When I began with my grief after my mom died I was of the mind that I wanted to really get into it so that I could get out of it. I tried to rush it along, thinking if I gave it all of my focus for a couple of days that it would go away. A few hours into this journey I began to realize that there is no way to hurry grief. You can try to hide from it, but it will find you. You can try to speed it up, but it is going to ignore your efforts and take its time, doing its thing.

Grief is a messy process and it is best if you can allow it room to make its mess without trying to clean it up.

I have been reading multiple books on grief and they have been extremely helpful.

Here are some of my favourites:

https://a.co/d/9c0QLz4 https://a.co/d/hstyQNA https://a.co/d/acJc0wQ

I just started a new one this evening, it’s more of a workbook for grief, and I have already been touched by its approach to grieving. The book is called, “How to Carry What Can’t Be Fixed,” by Megan Devine.

https://a.co/d/9s3zfjI

Grieving and writing have a lot in common; importantly, both grieving and writing need space and the freedom to make a mess. I like how Devine worded it when she stated that “Translating your inner emotional experience into words and pictures is a messy practice” (4)

“It’s hard to speak the truth if you have to make it perfect” (Devine 4)

I feel like it is fitting to share a letter I wrote to my mom on the morning she was cremated, keeping in mind those words of Megan Devine, “It’s hard to speak the truth if you have to make it perfect” (Devine). I am trying to do what feels right inside of me to allow the expression and outworking of my grief, providing it whatever space it needs to make a mess.

So, here goes:

January 29, 2025 (Wed) 5:16am

Mom,

You are being cremated this morning. I now how much you disliked and were afraid of fire; I will be with you. I am so sorry that this is happening. You should be alive. I should be waiting for another couple of hours to text you to let you know how the boys are doing (they are both sick, by the way!).

I realized this morning that I not only lost my mother, but I’ve also lost a best friend. It’s no secret that you weren’t perfect (but who is?), but I really loved you and to me you were still the only mom I would ever want. You loved us all so much; I am so sorry for any ways you feel that we failed you; especially at the end.

I feel the loss of the person who loved my children in a way that nobody else on this planet can/does/did.

I mourn the loss of that profound, special, powerful, relationship. I mourn the loss of the person I would always text little updates on life, anything and everything from the infamous “poop reports” to “SOS! We are falling apart and need our mom/Nana/Mother-in-Law,” knowing that there would always be a reply that would make everything better.

I love how you loved, honoured, respected, protected, and cared for Jono; you taught me how to have more compassion for him and to be more caring, loving, demonstrative and supportive towards him. You honoured me by how much you loved him.

Your husband can be very tough to read at times, but you knew him well. I miss knowing that you two had each other, no matter what, you had each other’s backs.

And now, anger. My anger. I miss you and I am so angry that you are no longer here. I am not mad at you; I am mad at the universe for letting this happen to you. You should be here. You should be here with your bright light of love, joy, peace, and comfort.

I miss you.

Love,

Your Daughter xo

The feelings surrounding my loss are wild and varied, spanning anywhere from missing her sending me pictures of her Minecraft creations, to ugly sobbing about the fact that the “ping” indicating an incoming text is, once again, not from her.

The book, “Coping with Grief,” encourages the reader to ‘tell their story: Who died, who they were to you, what changed with their death, etc. In the discussion about how this process is a messy one, my answer to the following question seems appropriate: “What thoughts or feelings are worrying you?”

Here’s what I wrote:

What if I never get over it? What if I feel crazy, and lonely, and broken, and not myself forever?

Who will support and protect me now?

What if I can’t grieve properly and I’m ruined/messed up for the rest of my life?

My life is going to have a huge chunk of emptiness in it now. What if I can’t get over it or move on from the loss?

What if I don’t want to?

“Into the darkness they go,
the wise and the lovely.”
 – Edna St. Vincent Millay –

It’s a mess. I’m a mess. Mourning is a mess. But, into this mess I must go; this is my home now, at least for awhile. I’m sure that the mess will get less, well, messy with time. But, for now it is where I am and must continue to exist. I will allow the grief to have its space, to change my world, and to change me, just as you have.

Into the darkness I go.