essay on my mother's death

My mother's death isn't something I survived. It's something I'm still living through.

For years, I’d assumed I would be completely incapable of functioning after my mom died. I had no idea what my life would or even could look like after that. I couldn’t imagine it, just like I couldn’t imagine, when I was a kid, what it would be like to drive a car or go to college or even just be a grown up; it felt like I would just have to cease to exist when she did.

And yet, here I am, two and a half years after my mom’s death on May 15, 2018. I don’t know if I’m thriving, or even “surthriving,” a term that makes me think of a preternaturally peppy Molly Shannon character on “Saturday Night Live.” But at least I’m no longer sleeping with the lights on while the Mel and Sue years of “The Great British Baking Show” drone on at the edges of my consciousness … most of the time, anyway.

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I didn’t do anything in particular to survive her death except continue to stay alive. I certainly haven’t processed the pain, and I doubt I ever fully will; it’s all simmering just beneath my skin, ready to escape at the next Instagram story from The Dodo about interspecies friendship.

Immediately after her death, there were things that had to be done — writing an obituary, canceling her credit cards and hiring an estate attorney. And I did them; they filled some time. I had help — a lawyer, friends, family, the health aide who became a second daughter to her and a sister to me. Plus Mom had been very organized; she’d even prepared a list of all of her logins for me. Logistically, it was as easy as a death could be.

The most important thing I learned about grief is that it isn’t linear, and it isn’t logical.

But at the end of the day, I was her only child. And she was my only mom. And she was gone. Just gone.

So I let her answering machine fill up with messages, because I couldn’t cope. No one sat shivah for her in Texas; I didn’t even know where to begin to organize that. I had a panic attack in the housewares section of Target.

In the months after that, I declined a lot of social invitations; I whiffed deadlines; I stayed up all night playing video games and listening to true crime podcasts by myself. In short, whatever remaining concerns I had about meeting most societal norms went out the window.

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It wasn’t all terrible; there were small mercies that I’ll never forget. Even when I was at my worst, my loved ones did what they could to soothe the unbearable. My friends came and sat shivah with me in New York City when I arrived home, filling my apartment with carbohydrates and flowers. They flew to me when I needed them but couldn’t say. They took me into their homes when I showed up; or they took me hiking along the Pacific Ocean or to karaoke.

Still, my grief cruelly took away my ability to concentrate on books, movies or even any TV shows that required more than the bare minimum of intellectual processing. I had nothing left to invest emotionally or intellectually in anything I normally loved — or even anything I was once pleasantly distracted by. I struggled to pitch my editors. I flubbed an interview with a celebrity so disastrously I still think about it late at night.

Eventually, I allowed myself the luxury of going to therapy twice a week instead of just once.

If this all sounds awfully familiar to you, it’s because we’re all grieving in some way.

The most important thing I learned about grief is that it isn’t linear, and it isn’t logical. You have to be very careful with yourself and with who you’re around, and you have to make sure they’re extra tender to you, too. Even the most big-hearted people will do or say the wrong thing; I still do it myself. Most of their missteps are forgivable, but you’ll decide which ones aren’t, and that’s important, too.

Special bonds were formed in the last two years between me and the friends who’ve also experienced the loss of their mothers; it’s a very particular, complicated sort of loss that can feel extra messy and ugly. And, let’s face it, not many people can tolerate hearing about the disgusting indignities of aging and death unless they get paid by the hour — nor should they. There is also a kind of relief that you feel after a death like that, and the relief feels shameful, but even the shame feels like a relief, sort of like popping a pimple.

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I’m no longer scared when the phone rings (mostly). When a famous person dies, I no longer calculate how much older or younger they were than my mom, as if that somehow affected her odds of survival. Dead parents, it turns out, are great ice breakers on first dates and at cocktail parties. I’m thankfully off the hook for airport travel over the winter holidays. When certain dates roll around — like the anniversary of my parents’ respective deaths — I’m not sad so much as simply disassociated.

If this all sounds awfully familiar to you, it’s because we’re all grieving in some way. We’ve collectively experienced wave after wave of loss in the past nine months, and it scares me to think of how shattering it will be once the constant flow of news and tragedy relents just a little.

I didn’t do anything in particular to survive her death except continue to stay alive.

This sounds horrible but, without the death of my mom — and specifically the experience of grieving her death — I wouldn’t have emotionally or mentally survived the pandemic. While I’m still no expert at tolerating discomfort, I’m better at it than I used to be; there’s not much else to do when you’re laying sideways across your bed at 4 a.m. staring at your cat and feeling desperately, bitterly lonely, except to feel desperately, bitterly lonely.

Plus, now I don’t have to worry about her during the pandemic; she had chronic obstructive pulmonary disease and an increasingly knotty conflagration of disorders that would have made her an over-the-top risk for Covid-19, and she lived in Texas. She worried about me all the time anyway, even when there wasn’t an airborne virus ravaging us, and I’d have felt guilty for worrying her, and she’d want me to move back to Dallas, and, well, we’ve all seen “Grey Gardens,” right?

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In the before-times, when I was on a subway stopped between stations, I’d try to sense the millisecond it began to lurch back into motion, until I could no longer tell the difference between standing still and moving. Grief is like that, but with fury and fear and sadness and a terrifying blankness that nothing can soothe. You can’t tell when the subway will start moving again; you can’t magic it into motion. You can only wait and see what happens, and make sure you’re holding on when it starts moving again.

You won’t believe the kinds of things you can survive. I didn’t. I still don’t.

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Jenni Miller is a freelance writer who covers movies, TV, sex, love, death, video games and assorted weirdness for a variety of publications online and in print.

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The Unimaginable Heartbreak of Losing Your Mom

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To a girl, her mom is her first best friend. The person who teaches her what a woman should be. The first person to wipe her tears away when she is afraid or hurt. The first person to tell her how beautiful and special she is. To a girl, her mother is invincible.

One day, though, you learn your mom isn’t invincible after all. So, you stand there and tell her you love her and you will somehow be OK. You stand by her side while she takes her last breath, and then it hits you. You aren’t going to be OK.

In the days, weeks, and months that follow the death of your mother, you will feel a heartbreak like you cannot even imagine.

Think of your very worst break-up, multiply it by 100. That doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of what you will feel.

You will be angry, so angry you find yourself shaking. You’ll cry until your head is pounding, your eyes are swollen shut, and your nose is so stuffy you can’t breathe. Then you’ll cry some more.

Food will lose its appeal, and the weight will fall off faster than you can buy new clothes. You might pick up old bad habits, anything to help numb the pain enough so you can sleep through the night.

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Sleep won’t come, though — you will toss and turn for hours looking at old videos and pictures just so you can hear her voice or see her smile. One day you will be walking through a store and see someone who resembles your mom and your heart is going to sink to the floor. For just a second, you’ll forget she is gone. It will hurt, bad.

There will be times you pick up your phone to call her but stop after the first ring because it sinks in —s he’s not going to answer. In an effort to feel “normal,” you will go to familiar places she went to, listen to her favorite gospel hymns, you’ll even spray her perfume all over your pillow. It won’t help. You’ll find yourself screaming in anger, crying until you’re sick, and begging God to bring her back.

People will try to comfort you with the “right” words, but those words don’t exist. You will learn that some people you trusted and thought were friends will do things and say things that will make you lose trust. They think they are doing what is best, and they are. They do what is best for themselves, and you get to pick up what pieces you have left. Be very careful who you let into your heart in the first few months — you are extremely vulnerable. Any sense of love or comfort sounds good, but it can be deceiving.

Nobody will ever replace your mother — it simply is not possible.

Please, do not let anyone break your heart so soon after the death of a parent. It is better to be guarded than to be shattered again when you haven’t even begun to heal from your loss.

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There are stages to grief, or at least that’s what is rumored. Grief doesn’t know it is supposed to come in stages though. Instead, it tears down your facade, wrecks your world, walks out casually, then returns hours later to do it all over again.

I wish I could say one day it is easier, that you wake up and feel whole again, but I can’t . You will wish you were dead at times not because you hate life but because you want so badly to see your mama again. You will push people away even though you love them deeply.

The thought of loving someone so much, of being so captivated by someone, only to have them ripped from you will take its toll on your heart and mind. Realizing you would rather be alone than ever feel so much heartache again is normal. Take the time to be alone if needed but don’t disappear. Somebody cares about you and is worried.

There will be days you can’t get out of bed. There will be days you don’t want to smile. All that is OK. Nobody can tell you what to feel, how you should feel, or how to handle your grief. If anyone does try to tell you how to grieve, punch them in the nose.

Having to experience holidays and birthdays without your mom will be one of the toughest parts. You will experience “happy” occasions that are almost impossible to push through without crying because she should be there. Missing your mom is something you will feel every moment of every day, even when you’re happy. You will be having a good time and all of a sudden wish she was there. All the emotions will flood you with a vengeance. That’s OK, too.

If your mother was anything like mine, she deserves to be missed. It’s hard to try and move forward with your life when your confidant, friend, biggest fan, and defender is gone. Remember, you are half her — her DNA is coursing through your veins. You will always miss her and wish she was here, she was your mom. Take time to feel the emotions and take time to miss her. You aren’t alone.

You aren’t the only one who feels lost.

You aren’t crazy for feeling incomplete. Let yourself find peace. Remember that she loved you with a pure, unwavering, and endless love. Take that love she showed you and share it with others. Make her love your legacy.

RELATED: Did My Mom Know How Much I Loved Her?

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Jessica Grillo

After suffering the loss of my sister and mother in March, I started writing about my personal journey through this lonely and brutal process . I found my voice, I found my truth , but most importantly I found healing in the words that were flowing from my soul.

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Why the Death of Your Mother Is a Life-Changing Event

Shock, relief, loneliness, and gratitude, perhaps all at once..

Posted December 29, 2022 | Reviewed by Vanessa Lancaster

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Regardless of the quality of the relationship, losing your mother is a major life event. Many people fear the grieving process; grieving your mother’s death will turn that process on its head. The known becomes unknown, the predictable becomes uncertain, and warring emotions compete–starting immediately with the shock that someone so integral to your presence can suddenly just be gone.

Though our brains are astounding in their ability to adapt to changing circumstances, that skill can complicate the grieving process. The thread of a mother’s existence runs throughout your life, humming in the background from childhood through adulthood. It doesn’t matter if you struggled to get along or found her to be your best friend; even for those who never knew their biological mother, her death will be momentous.

Coping With Shock

If your mother was a significant part of your life, her death will somehow bring everything to a screeching halt while life continues to march forward. The world around you will change, seasons will pass, and holidays will fly by, but your world may seem to stop. Your brain will be forced to grasp how someone can be present in every way but also physically gone forever – a dissonance that creates significant stress and anxiety .

The first days after the death of your mother are filled with the mechanisms of survival mode: finding the will to shower, making the plans that accompany death, remembering to eat, and reminding yourself to keep breathing. Those days will pass in a blur, and later you may look back at them with little to no memory of what happened – a completely normal reaction to your body's shock.

As you progress through waves of shock and sadness, you may be in awe at the depth of your grief . It can come on gradually and suddenly. There will be triggers you are aware of and may even seek out, just to get a release on the emotions building up in your chest. There will also be triggers that come out of nowhere and stun you into instant sorrow. You will be surprised at how quickly tears form, with no warning.

Physiological Reactions

Physiological reactions like crying, rapid breathing, digestive issues, and more are the body’s natural way of coming to terms with enormous change. Without these reactions, there would be no outlet for emotions that are too intense to handle otherwise. The process of shock is intimately wrapped up in these reactions: Your body is a pro at connecting the logical dots and making things work, but when it’s trying to navigate the abstract nature of powerful grief, it becomes symptomatic.

Your body will do its best to protect you from the immediate, terrorizing pain of your mother’s loss. As part of its shock reaction, you may find yourself behaving normally and wondering why you don’t feel more sadness, anger , or really anything at all. You may be swimming in the depths of numbness and brain fog . You will likely find sleep to be suddenly unpredictable, and your thoughts may become strangers.

When the Numbness Wears Off

The initial numbness of your mother’s death will eventually wear off. It happens in pieces, one wave at a time, and the feelings that follow will be some of the most extreme you'll ever experience. Anger, guilt , resentment, relief, misery, despair — there are no limits to the emotions that will flood your body and mind. Many people wander in and out of shock for months (and sometimes years) as their minds try to work through these emotions while still going through the motions of living.

Once the loss sinks in, you may feel breathtaking loneliness . You may now be the first of the line, staring your own mortality in the face. You are not as removed from death as the presence of your mother led you to believe, and her absence will be glimmering behind every object, every action, and every thought.

You will feel suddenly and irrevocably responsible for the future. You may experience a crushing weight of “what if” that leaves you almost breathless. There is no longer a mother to bounce ideas off of, call when you’re upset, or get affirmation from. You’re on your own now. You have to be your own cheerleader, support, and shoulder to cry on — and you have to do it all while continuing to live your best life. The responsibility can be grueling.

While adjusting to your foundation crumbling, your emotions will often turn against you. You will suddenly remember every argument, every wasted moment, and every missed opportunity, and you may experience paralyzing regret.

Just as your mind recognizes there is no going back, your emotions may urge you to take up residence in the past. Despite their futility, guilt and condemnation often become a way to cope with the intense pain of your mother’s death.

Moments of Hope

Though it’s nearly impossible to believe, all will not be negative. You may feel relief, particularly if your mother struggled with chronic conditions that will no longer plague her. You may feel released from the conflict or pressure that came with a caregiving relationship. You may even feel a renewed sense of gratitude for your own life and a sharpened ambition to soak up every minute available to you and your remaining loved ones. Death can knit together as much as it can tear apart.

Your mother’s death will change you. That change is likely the only predictable part of the entire process – a process that will break, overwhelm, and rebuild you. The only way out is through, riding each wave as it comes and, through it all, remembering to breathe and keep moving forward.

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Jamie Cannon, MS, LPC, specializes in the treatment of trauma, anxiety, and grief with populations ranging from children and families to victims of domestic violence.

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“Grief, when it comes, is nothing like we expect it to be.” ~Joan Didion

This spring marked ten years since I lost my mother . One ordinary Thursday, she didn’t show up to work, and my family spent a blur of days frantically hanging missing person fliers, driving all over New England, and hoping against reason for a happy outcome.

My mother was prone to frequent mood swings, but she also talked to my two older brothers and me multiple times a day, and going off the grid was completely out of character. How does someone just vanish? And why?

Forty days is a long time to brood over worst-case scenarios: murder, kidnap, dissociative fugue cycled through my addled mind. I gave in to despair but always managed to buoy myself up with hope . My mom was my best friend, and at twenty years old, I needed her too much to lose her. She simply had to come home.

Six weeks later, my brother called. Right up front he said he loved me—a sure sign bad news was coming. There was no way to say what he had to say next, so he just spat it out like sour milk: our mother’s body had been found.

A diver checking moorings in a cold New England harbor had spotted something white on the ocean floor. That white whale was our mom’s station wagon. She had driven off the end of a pier. We didn’t say the word suicide, but we both thought it, failed to comprehend it.

It’s been ten years since that terrible spring. Much of it still doesn’t make sense to me, but a decade has softened the rawness of my grief and allowed moments of lightness to find their way back into my life, the way sunrise creeps around the edges of a drawn window shade.

Losing someone to suicide makes you certain you’ll never see another sunrise, much less appreciate one. It isn’t true. I’m thirty years old now and my life is bigger, scarier, and more fulfilling than I ever could have imagined. Grief helped get me here.

Grief is not something you can hack. There is no listicle that can reassemble your busted heart. But I have found that grieving can make your life richer in unexpected ways. Here are ten truths the biggest loss of my life has taught me:

1. Dying is really about living.

At my mother’s memorial, I resented everyone who said some version of that old platitude, “Time heals all wounds.” Experience has taught me that time doesn’t offer a linear healing process so much as a slowly shifting perspective.

In the first raw months and years of grieving, I pushed away family and friends, afraid that they would leave too. With time, though, I’ve forged close relationships and learned to trust again. Grief wants you to go it alone, but we need others to light the way through that dark tunnel.

2. No one will fill that void.

I have a mom-shaped hole in my heart. Turns out it’s not a fatal condition, but it is a primal spot that no one will ever fill. For a long time, I worried that with the closest relationship in my life suddenly severed, I would never feel whole again. Who would ever understand me in all the ways my mother did?

These days I have strong female role models in my life, but I harbor no illusions that any of them will take my mom’s place. I’ve slowly been able to let go of the guilt that I was replacing or dishonoring her by making room for others. Healing is not an act of substituting, but of expanding, despite the holes we carry.

3. Be easy on yourself.  

In the months after losing my mother, I was clumsy, forgetful and foggy. I can’t recall any of the college classes I took during that time. Part of my grieving process entailed beating myself up for what I could not control, and my brain fog felt like yet another failure.

In time, the fog lifted and my memories returned. I’ve come to see this as my mind going into survival mode with its own coping mechanisms.

Being kind to myself has never been my strong suit, and grief likes to make guilt its sidekick. Meditation, yoga , and journaling are three practices that help remind me that kindness is more powerful than listening to my inner saboteur.

4. Use whatever works.  

I’m not a Buddhist, but I find the concept of letting go and not clinging to anything too tightly to be powerful.

I don’t read self-help, but I found solace in Joan Didion’s memoir The Year of Magical Thinking .

I’m not religious, but I found my voice in a campus support group run by a chaplain.

I hadn’t played soccer since I was a kid, but I joined an adult recreational league and found that I could live completely in the moment while chasing a ball around a field.

There isn’t a one-size-fits-all grieving method. Much of it comes down to flailing around until you find what works. Death is always unexpected; so too are the ways we heal.

5. Gratitude wins.

We always feel that we lost a loved one too soon. My mom gave me twenty good years. Of course I would’ve liked more time, but self-pity and gratitude are flipsides of the same coin; choosing the latter will serve you in positive ways, while the former gives you absolutely nothing.

6. Choose to thrive.

My mom and I share similar temperaments. After her death, I worried I was also destined for an unhappy outcome. This is one of the many tricks that grief plays: it makes you think you don’t deserve happiness.

It’s easier to self-destruct than it is to practice self-care . I initially coped through alcohol and other destructive methods, but I knew this was only clouding my grieving process. I had to face the pain directly, and write my way through it. So I wrote a book.

Everyone has their own constructive coping mechanisms, and choosing those, even when it’s hard, is worth it in the long run. My mother may not have been able to find happiness in her own life, but I know she would want that for me. No one is going to water you like a plant—you have to choose to thrive.

7. Time heals, but on its own timeline.

“Time heals all wounds” is something I heard a lot at my mother’s memorial service. Here’s what I wish I had known: grief time does not operate like normal time. In the first year, the present was obscured entirely by the past. Grieving demanded that I revisit every detail leading up to losing my mom.

As I slowly started to find effective coping mechanisms, I began to feel more rooted in the present. My mood did not have to be determined by the hurts of the past.

There will always be good days and bad. This is the bargain we sign on for as humans. Once we make it through the worst days, we gain a heightened sense of appreciation for the small moments of joy to be found in normal days. Healing comes over time, but only if we’re willing to do the work of grieving.

8. Let your loss highlight your gains.

I’ve lived in New York City for eight years now, but it still shocks me that I’ve built a life that I love here. It’s a gift I attribute to my mom. She was always supportive of my stubborn desire to pursue a career as a writer. After she died, the only thing that made sense to me was to write about the experience.

This led me to grad school in New York, a place I had never even considered living before. It feels like home now. I wish I could share it with my mom, but it was her belief in me that got me here. I lost my mom, but I found a home, good friends, a career I love and the perspective to appreciate it all.

9. Heartbreak is a sign of progress.

In the first years after the big loss, I assumed romance was dead to me. Why would I allow someone else to break my heart? Luckily I got past this fear to the point where I was able to experience a long and loving relationship .

That relationship eventually imploded, but I did not, which strikes me as a sign of progress. Grief makes us better equipped to weather the other life losses that are sure to come. This is not pessimism. This is optimism that the rewards of love always trump its risks.

10. Grief makes us beginners.

Death is the only universal, and grieving makes beginners out of all of us. Yet grief affects us all in different ways. There is no instruction manual on how best to cope.

There is only time, day by day and sometimes minute by minute, to feel what works, and to cast aside what does not. In the ten years I’ve learned to live without my mother, I’ve tried to see my grieving process as an evolutionary one. Loss has enriched my life in challenging, unexpected, and maybe even beautiful ways.

About Lindsay Harrison

Lindsay Harrison is a New York based writer and editor. Her first book, Missing , was published by Simon & Schuster. When she's not writing, she's most likely playing soccer or walking her dog, who looks like a fox.

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A Mother’s Love: Essays and Poems Exploring Grief and Loss

A folio curated by jp howard.

Regina Jamison Breena Clarke Cheryl Boyce-Taylor Sonia Jaffe Robbins Amber Flame Lynne Connor

I am writing this introductory essay to this folio exploring a mother’s love on the two year anniversary of my own mother’s passing. Two years into this great loss, I am still remembering, gathering, celebrating, mourning, and holding on to pieces of Mama. Some days she enters my poems and essays and when I turn the page, Mama is there guiding me. Other days I fear I will forget the sound of Mama’s sweet voice saying “ Hey babygirl, how was your day? ” When we lose someone who is literally a part of our heart, we continue to work through our grief and loss over time. This time of year, filled with holidays and family celebrations and gatherings, can be a trigger for those of us processing our grief, while everyone around us is going about the business of living and loving.

My own writing community, Women Writers in Bloom Poetry Salon, is filled with writers and friends who have experienced great loss these last few years. Since last December, we have lost three dear friends, all members of our Salon, poets Monica Hand, Jayne A. Pierce and Esther Louise. Each of these women were not only talented poets, but also fierce Mamas to their children. I am grateful we have their poems and our memories, yet I know that their families and our writing community will always miss them. So many of us have had to deal with the heartbreaking loss of a child, parent, spouse or significant other, either recently or years ago. As writers, it is nearly impossible for us to experience these losses without it also affecting our writing process. I have invited six amazing women writers to reflect on their own experiences with grief and loss for this special folio. These writers are all mothers; some have written about losing their own mothers, while others have written about losing their only child. Each piece is exquisite in its honesty and filled with love and often longing. By sharing the particular pain of losing a child or losing a mother and reflecting on the love that endures, each writer allows us a glimpse into their healing process.

I want to take this opportunity to praise each of our contributors to this folio. I recognize that it was an incredibly challenging and tremendously personal task. I see reflections of myself in their stories as I continue to work through my own loss and I am grateful for the gift of their words. Over time, artist Amber Flame learns to “feel” as she processes her mother’s death, “ I am choosing to feel it all, feel it deeply. ’ While novelist Breena Clarke shows us the healing power of writing as she processes her only child’s sudden death in her stunning essay “ I started to write regularly and purposefully because doing so was palliative as well as rewarding. I simply felt better, less sore. Writing was soothing. ” Poet, Cheryl Boyce-Taylor, in her extraordinary zuihitsu poem about the loss of her only child, explores how we sometimes hold fiercely onto our grief: “ I eat and eat from the table of loss finally when it’s all gone I want more / afraid to live with/without it   miss the daily discipline of tears as company / miss the scorch loss brings to my face…..” Regina Jamison’s poetry explores death as a literal disconnect: My mother’s death / severed us from her like a heavy metal door. Lynne Connor, writer, workshop facilitator and a new mother herself, moves from initial grief over her mother’s death towards affirmation, in her nuanced essay: “B ut the flip side of loss, of being lost, is acceptance. I come from the land of not enough. From shame and unknowns. But my daughter will come from full disclosure. ” Editor Sonia Jaffe Robbins learns how to be a different type of mother to her own daughter, as she reflects on how her mother walked through the world: “ From her, I learned to keep my feelings hidden even from myself. Writing helps me let them escape. I talk to my daughter in ways I never did with my mother. ” There is often a learning and a clarity that ebbs and flows over time when we lose loved ones. Thank you Cheryl, Breena, Regina, Lynne, Amber, and Sonia for allowing us on this journey with you in these remarkable contributions.

–JP Howard

JP Howard with her Mom Ruth King ~ two Leo Divas smiling

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Death, Dying, and Bereavement: Reflection Essay

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Terminal Illness

End of life issue.

While dying is part of human life that surrounds each person, some encounters with death are more influential than others. My mother’s passing was an experience that impacted my view of life and end of life care the most. She died before her 60th birthday – her terminal illness was discovered very late, and she passed away less than a year after receiving the diagnosis. Such a rapid change in my life left a mark on my memory and reshaped my view of life and death.

It was difficult for me to come to terms with her death – the period between the diagnosis and her passing was too short. I was in denial for a long time and had trouble accepting what had happened. Looking back at this time, I see how the end of life is not always expected, and why the children of terminally ill loved ones require the attention of medical professionals as well.

End of life care for my mother took a toll on me, and I had to reevaluate my aspirations to see whether I treated life as an endless path. Now, I reflect on the feelings I had in order to remind myself that the end of life cannot be fully preplanned and that each case is unique in its own way. Moreover, I try to remember that one’s existence is finite. In some cases, the best solution is to provide as much comfort to someone and make sure they are making choices to the best of their ability and knowledge to have a happy and dignified time.

I also considered how my mother might have felt at the moment of diagnosis and during her last year. It is incredibly challenging for one to understand what knowing that you will die soon means. Such clarity is not always desired, but I believe that it is vital for people to know about their current condition because it affects their decision-making in healthcare and life, in general. Death is a part of each human’s life, but every step toward it does not feel final because it can come at any moment.

Knowing one’s diagnosis changes the way people and their loved ones think. Although I can only imagine what my mother felt, I understand what the families of terminally ill persons are going through.

If I were diagnosed with a terminal illness and were given a prognosis of six months or less to live, I would try to accept it in good faith before making decisions. Death is inevitable, but it is impossible to be fully prepared for it, even when you think that you are. So, I would look into myself to search for peace with this news in order to take advantage of the time that I have left.

I would feel sad because I would not see my loved ones and miss them dearly. Thus, my priorities for what should be done would change. I would try to see my family and friends as much as I could and spend time with them, making memories for them and myself. I would like to leave some mementoes behind and focus on the good times that we would have together. Planning for several months ahead is difficult when the exact date of death is unknown, so I would do my best to make the most of each day.

However, it is also vital to think about one’s inner comfort and peace. Coming to terms with my passing would be critical to me – it provides some type of closure and allows me to let go of worries related to everyday life. People may cover their fear of dying with activities and concentration on planning and socialization. In doing so, they may overlook their own satisfaction with life, denying themselves a chance to reflect. As such, I would spend some time searching for some last unanswered questions and unachieved goals that could be completed in the short span of time that I would have.

Finally, I would concentrate on my present and my loved ones’ future. I always strive to remember that life is endless in a way that it continues for other people. Although I will eventually die, some of my friends and my family members will continue living long after I am gone, facing problems and challenges that are inherent to humanity.

Thus, I would try to make plans to alleviate some of these issues. Most importantly, I would organize the provision for my child to finance the education – one of the most necessary, but expensive, parts of one’s coming to adulthood. If possible, I would review our housing options, savings, family and friends support network, and address other household and healthcare concerns.

Doctors and nurses in end-of-life care carry a significant burden in working with patients and families dealing with ethical and moral dilemmas. Some of these issues are also regulated legally, although the lines of what is legal or not are much less clear than in other cases. For me, one of the moral dilemmas that I had struggled with was the patients’ and relatives’ differing views on treatment planning. In some situations, the client’s family members may not pursue the same goals as the person under care. These aims can be guided by religious or personal views on health and death. Others can be motivated by financial problems, strained relationships, emotional health, and a multitude of other reasons.

For example, in a hospital, a family may not want the patient to know the diagnosis as it could scare or sadden them. In this scenario, I turn to the some of the medical principles as the basis for my value system. I would highlight the importance of fidelity – people have the right to known about their prognosis and diagnosis (Karnik & Kanekar, 2016). I think that truthfulness is a necessary part of end-of-life care and support, even though telling someone their diagnosis is difficult.

In some situations, children want to keep their parent alive as long as possible and request all possible procedures, while the client denies care and seeks comfort to spend the last days with dignity. Here, the principle of autonomy would guide my practice – people reserve the right to make decisions to the extent of their capacity (De Panfilis et al., 2019).

Moreover, it is vital to remember that rigorous treatment does not equal beneficence in all scenarios. I try to approach each case individually and acknowledge that every person has the right to control a part of their destiny through healthcare or outreach for support, and the duty of caring professionals is to inform our clients of all the choices they can make and what outcomes they can expect. In the end, medical science advances continuously, but death remains an unchanging aspect that requires person-centered thinking.

De Panfilis, L., Di Leo, S., Peruselli, C., Ghirotto, L., & Tanzi, S. (2019). “I go into crisis when…”: Ethics of care and moral dilemmas in palliative care. BMC Palliative Care , 18 (70), 1-8. Web.

Karnik, S., & Kanekar, A. (2016). Ethical issues surrounding end-of-life care: A narrative review . Healthcare, 4 (24), 1-6. Web.

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Grieving My Mother as I Became a Mother

I’d counted on my mom, an expert on child development, to help me learn to parent my son. The thought of managing without her was terrifying.

By Cassie Chambers

This essay was originally published on January 7, 2020 in NYT Parenting.

I used to say it casually: “I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.” I said it when I was tired, worn out, maybe coming down with a cold.

Then my mother was rear-ended by a semi truck and died. I don’t use that phrase anymore.

When the wreck happened, I was almost 19 weeks pregnant. I had talked to my mother a few hours before, like I did almost every morning. I had called her as I drove the winding road from my home to my office and complained, once again, about how tired I felt. I told her I had been feeling queasy lately. I could hear the smile in her voice. She told me she was sorry I didn’t feel well, but she was happy there were signs her grandson was growing.

She had said for months that she wanted my son to call her “Nana.” But she felt the need to reiterate it, once again, during that conversation. “I just feel like a Nana,” she said, as I pulled into the parking lot where I left my car each day. I hurriedly told her I had to go — that I was almost at my office — and she rushed out the words she always ended our calls with: “O.K., I love you, bye.” She hung up while I was saying “I love you, too.”

I tried to call her again as I came back from lunch that day. A conversation with a new mom friend had left me wondering whether I needed a doula for the birthing process. I had never heard of a doula, and I wanted my mom’s thoughts on the idea. Her phone rang until it went to voice mail.

When my father showed up at my office a few hours later with the news, I didn’t believe him. “But I talked to her just a few hours ago,” I said, confused. I didn’t fully believe that it could be true until I saw her body, days later, after it had been released by the coroner’s office. Until that point, I kept telling myself there was at least some small chance that they — the police, the hospital, the media — had made a mistake.

But it wasn’t a mistake, as surreal as it was. I began to go through the required motions: shopping for a black dress that fit over my expanding belly to wear to the funeral; picking out bright, cheerful flowers to drape over the coffin; placing the “grandmother” necklace I had bought her for Christmas a few months before into her hand so that she could be buried with it.

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How to Deal With the Death of a Mother

EMS-FORSTER-PRODUCTIONS / Getty Images

The death of one's mother is one of the hardest things most people will go through in life. Whether you two had a great relationship, a strained relationship, or something in between, this event will likely have a significant impact on your life.

In one survey, between 20% to 30% of participants stated that losing a loved one was the most traumatic event in their lives—even among those who had reported 11 or more traumatic events over the course of their life. For that group, 22% still ranked the loss of a loved one as their most traumatic event.

Why the Death of One's Mother Is So Hard

Whether you are grieving the death of a mother who birthed you or a mother (or mother figure) who raised you, you are either grieving the bond you had or the bond you wish you had.

John Bowlby , a British psychologist, believed that children are born with a drive to seek attachment with their caregivers. While others before him believed that attachment was food-motivated, he believed that attachment formed based on nurturing and responsiveness.

Therefore, it makes sense that grieving that attachment—or lack thereof—would be incredibly difficult.

A mother is such an integral part of our lives in our society, in part because we are not raised in communities with a variety of caretakers,” says Liz Schmitz-Binnall, PsyD, who has done research on mother loss and resilience.

Her research specifically focused on adult women who had lost their mothers as children and found that they scored lower on resilience than those who had not lost mothers as children.

She says she sees many people who didn’t have a good relationship with their mother but are surprised at the strength of their grief reaction following their mother’s death.

How a Mother's Death Can Affect Someone

While mother loss differs from other losses in some key ways, some of the same effects that come from any kind of loss or bereavement are present. Some thoughts and feelings typical of grief:

• Difficulty concentrating

Less known is that grief can show up physically , in addition to the more-known mental or spiritual indications. In your body, grief may look like:

• Digestive problems
• Energy loss
• Nervousness
• Sleep disturbances
• Weight changes 

Risk of Psychiatric Disorders

In others, however, a loss of a loved one may activate mental health disorders even in those with no history of mental illness. One study found an increased risk for the following disorders, in addition to discovering a new link between mania and loss:

• Major depressive disorder
• Panic disorder
• Posttraumatic disorder

Specifically in adults over the age of 70: 

• Manic episodes
• Alcohol use disorders
• Generalized anxiety disorder 

What Is Complex Bereavement?

All grief is complex, but upon losing someone, many people are able to slowly readjust to their daily routines (or create new routines). Mental health professionals may call it complicated or complex bereavement if it has been at least a year and your daily function is still significantly impacted. 

(Note: the current clinical name is Persistent Complex Bereavement Disorder, but the American Psychiatric Association recently approved a change of name to Prolonged Grief Disorder. )

Some of the signs of prolonged grief are the following symptoms still significantly impacting your daily functioning after 12 months:

• Difficulty moving on with life 
• Emotional numbness 
• Thoughts that life is meaningless
• A marked sense of disbelief about the death

In one study, 65% of participants with complicated grief had thought about wanting to die themselves after losing a loved one. So if you, or someone you know who is grieving, is having suicidal thoughts, know that you aren’t alone and this is not uncommon for what you are going through.

If you are having suicidal thoughts but feel you can keep yourself safe, you should talk to a mental health professional. If the thoughts become unbearable and you are in imminent danger of hurting yourself, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 988 for support from a counselor who is trained in this.

How to Heal from the Death of a Mother

When loss is fresh, it feels like you will feel that way forever—but you won’t.

“If you allow yourself to grieve, and if others allow you to grieve,” says Schmitz-Binnall, “you will probably notice that the really intense feelings will lessen during the first few months after the death of your mother.”

She says that while most people intuitively realize it can be hard to lose a mother, they don’t realize quite how hard it can be—or how long it can take. “People in our society often think we can move through grief in a month and be done with it.”

And even if we don’t acknowledge those feelings, that doesn’t mean they aren’t existing and impacting our lives anyway.

Liz Schmitz-Binnall

Too many people push us to ‘get on with life’ too soon after a significant loss. We need to be able to grieve, but...we also need to adjust our expectations of ourselves.

Some of her tips:

• Feel the feelings
• Or let yourself feel nothing
• Talk about your feelings
• Spend time by yourself
• Spend time with others
• Talk to her (in whatever way that means for you and your beliefs—it may also include writing letters to her.)

Talk to a Professional

Therapy can be helpful after a major loss like this. While most therapists will have worked with grief, as it's one of the most universal life experiences, there are also therapists who specialize in working with clients with grief. To find one, search for grief therapist or grief counselor in your area.

Get Help Now

We've tried, tested, and written unbiased reviews of the best online therapy programs including Talkspace, BetterHelp, and ReGain. Find out which option is the best for you.

Find a Community

Since grief can feel like such an isolating experience, many find comfort in support groups, whether they be in-person or an online support group. If you are a woman who has lost a mother, you may be interested in the Motherless Daughters community , which is both virtual and has offline meetups.

A Word From Verywell

The death of a mother is one of the most traumatic things someone can experience. If you are currently grieving your mother, give yourself grace. Whether you had a good relationship or not with her, there will always be grief associated with either the actual relationship you had or the one you wish you had.

Hasin DS, Grant BF. The national epidemiologic survey on alcohol and related conditions (Nesarc) waves 1 and 2: review and summary of findings .  Soc Psychiatry Psychiatr Epidemiol . 2015;50(11):1609-1640. doi:10.1007/s00127-015-1088-0

Schmitz-Binnall E. Resilience in adult women who experienced early mother loss .  All Antioch University Dissertations & Theses .

• Keyes KM, Pratt C, Galea S, McLaughlin KA, Koenen KC, Shear MK. The burden of loss: unexpected death of a loved one and psychiatric disorders across the life course in a national study .  AJP . 2014;171(8):864-871. doi:10.4088/jcp.v67n0209
• Szanto K, Shear MK, Houck PR, et al. Indirect self-destructive behavior and overt suicidality in patients with complicated grief.   J Clin Psychiatry . 2006;67(2):233-239. doi:10.4088/jcp.v67n0209

By Theodora Blanchfield, AMFT Theodora Blanchfield is an Associate Marriage and Family Therapist and mental health writer using her experiences to help others. She holds a master's degree in clinical psychology from Antioch University and is a board member of Still I Run, a non-profit for runners raising mental health awareness. Theodora has been published on sites including Women's Health, Bustle, Healthline, and more and quoted in sites including the New York Times, Shape, and Marie Claire.

How to Write a Tribute for a Mother Who Passed Away (5 Examples)

Losing a mother is one of the most difficult experiences in life. But writing a tribute that honor’s your mothers memory can bring some real comfort and closure.

When I wrote a tribute for my mother after losing her I found the process of writing very cathartic. It helped me to remember what a wonderful person she was and the good times I had with her.

You can also use your tribute or sections of it in a eulogy or as part of the funeral or memorial service.

So if you want to write a tribute to your mom but aren’t sure how keep reading. The tips and examples here will help you to write your own meaningful tribute to your late mother and to say goodbye .

Table of Contents

How to Write a Tribute to a Mother

There are some easy steps you can take to get your tribute perfect. You don’t have to include all of the following but it will give you some good ideas and a starting point if you want to write your own.

If you want to see some sample tributes then click here to scroll down and past these steps .

Choose the Right Tone

The first thing you should do is decide the tone your tribute is going to take. This will depend on your relationship with your mother. These are a few examples of how you may want your tribute to sound.

• Warm and affectionate – if your mother was your best friend and close confidante then a warm and sentimental tone would be fitting. You might share your fondest memories of here you have and the ways she made you feel loved.
• Respectful and reverent – on the other hand if your relationship was more formal then you could go for a respectful and admiring tone. This would allow you to highlight your mother’s strengths and virtues and focus on her accomplishments.
• Honest and candid – often our relationships with our parents are complex. If that was the case then don’t gloss over those difficulties. An open and truthful tone that acknowledges both the highs and lows can be just as meaningful as one that is all positive.
• Hopeful and grateful – Even if your grief is raw then it might be good to try and at least end your tribute looking forward with some hope. Maybe showing appreciation for all your mom did.

Use Meaningful Anecdotes

An anecdote or story that gives some insight into your mothers personality or the relationship you had is always good to include. This can bring your tribute to life and really make others understand the type of person your mom was.

Some examples of anecdotes you could use:

• A time she gave you advice that you still live by today.
• Inside jokes or silly memories that show her humor and warmth.
• A favorite ritual or tradition you shared. Something like baking Christmas cookies together or a trip you always took.

Be as specific as you can and include lots of details. You want the memories to be as vivid as possible so describe everything you remember.

Highlight Her Accomplishments

What achievements made your mother proud? Think about the accomplishments that she was pleased with.

Things like educational degrees, career highlights, creative talents or any community service she did. Anything that you know she found fulfilling and showed pride in.

For example: “Mom was the first female engineer at her company and loved mentoring younger women entering the field.”

But also don’t overlook what might be considered more mundane. If she was proud of the family she raised then mention that – “Raising four children and managing a household was mom’s greatest accomplishment.”

Describe Her Positive Qualities

A tribute should focus on the positive aspects of the person, in this case your mother. So talk about her strengths and what made her special.

For instance you could say: “Mom faced every challenge with courage and determination. Even when diagnosed with cancer, she stayed positive.”

But it doesn’t have to be something sad or related to her death. Things like loyalty, kindness, patience, how fun loving she was etc. are all qualities you can mention in your tribute.

Here’s a few more examples of what else you could include:

• “Mom treated everyone with such kindness, no one had a bad word to say about her.”
• “No matter the situation mom managed to find the positives. She was so upbeat and enjoyed life to the fullest.”
• “I always knew I could turn to my mom whenever I was struggling. She had such wisdom and her advice helped me through some of the hardest times.”

Pick a Meaningful Quote

This isn’t a necessity, and some may prefer not to, but consider including an appropriate quote. One that reflects the love of a mother and child.

For example:

• “There is nothing as sincere as a mother’s kiss.” – Saleem Sharma
• “A mother’s arms are more comforting than anyone else’s.” – Princess Diana
• “Life began with waking up and loving my mother’s face.” – George Eliot

Or alternatively choose a quote from literature, movies etc. your mother loved. Introduce it by saying why it reminds you of her or talk about why it meant so much to her – it was from her favorite film, writer etc.

These quotes about losing a loved one are a good starting point or see all our quotes for more ideas.

Close with a Tribute

Most tributes finish by directly addressing the person they are about. So speak to your mother and sum up her lasting impact.

These are a few closing tribute ideas:

• “You were the heart of our family, Mom, and that heart will never stop beating within us.”
• “I hope I can be as strong, caring and giving as you were. You set an amazing example for us all.”
• “Your guidance, wisdom and love made me who I am today. I hope to pass those gifts to my own children someday.”
• “While we may be grieving your loss your spirit lives on in your children and grandchildren.”
• “We miss you every day but your memory guides and comforts us.”

For more ideas see these tribute messages for loved one’s .

How to Write a Tribute if You had a Difficult Relationship

If you and your mom didn’t get on well or your relationship was complicated it can be hard to write a fitting tribute. You may have mixed feelings and be unsure of how to properly express them.

A good way to work around those concerns are to focus on the positive memories you do have, even if they are small moments. Or you could highlight her virtues, talking about things like her strength and resilience when faced with adversity.

For most of us the mother-child connection remains, even when fractured. You can honor what your mom meant to you by being honest and acknowledging your complex relationship while still reflecting on the impact she had one your life.

Remember that grief comes in many forms – a troubled relationship does not diminish your loss. So your tribute should reflect your truths.

Sample Tributes for Mother

If you’re still unsure of what to put in your mothers tribute these samples that take different approaches should help.

Sample 1 – Warm, Affectionate Tone

Our beloved matriarch, Helen Jones, passed away last month at the age of 87. Mom was the heart and soul of our family. A constant source of love, wisdom and encouragement. I can still feel the warmth of her hugs and her infectious laugh even now. And she had a smile that was so radiant and lit up every room she entered.

From childhood through adulthood Mom and I shared a bond that was special. She was my the person I knew I could turn to, confide in and look for help when I needed it. Basically she was my best friend. When I was scared, she soothed me. When I achieved success, she cheered louder than anyone. And when I struggled it was her who lifted me up with a faith in me that never wavered.

And family meant so much to her. She had a gift for making every family occasion magical, especially Christmas. Some of my most treasured memories are of baking cookies, decorating the tree and curling up in mom’s lap as she read “Twas the Night Before Christmas.”. The holidays will never be the same without her.

While we mourn mom’s passing we take comfort knowing her legacy lives on through her children and grandchildren. I will be forever grateful for the unconditional love she gave me. Her kindness and warmth touched everyone she met. Losing her leaves an ache in our hearts, but also inspiration to live up to her beautiful example.

Sample 2 – Respectful, Grateful Tone

Dr. Sophie Roberts, beloved mother, grandmother and groundbreaking scientist, passed away on January 5th at age 78. She lived a full and vibrant life defined by her intellectual curiosity, pioneering research and love for her family.

Dr. Roberts was a molecular biologist who made critical contributions to understanding RNA. She authored over 100 research papers and won numerous awards, including the National Medal of Science for her advances in genetics. She was especially proud when one of her discoveries led to a major breakthrough in treating leukemia.

While Dr. Roberts achieved so much professionally she always put family first. Whether it be a sporting every, play or graduation ceremony, she never missed a single one. She was always encouraging and helping her children to dream as big as they could. The scientific knowledge she passed on was so valuable but above all it is the love and support she gave that we will remember most.

Mom lived a life guided by determination and discipline. She was our role model and exemplified hard work, excellence and perseverance. While her absence is felt so deeply her principles and caring examples she set continue to guide us. We will always be grateful for the full, rich life she led and the time we had together. Your spirit lives on, Mom, through all you taught us.

Sample 3 – Honest and Candid Tone

Our relationship was complicated, but I always knew deep down that you loved me, mom. We clashed often as I was growing up. You had such high expectations for me and I felt like they were impossible to reach. It weighed heavy on me and I struggled to deal with that pressure. And we had our fair share of arguments over the years. But now you’re gone all I can think about is how much you sacrificed for me and that you only wanted me to have the best.

You worked three jobs to make sure I had everything I needed. I never went without, even when money was tight. And you always supported my interests, whether that was driving me to piano lessons or rehearsals for plays. It didn’t matter when they were or how exhausted you were from work, you made sure I got there. I know I didn’t say it enough, or at all, but I was so proud to call you my mother.

We had our differences, of that there’s no doubt, but your actions spoke louder than words. You may not have shown your love through words but you did instead through sacrifice. I admire you so much for the hardships you went through to raise me right. I wish we had more time together to mend fences. But I know you’re still watching over me and I am going to make sure I live a life that would make you proud.

Sample 4 – Hopeful and Grateful Tone

Losing you so suddenly Mom has left us all devastated. Not having you around and the pain of your passing is still raw. Our family will never be whole again with you gone. But even in such grief we can strive to find comfort in all the wonderful memories we shared over the years.

Like our yearly beach trips, where we built sandcastles, collected shells and watched the sunset over the ocean. And all those times you cheered so loud at my basketball games you drowned out every other parent. Or when you swallowed your fear of flying just to visit me in college.

Your love was like the ocean – vast, powerful and constant. You gave so much and asked for nothing in return. And while you may no longer be with us we feel your love still burning as strongly in our hearts and memories.

I miss you every single moment, mom. But I know you’ll always be with me, your spirit by my side and supporting me like you did in life. We will all honor your memory by following your generous and kind example and trying to do as much good as you did.

Sample 5 – Reverent and Respectful Tone

On February 19th we lost our beloved mother, Andrea Carter, at the blessed age of 94. She lived an extraordinary life defined by serving others and a wisdom we all benefited from. Her faith was an ever present throughout her life and so important to her.

Andrea set an example of what it means to walk with God. She volunteered tirelessly with the church and could always be counted on to provide meals and support to those in need. She could lift the spirits of everyone she met through an overflowing of compassion and kindness.

Andrea faced many of life’s challenges with grace, courage and humility. Even into her 90’s she maintained fierce independence, wit and lust for life that was inspiring to all who knew her. Her mind remained sharp as a tack and she took great joy in being with her many grandchildren and great grandchildren.

While we grieve her passing we can find solace in Andrea’s faith. She is in the arms of the Lord now. We will honor Andrea’s beautiful soul by following the example she set – loving with all her heart, selflessly serving others and walking faithfully with God.

Writing a tribute for a mother is never going to be easy. Emotions will be raw, you’ll still probably be grieving and will have to think of those most cherished memories you had with your mom.

But while it may take its toll you can take some comfort knowing your words will contribute to memorializing her memory. And being able to pay tribute to someone as special as your mom will be a big part of the grieving process.

So honor her life and all she meant to you with a fitting tribute.

Grief Support

For more help and support when dealing with losing a loved one and grief that follows these resources are worth checking out:

• Cruse Bereavement Support – this article the crude bereavement charity talks through how to cope with the death of a parent .
• The Motherless Podcast – writer and stand up comic Kelly Ford had a podcast that looks at the relationship and special grief we feel when we lose our mother.

Sally Collins is a writer and the founder and owner of Sympathy Message Ideas. Her passion is to help others deal with grief and provide assistance with talking to those grieving.  Learn more about Sally .

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Breaking news, i wrote an essay about my mom’s death — it made my professor cry.

Ryan Harman lost her mom to cancer last year.

In an essay for her English class, she divulged the heart-wrenching journey from diagnosis to death — bringing the internet and her West Virginia University professor to tears.

Harman shared the lengthy text in a viral TikTok video this week, garnering more than 13 million views and 45,000 teary responses.

At a time when her life was “supposed to be at its peak,” everything fell apart, she wrote, explaining that her mom was diagnosed with sarcoma, which invades bones and soft tissue , in 2021.

Harman went on to write that her mom got to see her and her sister graduate from high school, but it wasn’t until the newly minted graduate was on a celebratory beach trip with friends that things went downhill.

Her mom stopped replying to texts and calls, and when Harman returned home, her mom was bedridden with a 75% collapsed spine due to tumor growth.

Dedicated to a life of no regrets, Harman spent as much time as possible with her mom, laying in bed with her, holding her hand.

“She told us, ‘When I take my last breath, I want you guys to dance, don’t cry, dance,'” Harman wrote, expressing shock that she would be losing her mother at just 18.

In the summer of 2022, Harman’s siblings attended a Jason Aldean concert while she opted to stay home — that ended up being the night their mom died. Harman and her father rang them “about 20 times” until someone picked up.

When they arrived home, Harman’s sister said: “We didn’t answer your calls because we were dancing. We were dancing when mom took her last breath, just like she wanted.”

That was the line that choked up viewers .

“The dancing part got me,” one viewer admitted. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

“‘We didn’t answer your calls because we were dancing,'” another quoted. “I lost it.”

“I can’t stop crying,” confessed someone else.

“This broke my heart in the most beautiful way,” a TikToker agreed.

Some invested readers even made their own videos in response, many showing themselves tearing up or fully crying .

“No bc that essay deserves an award,” one user wrote on a clip .

“Me sobbing in the middle of work bc I read the essay,” shared another person on their own video . “‘We didn’t answer bc we were dancing.'”

The Post has reached out to Harman for comment.

“There is nothing I wish more than to be able to pick up the phone and call my mom, but I feel peace that she is watching over me and sees my every move,” Harman wrote.

“I celebrate her existence everyday and am so incredibly grateful to have the best Angel looking over me,” she concluded the essay.

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11 Reflections about Life 1 Year After My Mother’s Death

Tiffany Wright, MSW

August 8, 2019 marked one year since my mother passed. I gave myself intentional space of solitude from October 2018 to February 2019, to do as minimal as possible. I utilized my energy for work, rest, and self care activities. Self care included weekly and monthly involvement in dance, paint, therapy, life coaching, acupuncture, personal training and travel. In this time of stillness, I spent a lot of time in introspection. I allowed myself to feel the depth of my sorrow, and at times despair.

As a big believer in the therapeutic art of journaling, I constantly wrote about mental, emotional and spiritual experiences thru this time. It was necessary for me to constantly process what I was experiencing, in order to not be completely consumed by grief with an onset of depression on top of my normal depression experience.

As all types of fears, insecurities, and trauma based responses arose, I was intentional of asking myself, what can I learn from this? I was extremely emotionally fragile during this time, and I allowed myself the space and gave myself the permission to honor my emotional experience. I feel like most of what I will share can be applicable to anyone, but I must preface these reflections, by mentioning that much of the inner work I’ve done, has been centered on processing traumatic experiences, and relieving symptoms related to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. As a mental health practitioner and community healer, I have to constantly keep self care, self awareness, and wellness in the forefront of my life.

There’s many roles and responsibilities that I carry, and I take them all seriously. Self actualization and self love are very important to me, therefore as I’ve increasing became a more conscious and spiritually grounded person, challenging and removing anything that’s an internal or external that's a threat to my peace, freedom, or purpose, must be assessed.

So much has transpired in the last year, both externally and internally. I have grown immensely, releasing many unhealthy thought and behavior patterns, while also acquiring acceptance and courage in many ways that I found difficult before. In light of this growth, and in honor of the gift that loss brings, I wanted to share major lessons experienced since my mother passed.

• Life Goes On.

As someone who has essentially lost both of my primary parental figures, my maternal grandfather and mother, it felt like life would completely halt. There are times within the first 7 months of my grief of my mother’s death where it almost felt like it wasn’t ok to continue life or accomplish anything without my mother being able to experience it with me. However, she was a person that chose to live life up until her very last breaths. I’ve always been a curious, explorative and ambitious person, and I realized there was no need to change that; if anything, I chose to continue being in that power, and even more so in honor of my mother, I allowed these parts of me, to continuously drive me.

I traveled, launched businesses, grew professionally and spiritually. I established new relationships, and others came to completion. I completed projects I’ve been dreaming about for years. I went on adventures. I became more honest, confident and unapologetic. So much happened, and in light of it all, everyday I thought about my mom, gave honor to my mom, and spoke to her, as if she was right next to me. I continued to live my life, while staying connected to her, and life felt like it was lived so differently.

2. Just because you can physically push, doesn’t mean it serves you. BE still.

Challenging emotional experiences really bring a different perspective on the necessity to BE still. With some experiences, it is absolutely essential for one’s emotional health to minimize certain activities. I am used to being an extremely productive person due to balancing work, writing, event planning and my social life. However, it takes a specific type of mental energy to sustain the focus, effort and grit that fuels high level productivity. Its also very common for many of us to choose “staying busy” in lieu of “feeling our feelings.” When people experience something that hurts or angers them, they find ways to detach and distract themselves. In the end, the feelings remain hidden and buried, and eventually overtake us. This was the experience I had when my grandfather passed in 2016. I kept going and did not slow down. It did not serve me.

So this time around, I knew I couldn’t handle it the same. I slowed down, and many times expressed my fragility and weariness to others. I didn’t want to push. I let go of my past relationship with the notion of being “strong” by bearing my own weight, and allowed my vulnerability to give my loved ones the permission to hold for me. I said no whenever I needed to. I turned down socializing when I felt it would be difficult. I reserved my energy during work, when I felt too fragile and depleted.

3. Taking time to intentionally do nothing is precious, when you’re an intensely productive person.

This is connected to number 2, but goes in a different direction. The notion of BEing still can be more about slowing down, but doing nothing is literally, doing absolutely nothing. This was possibly one of the most difficult lessons to grasp, and challenges to employ. This challenge was actually assigned to me by my wonderful life coach. Like many productive people, so much of my identity was connected to outcomes and what I could/would produce. As a mental health clinician with depression, I am also super hypersensitive about my previous internal battle with balancing who I was as a clinician and healer with who I was as a person in need of constant restoration, and healing. There were so many morning, afternoons, evenings, and days where I literally had no plans, and actually did nothing. I would lay, I would sit and I would stand in silence; minimally if there was any activity, it would be listening to classical, meditative or jazz music single handedly or while journaling. Sometimes, it would even be in silence. It was often in these moments, where memories would play and epiphanies would occur. I would take these reflections into sessions with my therapist and life coach to process.

4. Constantly work on releasing the emotions anger, shame, and fear. These can be just as deadly as any illness.

Shame, fear, and anger threaten the quality of your life by robbing you of relationships and experiences that could bring joy and freedom. They poison relationships. They distort how you see your self and others. They cause you to question your value. As a woman who lived a life full of complex trauma, I believe that my mother began to develop a series of chronic illnesses not because of her lifestyle, but because of the emotional residue that her traumas caused. Sure she died of a pulmonary embolism, but I thought about all the events my mother survived. She was a soldier, but her body, could only take so much. I spent time, thinking about, and had many experiences during my grief bring up these emotions, and I decided, they did not and could not serve me for the life I wanted. So I leaned on outlets I knew could help release these emotions. Cue acupuncture and EMDR therapy.

Much of my acupuncture treatments were focused on emotional and mental health. In Chinese medicine, it is emotional experiences that impact the flow or stagnation of energy in your body. When you have stagnation, you have blockages, and the related blockages impact the nervous and circulatory systems, subsequently impacting different organs and this manifests in physical ailments.

My acupuncture treatments focused on shame, guilt, fear, insecurity, grief, and anger. For me, my acupuncture experience went hand in hand with my journaling and of course therapy. I realized I had so much of these emotions bottled up in me; some connected to my relationship with my mother, and much connected to trauma and experiences I have went thru on my own accord.

For me, these emotions most impacted my gastro-intestinal functions, sleep, anxiety, depression, appetite, libido and bladder. When I saw how intense these emotions had a hold on me, and understood how much they impacted my mothers’ life, I began to intentionally work on being mindful of anything or anyone, that would ignite these experiences, process immediately and move accordingly.

Complimentary to this emotional release work thru acupuncture, was my life changing work with my therapist. I experienced 8 sessions of a type of psychotherapy called EMDR (eye movement desensitization and reprocessing). EMDR is a form of non talk therapy, in which one who has experienced trauma, reconnects to the memories of their trauma, in order to regulate their physiological and psychological experience that is connected to the trauma. These emotions of anger, shame and fear were completely connected to traumas I’ve experienced, and I relived thru all of them.

Being in a fragile place, there were easily several incidences during my time of grief that brought up these emotions, and it was the perfect opportunity to explore the roots. That's what EMDR does; allows trauma survivors to explore roots thru a stimuli based processing, and allows you to challenge negative core beliefs that resulted from these experiences.

5. If you eliminate your fear of death, everything else is relative and not a big deal.

Having the experience of losing my primary parental figures created a baseline of relativity. It made me really connect to the fact that if I felt like the worst has happened, nothing else could really be as big of a deal in comparison. I began to ask the question, regardless of using death as a measure, what is there to really fear when it comes to trying something or putting yourself out there? It offered me perspective about the temporariness in life. Relationships come and go. Emotions come and go. People come and go. Understanding how nothing is permanent offered a sense of freedom, and released the experience of holding on to how serious everything seemed.

6 . Control is an illusion.

I have found that there is power in knowing the difference of impact, influence and control, as well as when each come into play. When it comes to control, there are many aspects of my being that I can control. I can control how I behave. I can control what I say to someone. I can control environments I choose to live and relationships I choose to have. I cannot control other emotions. I cannot control how people feel about or see me. I cannot control the weather or how fast or slow cars travel.

When you are a person with “control” issues, you often over assume how much you have control over. In experiences when one feels like they’ve lost control, they try to compensate by engaging in controlling behaviors. For me, I realized my tendency to control was often connected to my fear of abandonment, the perception that I had to save/help others, and my persistent need to create an experience of safety. These tendencies most often infiltrated my relationships, but also impacted my work and how I experienced outside stimuli.

The antidote to control, was learning how to completely let go, become less attached to outcome, and trust that everything will be ok, no matter how it currently looks. I stepped back from and released relationships. I walked away from circumstances that didn’t feel edifying and supportive. I spoke less and listened more. I did less. I gave up space for others to step in. I released needing to be or prove that I was right. I let other make decisions and step up in ways that I typically would have. I challenged less. I stopped over planning.

7. Know your values, and live them.

When you don’t know your values, you will be blown away like a leaf in the wind, and before you know it, you would have lived a life that was not reflective of who you believe you really are or aligned with what matters to you. I think many people live according to ideals they believe are important, but if asked, they don’t really know their values. Secondly, I believe that there is often a discrepancy between someone’s lived values versus their ideal values. During this time, I often reflected on the experience of my mother’s homegoing service. I thought about the obituary I wrote for my mother, the beautiful eulogy delivered, and the many comments loved ones made about who she was in their life.

It lead me to thinking about what her values were, if she lived them, and if people accurately attested to them in reflection of her life. Assessing my own values allowed me to hold up a mirror and really ask, how aligned are my decisions with what I say matters? This reflection brought me to the point of identifying my 5 core values, which lead to me doing work with my therapist and life coach around the decisions I needed to make to be more aligned with my values, and also just be more intentional about how I live my life. A Maya Angelou quote that my Life Coach has in her email signature has become the foundation, of how I live my life: Courage is the most important of all the virtues , because without courage you can’t practice any other virtue consistently.

Courage is the most important of all the virtues , because without courage you can’t practice any other virtue consistently.- Maya Angelou

So in learning to focus on my values, I also learned to be more courageous. Be courageous for me, and be courageous in the way I know my mother strived to be. My mother was a fighter, but she didn’t always honor her dreams, desires and beliefs. For people who have survived many traumas, survival is often more of a priority than courage. For so long my mom lived this way, but in her last 2 years of life, she increasingly grew in courage, and in her honor, I decided to do the same.

8. Find a harmony between focusing on the present and your legacy.

What can you be grateful for in the moment? What can you connect to in the here and now? What would you like to be remembered for? How are you presently working on something you can leave behind?

Being too caught up in the past or the future keeps one disconnected from the beauty, opportunities and miracles of the present. Not having any focus on the future, can lead one to waste life in a way that doesn’t leave legacy of impact. Your legacy is how people remember you, but your life is a statement about what matters to you. This could be two similar or different narratives.

9. Be clear if and when decisions or behaviors are driven by fear, deficit, or insecurity. Cut those chords.

Remember in number 4, where I mentioned how poisonous certain emotions could be? Well I learned they can be so poisonous, and subtle, you don’t even know they are choking, killing or harming you slowly. The experience of loss in and of itself can bring on fear and doubt, yet its powerful even when these emotions are experienced in relation to loss, one can identify that the loss is the reason.

In therapy, therapist are often digging for the “why.” Constantly exploring the reasons behind thoughts, behaviors and emotions give us insights into the core of our challenges. Emotions are data. All emotions give us insight into what matters, what feels comfortable, uncomfortable, and more. Some schools of thought believe that everything we do falls in 2 categories: love or fear. I don’t believe its that simple, but I do believe that fear drives us more than we realize.

My mere fixation on my mother not being present for my wedding, child births, big professional moments, and any other life altering transitions that would come to pass in the future, really got me to exploring more of my “whys.” Exploring motivations was such a game changer for me because I grew more aware of how deep my trauma centered responses were and how much they impacted one very important area of my life, my relationships.

Relationship dynamics that reflected trauma experiences were so normalized to me, I didn’t even realize how intense it was. So I made very difficult decisions this year, that challenged me to choose freedom, and cut chords from people or circumstances that triggered these emotional experiences. I learned that cutting these chords or implementing these boundaries didn’t mean anything was wrong with these people or environments, but there needed to be separation for my mental, emotional and spiritual health. It was so difficult doing this and because those chords meant a lot, I even experienced grief around the cutting. Yet because I know life goes on, I know they will be fine, as well as myself, even if it takes time.

10. Go where you are nurtured. Be in the care of those who see you.

This is probably one of the most intense lessons for me because it meant I got to come to terms with how I really perceived my worth. Within days of my mother passing, I received an overwhelming amount of encouragement, cards, and gifts. There were several times I became so overwhelmed I cried and asked why? Why were all these people doing this? Why have people I’ve never done anything for doing this? How did people even think I deserved this?

A good friend of mine said, “Tiffany there doesn’t have to be a reason. You are deserving because God made you.” Those words pierced me because I realized that I rarely focused on how others pour into me; or even my perception of my “worthiness” to be and receive love. I used to say “be love, give love and receive love,” but that was honestly the encouragement I gave to and believed for others.

It takes a lot of courage to acknowledge you are not in healthy, nurturing or beneficial relationships. It takes even more courage to have conversations with others about the matter, and release the relationships that don’t serve you.

The most profound insight I realized in relationship to this was that the ingredients of being a healer, empath, and trauma survivor who experienced intense enmeshed and co-dependent relationships, really was a terrible stew for distorted views of relationships. For so long, I had been more focused on what I could do for, be to , offer to, and give to others, as opposed to what I could receive. I would cerebrally say reciprocity mattered, but realized that this was not truly the case, and I had to re-assess.

Because I was fragile, I was in extra need of people who were willing to be sensitive, understanding, compassionate and empathetic to where I was and what I needed. I learned that there so many people in my life that had the capacity to hold for, love on, support and nurture me, but until now, I never really gave them the opportunity. Likewise, I also learned there were people I romanticized to be nurturers, that really could not see who I was in this fragile state, nor really comprehend what I needed emotionally or spiritually. I had to be honest with myself about who could and could not hold for me.

This was an important lesson because I knew my mother to live in both emotional and physical pain for most of my life. What I also know is she often burdened this pain on her own, or would only let a few people support her. That is hard. Its hard to live a life thinking you have to constantly be strong on your own. I found it to be so liberating to be surrounded by and connected to so many people who allowed me to re-define strength to be reflective of vulnerability, transparency, and unapologetic authenticity. As a trauma survivor, unlearning that survival had to be connected to pain, and re-learn in to be connected to having one’s needs met in a way that feels safe and protective, was both mind-blowing and ground breaking.

Through this lesson, I realized how selectively pore my emotional boundaries are at time. I also realized how much of my identity was rooted in being a giver, nurturer, fixer and healer. I was blessed with the insight to know my healing abilities are a gift, to be used at appointed times with appointed people, and in no way shape or form, was it a realistic obligation to constantly view as myself as someone who needed to constantly support others, and not have a mutual experience.

11. Life is to be lived, on your terms because its your life.

Its so easy to let external circumstances impact how we choose to live life. In no way shape or form is this a-one-fits-all piece of encouragement, as some of us in this world have more freedoms than others. I recognize that there are many people in dyer states of imprisonment, detainment, and restriction. If one has basic freedoms and needs met, and agency of choice is available, then this is applicable.

One thing is for sure: we will all die. Its merely a matter of when. It doesn’t matter how healthy, how much or little money you have, how few or many friends you have, or what you’ve accomplished, you will die. So it really makes sense, to find gratitude in the time you’ve been given, to live life in a way that feels full and fulfilling. People will have an opinion no matter how you live your life. People can judge no matter what decisions you make. When one chooses to live life based on the perceptions or opinions of others, they often become people full of regret on their death beds.

Written by Tiffany Wright, MSW

Mental Health Practioner &Advocate, Self Love Ambassador & Wanderluster. Co-Founder of www.cococoalition.org . Info at www.tiffanywrightmsw.com

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Watching My Parents Die Convinced Me To Plan A Completely Different Path — And My Idea Came From A Movie

Guest Writer

“I saw Dad’s junk today. Good times!”

“You just made me spit out my coffee,” my sister texted back with a laughing-crying emoji.

The mental image of Lisa doing a spit take at work was a small consolation for seeing my dad in this diminished state. No longer able to navigate a trip to the bathroom on his own, he’d ended up on the tile floor at 3 a.m. with his pajama pants bunched around his knees. He was too weak to get himself back to bed.

Dad had entered hospice a few weeks before this episode because he was dying from a rare bone marrow cancer. He had only six weeks to live, and I’d flown across the country to be his in-home hospice caregiver. Lisa eventually joined me in Dad’s house as co-caregiver. She saw his junk, too.

Along with confirming that I would have made a lousy nurse, the experience raised a nagging question that would haunt me in the following years: With no kids of my own, who will take care of me when my time comes?

When I first arrived in Michigan to help my dad, I didn’t believe he would die in a little over a month. The man seemed fine, puttering around the house on his own and laughing with family during visits. There really wasn’t much for me to do, other than to make sure he took his meds each morning and cook something for dinner before “Jeopardy!” came on. But just as hospice predicted, Dad declined a little each week. He became fatigued and unsteady on his feet, requiring a walker and eating less and less of the food I prepared.

His pain increased to the point where morphine was no longer up to the task, and the hospice nurse — who came to Dad’s house just once a week for a quick check-in — asked me if I thought it was time for a fentanyl patch.

“I’m a magazine editor,” I thought. “How the hell should I know?”

One day, while I was pushing Dad around the living room in his wheelchair, he murmured, almost under his breath, “I want to die.” I wanted that for him, too.

Six years after my 74-year-old dad succumbed to his illness, I discovered that my mom had vascular dementia, and that she was already years into the disease. The realization blindsided me during an otherwise normal phone chat.

Out of the blue, Mom said she wanted to tell me a secret: Someone named Lisa had been calling her, and she had no idea who this person was. Mom had been playing along during their conversations because she didn’t want to offend the nice woman on the phone.

With a shaky voice I explained that Lisa was her firstborn daughter. Mom sounded surprised, exclaiming, “Really!” as if I’d told her that the neighborhood squirrels had just flown a nut-shaped rocket to the moon.

With me in California, Lisa in Michigan and Mom living alone in South Carolina — she never remarried after divorcing my dad decades earlier — the situation required a whole other level of caregiving. The excruciating, long-distance kind.

Two years of hell followed Mom’s late diagnosis. Managing her care became a second job, made even more difficult by the fact that she had no financial resources and I had to raid my retirement savings to help pay for it.

As Mom’s dementia escalated, she sometimes called me several times a day in agitation and confusion, telling me about a mysterious and frightening man who’d somehow gotten into her apartment and was moving things around. Sometimes, she said, he left items there that were not hers.

“The man,” as she called him, did not exist; like many people with dementia, my mom suffered from hallucinations and delusions.

We kept Mom in her apartment as long as possible, as she would have wanted, but in-home caregivers proved scarce and unreliable in her small town. She eventually got to the point of needing 24-hour care, costing almost $600 a day, and the agency we hired 50 miles away had only one person available in Mom’s area.

One weekend, when her regular caregiver couldn’t come, a neighbor called to tell me that the agency had left Mom to fend for herself for the past two days, and that paramedics were on the scene. Lisa and I started making plans to get her out of there the next day.

Mom was far better off in assisted living, though she wasn’t always happy about her new accommodations. A fiercely private person all her life, she didn’t understand why staff members kept coming into her room uninvited, pushing aside the assorted items she’d used to barricade the door and insisting she go down to the dining room for meals.

I wouldn’t have wanted to come out of my room, either; the facility was dated and depressing — but it was the best that Lisa and I could manage. At 78 years old, Mom was younger than most of the other residents there and among only a few who could walk around the place unassisted. Until she started falling.

In the span of a couple of months, she broke both hips and fractured her shoulder, confining her to a wheelchair. Immobility and subpar care led to a gruesome pressure wound on her foot that her depleted, 65-pound body could never heal.

What kind of society insists on keeping a person alive in that condition? In her predementia days, my mom — always quick with a joke or a biting comment — would have said, “Just get a gun and shoot me.”

When Mom died last year, the day before Mother’s Day, I cried with both sorrow at her unfair, horrible ending and with relief that it was finally over. Yet, the nagging question remained about my own uncertain future.

Caring for my parents, I’d become increasingly obsessed with the idea that I was doomed to spend my final years in a dreary care facility surrounded by strangers, just waiting for the end to come. While I realize that having kids does not guarantee that they will someday take care of you, I also know that there is a zero percent chance that your nonexistent offspring will do it. This thought filled me with a crushing sense of fear and foreboding about getting older. That is, until I resolved to plan my own death.

The idea surfaced gradually from some hidden cranny of my subconscious, reminding me of my favorite movie since high school: “Harold and Maude.” In this 1971 dark comedy starring the great Ruth Gordon, a morbid young man falls in love with a free-spirited septuagenarian. In the film’s climax, Maude carries out a long-held plan to end her life on her 80th birthday, on her own unconventional terms. Why shouldn’t I be like Maude?

At first, I thought my death would have to be a DIY affair. I knew that if I wasn’t going to die from an incurable illness within six months, or if I had dementia, that would disqualify me from the “medical aid in dying” options offered by a growing number of states. Though well intentioned, these programs are so mired in bureaucracy and restrictions that even patients who qualify often die while waiting for approvals.

Advocacy groups like Death With Dignity are working to streamline and expand end-of-life options across the country, but the wheels turn slowly. And if you have dementia, like my mom, or just feel like you’ve had a good run after 90 years on the planet? No soup for you!

Determining how to bring about a dignified, pain-free ending without medical help was a daunting prospect, so I began workshopping the idea — only half-joking — with friends. Would my college pal, an anesthesiologist, be willing to risk prison time to help me out? What kind of bribe money would I need to convince a veterinarian to do the deed?

Then, in the months after my mom’s death, an acquaintance recommended Amy Bloom’s “In Love: A Memoir of Love and Loss,” a heartbreaking book that chronicles the author’s journey to Zurich to witness the assisted death of her husband, who’d been diagnosed with early Alzheimer’s.

I was astonished to learn that, in Switzerland, assisted death has been legal for over 80 years. It’s lawful as long as the person is of sound mind and is able to self-administer the life-ending pharmaceutical cocktail. Dignitas, a nonprofit that Bloom writes about in her memoir, requires that the individual have an illness that will eventually lead to death — including dementia — or be living with an unbearable disability. Another organization, Exit International, also lays out options for older adults and couples who want to go together.

Exit’s founder, Philip Nitschke, even invented a futuristic, 3D-printable pod designed to deliver a euphoric, painless death without the need for assistance. The third-generation prototype is still in the testing phase, but in the meantime, Nitschke’s nonprofit offers an array of “final exit” resources, including guides to life-ending drugs and assisted death programs in Switzerland.

Though some may find it macabre, learning about organizations like Dignitas and Exit International has brought me an incredible sense of peace and comfort in knowing that I have options. Instead of feeling overwhelmed with constant dread of getting older, I can focus on living.

Still, I can’t help thinking about what will happen if I can’t make it to Zurich when I feel like it’s time to sign off. Wouldn’t it be wonderful for Swiss-style options to be available here in the United States, and affordable to all? Then, those who decide to opt out could do so on their home turf surrounded by loved ones, without adding physical or financial burdens to the process.

I realize that not everyone would welcome this. However, I believe that, like abortion, end-of-life decisions are a personal choice that should be made by the individual. If you don’t believe in it, don’t do it. And if the Swiss can avoid the so-called slippery slope for 80-plus years through tight regulation and documentation, the U.S. can figure it out, too.

My husband of 22 years, my beloved companion on life’s journey, says he isn’t quite ready to sign up for the BOGO assisted-death special — a final date night, if you will — but a lot can happen in the next couple of decades. We could both expire well before the need for such a plan arises, or I could simply change my mind. It’s enough for me to know that I need not be forced to keep living beyond my self-determined expiration date — even if I have to travel all the way to Switzerland to pull the plug. I can do it Maude’s way.

Tina Caputo is a multimedia journalist and writer based in California. Her work has appeared in McSweeney’s, The Belladonna Comedy, and too many wine and lifestyle publications to mention.

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• “As vast as the world”—reflections on A Very Easy Death by Simone de Beauvoir
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• Correspondence to:
 F Brennan
 Calvary Hospital, Kogarah, Sydney, NSW 2217, Australia; fpbrennanozemail.com.au

In 1964, Simone de Beauvoir, arguably one of the greatest writers of 20th century Europe, published an account of the final 6 weeks of her mother’s life. It is a beautifully written, raw, honest, and powerful evocation of that period from the viewpoint of a relative. Its themes are universal—love, ambivalence in family ties, loss, and bereavement. Given that the events preceded the modern palliative care movement, reflections are made on differences in medical practice since the book’s publication.

• palliative care
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https://doi.org/10.1136/jmh.2004.000163

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↵ † For a comprehensive list of the reasons why physicians underprescribe analgesics see A M Martino. 4

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