We mourn the loss of a beloved figure whose courage

At home, her absence reshaped everything. Her chair remained empty longer than expected. Her belongings resisted being moved, as if they were still part of her. I learned not to rush these moments. Grief does not respond well to deadlines. Some things were packed away quickly; others stayed exactly where she left them. Both choices felt right at different times.

There were nights when sleep refused to come, when memories replayed themselves with exhausting clarity. I remembered her as a child, her first steps, her early confidence, the way she looked at the world as if it were something she intended to engage fully. I remembered her as a mother, tender and fierce, protective and playful. I remembered her laughter, loud and contagious, cutting through worry like sunlight.

Those memories hurt, but they also anchored me. They reminded me that her life was not defined by illness or by its ending. It was defined by connection, resilience, and love. Illness was something she endured, not who she was.

Over time, I noticed small shifts. The sharpness of the pain softened into something duller, more manageable. The tears came less suddenly. I could speak about her without my voice breaking every time. This did not mean I missed her less. It meant my heart was learning how to hold grief without being overwhelmed by it. Continue reading…