that.
With time, I trust happy memories will replace sadness
Day by day, I’m coming more to terms with this being the new normal for me. I know how much my mom was suffering when she was still with us, and I know how she had accepted it was her time to move on, and be reunited with her son who passed 30+ years ago, and many other people who were dear to her.
I had to let go of the selfishness of still wanting her around, and instead be grateful for the fact that she got to meet both of our sons, when she didn’t think she’d meet either of them. That’s on top of being grateful for being blessed with such an unconditionally loving mother. Of course I feel like a big chunk of me is missing, but I also accept that this is how the cycle of life works, even if I think she was taken too young.
The best thing I can do is try to live a happy life, remember what an amazing woman she was, and be as good of a father as I can be (since I know being a good parent matters to her more than anything). At least that’s the goal…
Bottom line
The past 10 days have without a doubt been the most challenging on my life. As much as I thought I was prepared for my mom’s passing, when it actually happens, it hits you in a way you can’t anticipate. The sense of loss is immeasurable, and the wave of emotions are all over the place.
My biggest takeaways from the past 10 days are twofold. First of all, I’m so grateful to everyone for how kind they’ve been, and how much peace and comfort that has brought to the grieving process, learning from others who have experienced similar things. Second of all, I’m starting to see a light at the end of the tunnel where eventually the happiness of the memories of my mom will overshadow the sadness of the loss. It might not happen today or tomorrow, but I know with time, all things heal.
So my heartfelt thank you, once again, and please take care of your loved ones, tell them how much you love them, and plan that special trip with them.