Category: grief

When Mother’s Day is Heavy

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You never get over losing your mother, you miss her for the rest of your days.

There’s a heaviness to Mother’s Day. What is meant to be a day of appreciation often comes with expectations and emotion — both good and bad. For those of us who are without our mothers, Mother’s Day looms larger than ever. I can feel the anchor drop the second I turn over the calendar.

I don’t know how to act…especially when I still feel so numb. I would imagine this doesn’t make me much fun to be around. The holiday used to mean that I didn’t have to cook (silly, but a big deal to me)! Mother’s Day was handmade cards and cookouts. It was flowers at church. It was the exchange of joyous texts. It was a phone call with my Mom where we both celebrated each other.

To make things worse, I feel guilty for feeling like this. It doesn’t honor my Mother’s memory to be sad on what is supposed to be a day of celebration. It’s not fair to my kids to have to try to cheer me up on “my day.”

There’s no shortcut here. It’s been two years and it still feels just as bad. Self-care gurus tell you that it’s ok to have all the feelings. Good advice since I can’t seem to stop them.

It’s been said a million times, so I’ll join the chorus — love your mother while you can.

Hold tightly to what is good. Romans 12:9

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

With Resignation

Published on by Anna Ortiz SpencerLeave a comment

a lilac only blossoms after a harsh winter…

My Mom loved lilacs. Not just the color, but the smell. She really wasn’t a big flower person, but she always pointed out the lilacs. It was fun to see her go in for a big sniff and the smile that would follow.

In each of the homes I have lived in, there have always been lilacs. I don’t know how or why (I certainly didn’t plant them), yet there they were. Late bloomers and always a surprise…at least to me. When we moved into our present home in 2019 a bright green bush burst forth with tiny purple buds one late spring morning. Lilacs.

Of course, I immediately snapped a million photos and sent them to my Mom. What were the chances? Another lilac bush in the backyard! I had to wait a day for a full bloom and then I went in for the sniff. Lilacs.

When my mom was sick with COVID-19 in the hospital in May of 2020, our lilac bush bloomed. I sent her a photo not sure if or when she might see it. I was surprised when she responded almost immediately. She texted back, “They look beautiful. I love lilacs. They smell so good.” I told her that I thought the blooms were a good sign. She ended the text with a heart emoji. It was the last text she ever sent me.

Of course, the lilac bush bloomed in 2021 and it’s preparing to bloom again now in 2022. I can see its familiar bright green hue. I know that I’ll take a deep sniff when the purple buds open, but lilacs don’t bring me the joy they used to. Instead, they only remind me that life goes on. With resignation, I’m trying to accept that.

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

When I See You Smile

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This week I saw my Mom in a dream. I walked into her house and immediately heard laughter. Within a few steps, she and my sister came into view. They were sitting at the kitchen table playing cards…probably “speed.” They were giddy…and competitive, but having fun! She was wearing a blue Kansas Jayhawk shirt and white Capri pants. Mom looked at me and smiled.

I have been thinking about her lately. We’ve been watching a lot of college basketball and she loves the Jayhawks as much as I do. Frequently, she would visit around this time of year and we would buy KU t-shirts together — gearing up for March Madness!

The photo included in this blog is from four years ago. We were cruising in my swagger wagon on our way home from the mall with four of her granddaughters in tow. If I remember right, it was a good day as we were all together (and we bought KU swag). What a beautiful coincidence that in the photo, she’s wearing a blue KU t-shirt AND her beautiful smile. I miss that.

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

Cleaning Beans

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I made beans this week. I’m not sure what sparked this “event” as I am the only person in my house that likes beans. I’m also referring to this as an “event” because I’m pretty certain I haven’t made beans in a year…maybe longer.

The whole process is somewhat nostalgic. My childhood was filled with memories of making beans. It was actually a regular chore in the summer. My Mom would write it on the daily to-do list alongside vacuuming and dusting. I can still see the list…her handwriting on the backside of an envelope.

As I live with grief, I’ve been searching for answers to help the process. Mostly, I’ve been disappointed. Nothing really helps. The one thing that seems to bring some peace is the idea of doing things that remind you of the people you’ve loved and lost. While it’s not painless, there’s honor in keeping a loved one’s memory alive in this way. So as I sort the beans, rinse and season, boil and then simmer (all through a few tears and sniffles), I feel connected.

Connection feels better than loss.

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

Missing Mom

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When you’re sick, you want your Mom. I know I do. Never mind that I’m in my forties, left home at 18, live hours away, and have a family of my own. There’s something about a mother’s presence that puts your soul at ease. I know that if she could have been here with me, she would have. While I was sick, I imagined her calling and texting me to make sure I was drinking enough water (using her straw trick), staying in touch with my doctor, and offering prayers and encouragement.

As desperately as I wanted my Mom when I was sick, I know that she also wanted her Mom when she was sick, too. This fact breaks my heart. Thinking of her in the hospital, all alone…I’ll never get over it. Never.

My beloved grandmother (her mother) passed away while I was sick. I didn’t get to go to the funeral. Another heartbreak and once again I feel like there’s so little closure and there’s barely been a moment to grieve.

My body is healing now. I try to cheer myself up thinking about them reunited, a mother and her daughter. It makes me cry…both happy and sad tears. The two most important women in my life are gone, but together.

I don’t know exactly how this heaven thing works which probably sounds strange coming from a Christian, but I have faith that God makes things right…somehow…as only He can.

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

Delayed Deck the Halls

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It’s December 16th and my tree still sits bare. “At least it’s up,” I tell myself. It’s pre-lit, so I turn it on every night, but for some reason I haven’t had time (or made time) to put the ornaments on it.

Deciphering my hesitancy hasn’t been fun. Is it laziness, over-scheduling, apathy, grief, or flat-out “grinchiness” — maybe it’s a combination of all of the above? My first clue that this Christmas was going to be a problem came in October when Hobby Lobby put out all the Christmas decor. Turning down that aisle and seeing the wall of ornaments reminded me of shopping trips that will never be, celebrations that can’t happen and all that has been lost. I’ve been trying to move past that sinking feeling ever since. I seem to be stalled.

One of the things I like most about decking the halls are all the memories that accompany the unboxing. This year, unboxing memories hasn’t been easy for me…not just for Christmas, but for any holiday. I’m trying to tell myself that I can do hard things…and I know that I can and will…tomorrow.

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

Time Heals All Wounds…and Other Sucky Sayings

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“They” always tell you it will get better. At this point, “they” are wrong. The second Thanksgiving without my mom was just as sad as the first. “They” also say that it takes 6 weeks to develop a new habit. If I’m doing the math right, just 40 more Thanksgivings until this feels right.

In the meantime, I made a pie at home instead of in the midst of the hustle and bustle of my mom’s busy kitchen. Right now, we should all be gathered around the table preparing for a raucous round of Jenga or organizing a SPOONS tournament. We should be talking about all the loot we scored on Black Friday. Last year, for the most part, the country skipped the traditional Thanksgiving gathering, but “they” act like that’s all in the past now as we have transitioned to a “new normal.” Slowly but surely, everything is falling back into place. Right?

Wrong.

I saw a post today that said it’s ok to cry and be thankful at the same time. At least someone got something right.

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

‘Tis the Season

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The Hallmark Channel has been showing Christmas movies since late October. These shows have always reminded me of my Mom, her kitchen, and the holidays. We have shared a lot of laughter over these silly (and oftentimes far fetched) movies! I remember making fun of her obsession with the Hallmark Channel and then, before I knew it, I was addicted, too. Crazy but true.

Still there are other movies, family favorites, that not only remind me of her, but take me back in time. Tonight, Funny Farm with Chevy Chase was on AMC. I don’t think I ever classified it as a Christmas movie, but I get it now. There’s something about the holidays! It’s been a while since I laughed out loud at a movie — who can resist the “cue the deer” line? Truly funny. 18 months after her passing and my first thought was to text her that it was on TV. I know she would have tuned in and we would undoubtedly laugh at the same parts. Maybe the line should be “cue the tears” instead? Bittersweet memories.

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

All Saints

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On this Day of the Dead, we welcome the spirits of our loved ones, tell their stories and remember their love.

I don’t know much about El Dia de Los Muertos, but I’m learning. It’s hard to miss this annual celebration given its trending pop culture status. What draws me in is the rich tradition. The most poignant thing I’ve read is that it’s a day where heaven and earth meet. I like that.

I think about those who have lost loved ones and choose to pay tribute to them not only with flowers and photographs, but also with food, stories and song. It makes sense to me that when we do these things we feel connected to our deceased loved ones. Honoring someone in this way is intentional and purposeful. Tributes like this create legacy. Most of all, at least for myself, in remembering I find some peace in a place where heaven and earth meet.

I’m learning AND healing at the same time.

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

Halloween Chili

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It’s important to make space and time for grieving. I find that I feel closest to my mom when I’m doing things we used to do together. Holidays are a good time to revisit these types of memories. While Mom wasn’t a big fan of Halloween, she made sure we always had a belly full of hot food before trick or treating. The tradition was passed on to the grandkids as well. The last time I spent Halloween with my Mom, she made chili for all of us

My kids don’t like beans. So making chili in my house is a funny thing because I have to really, really want chili seeing as how I’ll be the ONLY person eating it. This year I felt the urge to have chili so strongly that I actually dreamt about it. I called my sister to see if she had gathered any tips or tricks on how to make Mom’s chili and went for it!

While it didn’t compare to my Mom’s chili (needed onion salt), it wasn’t half bad. What I do know is that sitting in front of a hot bowl of chili on a cold Halloween night…remembering my Mom…was all good.

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