Tag: family

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.

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.

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.

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.

Marking Time

Published on by Anna Ortiz SpencerLeave a comment

“The holiest of holidays are those kept by ourselves in silence and apart: The secret anniversaries of the heart.”

~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I received a notification the other day alerting me that I’ve been writing this grief diary for one year. It’s hard to believe, not just the passing of time, but everything—all of it. Still.

I genuinely think that once you hit adulthood time accelerates tenfold. When you lose someone you love, time takes on a new trajectory — one where the minutes move mind-numbingly fast and painfully slow simultaneously (on top of everything else). This is the ferocity of grief.

During the past year, I’ve written twenty mini-blog posts here and a million more in my head. My motivation to write this grief diary has always been about healing and gaining clarity. I’m sorry to report that I have achieved neither, however writing is what I do. It’s my coping mechanism, how I process my emotions, and a way to remember her.

Mom would expect nothing less.

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