๐—ฅ๐—ฒ๐—บ๐—ฒ๐—บ๐—ฏ๐—ฒ๐—ฟ๐—ถ๐—ป๐—ด ๐— ๐—ฎ๐—บ๐—ฎ

Earlier this year, I wrote about losing my mom. Putting parts of that journey into words has been part of my healing.

Recently, a quote found me, from Patti Smith:
โ€œ๐™‚๐™ง๐™ž๐™š๐™› ๐™จ๐™ฉ๐™–๐™ง๐™ฉ๐™จ ๐™ฉ๐™ค ๐™—๐™š๐™˜๐™ค๐™ข๐™š ๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™™๐™ช๐™ก๐™œ๐™š๐™ฃ๐™ฉ, ๐™–๐™ฃ๐™™ ๐™ž๐™ฉ ๐™™๐™ค๐™š๐™จ๐™ฃโ€™๐™ฉ ๐™จ๐™š๐™ง๐™ซ๐™š ๐™–๐™ฃ๐™ฎ๐™ค๐™ฃ๐™š, ๐™–๐™ฃ๐™™ ๐™ž๐™ฉโ€™๐™จ ๐™ฅ๐™–๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™›๐™ช๐™ก. ๐˜ฝ๐™ช๐™ฉ ๐™ž๐™› ๐™ฎ๐™ค๐™ช ๐™ฉ๐™ง๐™–๐™ฃ๐™จ๐™›๐™ค๐™ง๐™ข ๐™ž๐™ฉ ๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™ฉ๐™ค ๐™ง๐™š๐™ข๐™š๐™ข๐™—๐™ง๐™–๐™ฃ๐™˜๐™š, ๐™ฉ๐™๐™š๐™ฃ ๐™ฎ๐™ค๐™ชโ€™๐™ง๐™š ๐™ข๐™–๐™œ๐™ฃ๐™ž๐™›๐™ฎ๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™œ ๐™ฉ๐™๐™š ๐™ฅ๐™š๐™ง๐™จ๐™ค๐™ฃ ๐™ฎ๐™ค๐™ช ๐™ก๐™ค๐™จ๐™ฉ ๐™–๐™ฃ๐™™ ๐™–๐™ก๐™จ๐™ค ๐™œ๐™ž๐™ซ๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™œ ๐™จ๐™ค๐™ข๐™š๐™ฉ๐™๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™œ ๐™ค๐™› ๐™ฉ๐™๐™–๐™ฉ ๐™ฅ๐™š๐™ง๐™จ๐™ค๐™ฃ ๐™ฉ๐™ค ๐™ค๐™ฉ๐™๐™š๐™ง ๐™ฅ๐™š๐™ค๐™ฅ๐™ก๐™š.โ€

Iโ€™m still riding the waves of grief, moment by moment, milestone by milestone. Iโ€™ve made it through the holidays and her birthday - now, with Motherโ€™s Day approaching, Iโ€™m reflecting on how to honor her as I continue to heal.

I cared for my mom, who had been sick on and off for 30 years. Last summer came the worst diagnosisโ€”pancreatic cancerโ€”which quickly ravaged her. I remember a video call with her doctor after the diagnosis. He asked her to describe herself, and she smiled and said, โ€œ๐™„โ€™๐™ข ๐™– ๐™œ๐™ง๐™ค๐™ฌ๐™š๐™ง. ๐™„ ๐™œ๐™ง๐™ค๐™ฌ ๐™ฉ๐™๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™œ๐™จ." I had never heard her say that, and it struck me deeplyโ€”it resonated because I feel the same: I grow and develop people. Even in that overwhelming moment, a seed of connection was planted that continues to grow.

Our garden has become a space of growth and remembrance. Mom loved gardening. So do I. Over the years, I gave her many plantsโ€”now they mean the world to me, reminders of our shared joy in giving, growing, and nurturing life. Rituals, like plants, help me process loss. Years ago, I was given wind chimes after losing a beloved dog. That kind gesture became a tradition. Now, my garden holds space for remembranceโ€”for my mom, my grandma, and my dogs Holden and Gidget. When I hear the chimes or see the plants, I remember. Through these small rituals, I witness their lives and share their gifts. This Motherโ€™s Day, Iโ€™ll plant something Mama wouldโ€™ve lovedโ€”a living remembrance.

The quote reminded me that while grief can consume, remembrance can be creative and connective. Tending our own gardenโ€”and small moments like reflection, planting, listening, storytelling, and wind chimesโ€”can stitch us back together. Transformation, ritual, and riding the waves of grief are all part of healing.

To anyone grieving this Motherโ€™s Day:

Be gentle with yourself. Grief has no timeline.
Remembrance comes in many forms.
Give yourself space and grace.
Find a ritual that honors your loved one and feels right to you.

๐—œ๐—ณ ๐˜†๐—ผ๐˜‚โ€™๐—ฑ ๐—น๐—ถ๐—ธ๐—ฒ ๐˜๐—ผ ๐—ฐ๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฐ๐˜ ๐—ถ๐—ป ๐—ฎ ๐—ฐ๐—ผ๐—ฎ๐—ฐ๐—ต๐—ถ๐—ป๐—ด ๐—ฐ๐—ฎ๐—ฝ๐—ฎ๐—ฐ๐—ถ๐˜๐˜† ๐˜๐—ผ ๐—ฝ๐—ฟ๐—ผ๐—ฐ๐—ฒ๐˜€๐˜€, ๐—น๐—ฒ๐˜โ€™๐˜€ ๐˜๐—ฎ๐—น๐—ธ.

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