Tag: diary

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.

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.

The Trouble with Birthdays

Published on by Anna Ortiz SpencerLeave a comment

“Life doesn’t come with a manual, it comes with a mother.” — Unknown

It’s my birthday. The big 4–8. I’m celebrating it exactly the way I like…quietly. I always tease my family about what a big deal this is…like April is my birthday month, then there is pre-birthday week, birthday week, birthday eve, the actual birthday, post-birthday week, etc. It’s obnoxious and fun, but especially funny because I’m not really a big deal birthday kind of girl.

Today, I am especially thinking about my Mom and missing her a lot. It seems fitting that one would give thanks to the woman who gave one life. My Mom used to text me first thing in the morning and then call me later in the day. She would always tell me that she knew it was my birthday because she would get phantom labor pain to remind her of this day. It was the same joke every year, but we laughed about it every time. I miss her giggle.

When your Mother passes away birthdays hit differently. Who else can say they’ve known you in the same way that your Mother has? This is the trouble with birthdays. When your Mom is gone you grieve her on her birthday..and then you quickly realize that you grieve her on every other birthday as well.

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

#LOCKDOWN

Published on by Anna Ortiz SpencerLeave a comment

“Everyone can master a grief but he that has it.” — William Shakespeare

The first time I came across one of these posts, it felt like all the air was sucked out of the room. Then the posts and hashtags seemed to multiply overnight. Social media users around the globe were marking the three-year anniversary of the Covid-19 pandemic with posts romanticizing the lockdown. People were nostalgic for school closings, endless Netflix marathons, closed businesses, and life without alarm clocks. I get it, the pandemic affected each of us differently. We’re not supposed to judge trauma or anyone’s reaction to it. Still, I sit here asking myself, did I miss something?

2020 CHANGED MY LIFE. The losses cannot be undone. The disappointment will never go away. The heartbreak will forever endure. Today I read posts and articles, listen to podcasts, and watch videos of people trying to find a silver lining and paint a rosy picture of the pandemic and I don’t get it. Why?

Author Bessel Van Der Kolk writes that trauma comes back as a reaction, not a memory. That’s where I am. The pandemic is not a memory for me. There is no nostaligia. Covid-19 left a lasting impact on each one of us. I don’t begrudge anyone their own interpretation of the events that took place. I truly believe we were all in survival mode…and with 1,000,000+ lives lost in the United States and many more worldwide…some of us are still just surviving.

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

When It Rains

Published on by Anna Ortiz SpencerLeave a comment

“Every storm runs out of rain.” –Maya Angelou

Rainy days will always remind me of red galoshes, soggy socks, and Mom.

When I was an undergrad my Mother gifted me with a red raincoat and matching red boots. (Did I mention that red is my favorite color?) It was my third year of college and I had just entered the School of Journalism which meant I now had broadcasting classes and needed to be “camera-ready” at all times. (You can laugh at me! I’m laughing at myself, too.)

She ordered the set from a catalog and presented it to me before I returned for the spring semester. I’m definitely not a rain person. In fact, I basically hate the rain but I have to admit I was a little excited to wear this get-up when the first drops started to fall. I parked my car, pulled on the hood of my new raincoat, and began walking to class feeling fully protected from the weather. All was right in the world until I noticed that my socks were getting cold and wet. Not in the toes, but right around the back of my ankle. That’s odd I thought, but kept walking.

Before long, my socks were completely wet. Soaked really. I made a beeline for the restroom before class and realized that the rain was dripping off the back of my coat and right into my galoshes! The perfect trajectory. What were the chances? I had no choice but to take the boots off and empty the rainwater into the sink. I stuffed paper towels into them to absorb any excess water. Next, I rung out my socks and held them under the hand dryer. Finally, I hurried off to class.

I remember telling my Mom this story and how heartily she laughed at me and with me.

“But did your hair and make-up hold up?” she asked.

“Yes, Mom, they held up perfectly. Camera-ready,” I replied.

On my next visit home, she gifted me with an extra large red umbrella.

No one will ever love you as much as your Mother.

I will send down showers in season, there will be showers of blessings.

Ezekiel 34:26

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

In Case of Rain

Published on by Anna Ortiz SpencerLeave a comment

“…my God, I thought, my whole life I’ve been under her raincoat thinking it was a marvel that I never got wet.” — The Raincoat, Ada Limon

Anyone who knows me knows that I am no fan of the rain. That steadfast pitter-patter on the window is sheer annoyance to me. I don’t mind cloudy days or thunderstorms, but slow steady rain drains my energy and tests my patience.

Rain=Melancholy

I’m in a rainy season now and when I came across Ada Limon’s poem, The Raincoat, it struck me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. Her account of a mother’s love for her child resonates with me as both a mother and a daughter. I know how much I love my own children and it’s overwhelming to think that I was once that child—the recipient of a mother’s unconditional love.

These days I feel more vulnerable. Exposed. No umbrella. No raincoat.

Without my mother, I feel the rain. I miss the shelter of a mother’s unconditional love. I miss the assurance that comes from her covering and protection.

Mostly, I miss her.

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

How to Hug an Angel

Published on by Anna Ortiz SpencerLeave a comment

A Mom’s hug lasts long after she lets go. -Author Unknown

Sometimes I’m lucky enough to see my Mom in my dreams. This happened the night she died and it has happened a handful of times since. Often times I see her in family settings, with us (her children) and almost always in her home. This time was different.

We were gathering for a big celebration…the whole family…not just us kids but also the grandchildren, her siblings, Dad’s family and friends as well. Whatever the event, it was cause for great joy! Everyone was excited and I was waiting for my sister so we could get things started. As usual, we found ourselves in the kitchen preparing food. There was much laughter and an easiness to the day. It was exceptionally sunny outside which was ideal because the occasion was so huge that we were preparing to have people indoors and out.

As the event wound down, we were enjoying the mild temperatures outside. In between storytelling and laughter, I saw my Mom. She was right there in the mix. I was both surprised to see her and felt an assurance that she should definitely be there with us. I went to sit next to her. The afternoon carried on and soon everyone was picking up glasses and plates…cleaning up to mark the end of this happy occasion.

I turned to her and asked her for a hug. Almost as if she was aware of the circumstances, she said, “I’m not sure if I’m allowed to hug…you know….” It was as if she knew she was no longer with us and wondered if Heaven had a rule about angels hugging the living. I smile thinking about this because my Mom (like myself) is a rule FOLLOWER. She didn’t want to make a mistake or do anything that would cause trouble. I said, “I think we should do it anyway.” This makes me laugh out loud because I (like my Mom) am also a little bit of a rule BREAKER. I quickly grabbed her and hugged her tightly.

I’m sharing this because I could actually feel the hug. It was her hug…all of the things that I remember but there were differences, too. She seemed smaller than I remember. Frail, too. It was like hugging my grandmothers. I was immediately concerned about hugging her too tightly, but that fear quickly subsided. I was hugging my Mom! I was hugging an angel and I wasn’t about to let go!

All good things come to an end, and unfortunately, so did that hug. She looked at me with a smirk…almost as if to say that we got away with something special.

Yes, Mom. We certainly did.

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

Is There Birthday Cake in Heaven?

Published on by Anna Ortiz SpencerLeave a comment

“Count your life by smiles, not tears. Count your age by friends, not years.”

Is there birthday cake in heaven? I really want to know.

It’s been two years since you died, and I’m trying to resist the urge to phone or text to see how you’ll spend your day. It still doesn’t feel right, you not being here.

You would have been 65 this year. In some ways, it’s a milestone and maybe even the last one short of turning 100. As much as you loved working with kids, the idea of retirement was very much on the horizon. We talked about what it would be like to have more of the day to yourself and to have time to do the things you wanted. We talked about visits and taking in more of the grandchildren’s activities. Collectively, our family was about to enter a busy season of high school and college graduations…and after that new jobs, weddings, etc.

Instead, on your birthday weekend, we were together…as part of the second annual March to Remember to honor loved ones lost to COVID-19, those dealing with long COVID symptoms, and the medical community who continue to work hard as we go through this pandemic. Your granddaughter organized the Garden City portion of this national event. You would have been so proud! There were hugs, tears, memories, sorrow, laughter, joy —and eventually pizza, but no cake. We miss you, Mom. Happy Birthday. You are loved and so dearly missed.

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