Category: grief

A Second Death and the Stories We Tell

Published on by Anna Ortiz SpencerLeave a comment

Say their name. Honor their story. It’s not a reminder that they died. It’s a reminder that they lived.

David Kessler

I recently came across a video by a content creator explaining a Jewish tradition known as the second death. She described it as the moment when a person’s name is spoken for the last time. I found the idea both hopeful and heartbreaking — hopeful in that we can continue to honor our loved ones by speaking their names, and heartbreaking because the act itself reminds us that one day, our voices will also fade. In grief, it often feels like we have so little control. But here is something tangible — something we can do. We can keep their memory alive through words and stories.

This past week, I spoke to a group about the gift of storytelling. Storytelling allows us to share, connect, learn, empower — and, ultimately, to create legacy. I truly believe every one of us has a story worth telling. I closed my presentation by reminding the group that never before have we had so many tools to share those stories. Technology gives us endless ways to write, record, film, and connect. There’s an audience waiting to listen — people who will see themselves reflected in what we share. The only question is: who will you tell?

Since then, I’ve found myself thinking about the quiet ways my mom passed her own wisdom on to me. I wonder if she realized that’s what she was doing. When she and my dad became empty nesters, she used to talk about how cooking had changed for her. I’m in that phase now, and I finally understand. The refrigerator in my home is often bare. Gone are the days of weekly grocery trips with detailed menus planned out around school and extracurricular activities. Now, I consider my work schedule, energy level, and whether I even feel like cooking. I plan meals for when the kids are visiting and for whatever I happen to crave. That’s it.

She knew this before I did. And because she told me, I recognize it now — not as failure or disinterest, but as a natural rhythm of this new season of life. It’s a small but comforting reminder that she’s still teaching me, even years after her passing.

I catch myself saying it often: I remember my mom telling me about these days. And here they are. She’s not here, but I am guided by her stories.

Thanks, Mom.

Say their name.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

Drinking Problem

Published on by Anna Ortiz SpencerLeave a comment

One of the things I cherished most about my adult relationship with my mom was discovering new things about her—little surprises that have now become some of my favorite memories. That was especially true one weekend afternoon years ago when I was visiting Garden City with my daughter. We were in town for my grandmother’s milestone birthday, and on our way to celebrate, we all piled into the same car—my mom, my sister, my daughter, and me.

At the time, my daughter was a young teenager who loved being the car DJ. As soon as her phone connected, she had a playlist ready—full of songs that reminded her of GC, summer barbecues, the Fourth of July, and time with family. One of the songs on that playlist was “Drinking Problem” by Midland.

I hadn’t paid much attention to the song before. It was just a feel-good country tune. But my daughter adored it—she thought it sounded like fireworks and sunshine and being surrounded by people you love.

So there we were, cruising down the road, when she played it. To my total surprise, my mom started singing along—word for word! Before long, we were all belting it out together. My mom told us my dad’s band played that song and that she loved it. She’d listen to it on her way to work or home, and it always put her in a good mood.

Today marks the fifth anniversary of her passing. And that song? It’s still on several of our family playlists. We all know the words now. Every time I hear it, I’m taken back to that moment in the car—singing, laughing, discovering yet another part of my mom I didn’t know before. It still amazes me that someone who hardly ever drank considered “Drinking Problem” one of her favorite songs!

Right now, I’m sitting outside, gathering my thoughts on this day. And I can’t tell you how many times over the last week I’ve walked through “thin places”—those spaces where it feels like heaven and earth touch. Every one of them reminds me of her.

For the past 48 hours, it feels like everything has pointed to my mom. And wouldn’t you know, just as I was enjoying the peace of the afternoon, a car drove by—windows down, music blaring. And what were they playing?

“Drinking Problem.”

Everyone in the car was singing.

Thank you, Mom, for meeting me in all the thin places these past few days. If you have a minute, listen to the song for her…and for us. We miss you.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

A Letter to Mom

Published on by Anna Ortiz SpencerLeave a comment

“To write is human, to receive a letter: Divine!”

– Susan Lendroth

Leaving home at 18 meant writing letters to your loved ones. I mean, it was the 1900s after all! I wish I had understood then what a gift this was. In various boxes and drawers, I have the remnants of these exchanges between me and my Mom. Most of them would likely be categorized as an unremarkable read, yet I am struck by the moment in time that they capture. Several of our exchanges are simply a rundown of life, both the highs and lows, and especially the mundane. We talk about school, work, travel, upcoming events, and what we had for dinner.

This week will mark the fifth year without Mom. While searching for a graduation card, I came across one of her letters to me while I was living in California. Seeing her handwriting and rereading the letter, I was immediately reminded of how much she has missed out on in just this month alone. I am uncertain of how heaven works, but I would hope that it would be so wonderful that she wouldn’t be caught up in the ordinariness of life on Earth. So I thought I would write her a letter:

Hey Mom,

It’s already May—and what a busy month! The kids are so ready for summer. Casey just wrapped up her internship, and Sean’s capstone project is done. I can’t believe it’s time for graduation already! Rock Chalk! I was in Garden City this month for Ethan’s graduation party, too. Amanda asked me to edit a grad video for him…these things always make me cry. She chose such sweet songs for him and that just adds to the emotions. Amanda and Andrew did such a great job of creating a party scene in the backyard. You would have approved, especially since everything we know about backyard parties we learned from you! Dad made ribs, and of course, they were gone by the end of the night!

I created a few quick videos for Sean’s graduation, too, avoiding any sad songs (I can only take so much!) We were happy to have Dad, Cliff and Colbee travel to Lawrence to share in the celebration. Casey got off to the airport that afternoon and she is in Croatia this weekend, then back to Italy. I still can’t wrap my head around all of it! Plans are underway for Paris, too! I told her I wanted a postcard of Pope Leo. Fingers crossed that she remembers.

I am distracting myself with work. I have yet to get on the hammock, but it’s on my list. We will probably grill on Memorial Day.

You are missed tremendously—I could never begin to tell you how much.…

Love, Anna

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

On This Day

Published on by Anna Ortiz SpencerLeave a comment

COVID-19 will reshape our world. We don’t yet know when the crisis will end. But we can be sure that by the time it does, our world will look very different. Josep Borrell

Every news outlet is talking about it today. On March 11, 2020, the World Health Organization declared COVID-19 a global pandemic. Five years feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago at the same time.

Undoubtedly every one of us has a story. One of those, “where were you on this day?” type of things. I have one, too. I remember talking to my Mom on the phone that afternoon telling her that I didn’t think it was a good idea that the kids and I visit over Spring Break. As a news nerd, I had been following the story closely. I was worried. Disappointed, she understood. And then she shared that she was worried, too.

We were right to be worried.

I won’t rehash it all. It would take too much time, it would be too sad, and overall it’s still too much for me to think about. Today, I am bracing myself for all the upcoming pandemic nostalgia, the people who miss the “good times” during COVID-19 when we all stayed home endlessly streaming movies, learning to bake bread, and taking up new hobbies.

In every way possible, I feel like we have learned nothing.

We were right to be worried.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

Apples on a Christmas Tree

Published on by Anna Ortiz SpencerLeave a comment

Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.

Martin Luther

My sister has already put up her Christmas tree, which reminds me of my Mom. She would get the tree up early so she could take it down the day after Christmas without remorse. I, on the other hand, will be lucky if I have my tree up by mid-December because I don’t take it down until my daughter’s birthday in mid-January. While we keep our own traditions, we do share memories. So when my sister posted a video of this year’s Christmas tree with the snowman ornaments our Mom created, it stirred a memory.

After Mom determined that we kids were all “grown-up” enough, she ditched the nostalgic child-crafted-ornament Christmas decor for themed trees. Each beautiful, we had a blue and silver themed tree, snowflake themed, all red themed, the list went on and on. However, one Christmas I came home from college to find she had planned a red Christmas apple-themed tree. These tiny apples were carefully spaced around the tree and she had taken a metallic marker and written names on each one. Of course, every member of the family had an apple, so there were six right there. Then the pets had apples of their own, too. So that’s two more. Still, it was pretty obvious to me that there were way more apples on the tree. Hmmm. Who else did she add?

Turns out that she added my brothers’ high school girlfriends’ names to the tree. So, that’s what we’re doing now? I had no beau at the time and found this to be quite unjust and obviously spoke out about it. Mom laughed at me and told me I could add my boyfriend’s name to the tree…all the while knowing I had no boyfriend. In recalling all this, I guess you could say I was in a “Grinchy” state of mind and immediately set out to rectify the situation. In metallic pen, I wrote KEANU and placed my apple at the front of the tree.

So I chuckle a little every time the movies Speed, The Matrix, and John Wick come across my television screen. I think my Mom would laugh (at me), too. So many great Christmas memories and I wouldn’t trade a single one.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

Lessons from “The Middle”

Published on by Anna Ortiz SpencerLeave a comment

“Your choice of font says more about you than the words it’s written in.” – Brick Heck, “The Middle”

My Mom was a big fan of the popular TV show “The Middle.” The series follows a quirky, Midwest family where the losses outnumber the wins, but the overriding theme is “you do for family.” Years ago my son introduced us to the show and months later I found out that Mom had been watching, too. She was a big fan of Brick, the family’s youngest son.

When she shared this information with me I laughed out loud. While Brick is super smart, an avid reader and a font enthusiast, he is also socially awkward and overlooked by his family day in and day out. Turns out, he was just my Mom’s kind of kid. My Mom worked as a Children’s Case Manager providing one-on-one help to kiddos with mental health needs and emotional disturbances. She said with an absolute straight face, “I could help him,” and I wholeheartendly believe she could.

Not everyone is created with a big heart, an empathetic nature and a spirit driven to help others, but my Mom was. She always loved kids and she was exceptionally good with them, I know because we were blessed to call her our Mom.

It is Atticus Shaffer’s birthday this week, that’s the real name of the actor who plays Brick Heck. I saw a post on social media reminding fans of the big day. We still binge watch the TV show in our house (and I know my sister does, too). During these watch sessions, I always remind my kiddos how much Mom loved Brick. They already know, but none of us get tired of saying it.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

May Flowers

Published on by Anna Ortiz SpencerLeave a comment

Lilacs are May in essence. — Jean Hersey

My lilac bush didn’t really bloom. I say really because it wanted to, it tried, but it just couldn’t get there.

I always get excited when I see the bush start to turn that distinct, vibrant green. It’s nature’s way of telling my soul that spring is near. I don’t get excited because spring is my favorite season (it isn’t). I don’t get excited because lilacs are my favorite flower (they’re not). I do get excited because lilacs are my Mom’s favorite flower and somehow, someway, these beautiful purple buds have appeared at every house I’ve ever lived in. We talked about it. It was a strange and beautiful coincidence.

When my Mom was sick in the hospital, our last text conversation was about the lilacs in the backyard. Her situation was so dire and I wanted so desperately to believe that the blooming lilacs were a good sign. We talked about how much she loved that shade of purple, how sweet lilacs smelled and she reminded me again that these were her favorite flowers. Throughout that May, the lilacs flourished while her condition grew worse.

Grief causes one to do strange things. One of the by products of my grief was a deep dive into lilacs. While I’m certainly not a lilac expert, there are a few facts that stood out. Did you know that lilacs are extremely hardy? An especially cold winter helps them to go dormant — something the bush needs to bloom big in the spring. And lilacs have a super short blooming season…typically two to three weeks only making them unique and rare. While lilacs are known for their beautiful blooms in a range of colors, it’s their fragrance that truly stands out.

I mentioned before that my lilacs really didn’t bloom this year. There was certainly effort. I would go out and check only to find a handful of purple buds none of which fully bloomed or had any scent at all. The symbolism wasn’t lost on me. Like the lilac bush, I too am stuck. I try, there’s effort, but I’m stuck in grief.

We often fail to talk about our grief journey. It’s hard, it’s not a fun topic of conversation, no one wants to feel sad, it’s a burden to those around you, but once you are forced onto this road it never ends. It keeps going…and going.

Time heals all wounds…at least that’s the saying. I beg to differ.

Mom died four years ago on May 30th. Nothing is the same..including the flowers.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

No New T-Shirts

Published on by Anna Ortiz SpencerLeave a comment

I’m not sure when it all started, but I guess that’s probably what most people say when they try to remember the beginning of a tradition. For whatever reason, my Mom almost always seemed to be visiting in March. Sometimes it would be before the Big 12 Tournament and other times just after, but nevertheless, she would be here and that meant that the quest for our Jayhawk t-shirts would begin. Sometimes we shopped at the mall, other times we found shirts at Dillons and then there were times we would visit a local sports store and the fun would begin. Would we get a red shirt, a blue shirt, a white shirt? Eventually heather gray would become an option. Classic Jayhawk, retro bird, large logo, no logo? So many choices. You know Casey was always down to find a new Jayhawk shirt and just like that, another generation was added into the mix. It wasn’t really March Madness if we didn’t have a new shirt to support our favorite team!

Those days are gone now. Casey and I try our best to keep the tradition. Back in the day, most of the shirt themes revolved around a conference title or a tournament title. And if you know, you know that didn’t happen this year. Trust me that doesn’t mean we didn’t support our team, we have plenty of swag to do that! We just didn’t get new gear in March.

I’m not sure what my Mom would think about her memory being associated with Jayhawk t-shirts, but I have a feeling she wouldn’t mind. I mean the woman had a whole room dedicated to Jayhawk memorabilia! Looking back, I feel blessed that we were able to share this fandom. Just one of a million reasons why she is missed.

#RockChalkForever

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

I’m So Glad You Were Born

Published on by Anna Ortiz SpencerLeave a comment

I wish heaven had visiting hours… Unknown

It’s your birthday, Mom. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the idea of you not being here. Three years have passed and on most days I still sit in disbelief. It’s a constant, unwelcome feeling and one that hits harder on holidays and special occasions like your birthday.

Today especially, I’m reminded of how many lives you’ve touched and how there are dozens of us who are better for knowing you. It’s crazy but if any one of us could know the impact of our lives on others, I think we would crumble under that reality. And that’s why I thank God that you were born. In your own quiet way, in your own corner of the world, and in our family YOU have made all the difference. Truly, I sit in awe of your sphere of influence.

They say the greater the love, the greater the loss. There are no truer words. Today there are no big celebrations, only quiet remembrances. Happy heavenly birthday, Mom. You are incredibly loved and so immensely missed.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

Mother’s Day — I Didn’t Forget, It’s Just Hard Remembering

Published on by Anna Ortiz SpencerLeave a comment

Grief is the price we pay for love.

This Mother’s Day was especially blessed. I had the opportunity to watch my daughter graduate from high school amongst family and friends. The milestone marked the end of one era and the beginning of another. These past few weeks have been filled with end-of-school events…days filled with activities that kept us running from sunup to sundown. I couldn’t be prouder of the young lady she is becoming. Everything concluded with a wonderful party, lots of celebration…and a much-needed nap.

All in all, it felt like there was very little time for Mother’s Day. And still, there were gentle reminders everywhere. First, at church that morning where families sat together for a graduation breakfast. Then again as I prepared to watch my daughter receive her diploma. I couldn’t help but notice the venue filled with other families and their relatives— mothers and grandmothers (even great-grandmothers) beaming with pride as the fanfare commenced. And finally, at the grad party where I know my mother would have been my partner in planning and executing the fun details of the day.

She should be here. She would love this.

With everything going on, Mother’s Day was the last thing on my list and an inescapable thought at the same time. It was all very conflicting. While I am happy to see other women honored on this special day, I miss my mom. I don’t begrudge anyone this celebratory opportunity, in fact, I wholeheartedly believe it’s important to honor our mothers — especially if it’s in memory only.

Many wished me a Happy Mother’s Day and asked if I had anything special planned. My answer was always no. I didn’t forget, it’s just hard remembering.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.