I can still see her walking me to the bus stop with a baseball bat in hand. I remember wishing I could shrink because I thought it was so embarrassing. My Mama (my grandma) stood there with that same baseball bat as she picked me up again every afternoon. Now I know that those “embarrassing moments” in my life were because of her fierce love for me. She didn’t care how she looked, she just wanted me safe. She understood then how uncertain and unsafe the world could be, long before I ever fully realized it now with kids of my own. Tomorrow will mark eight years since her passing, a day that reshaped everything.
At the time, I had just become a first time mom, with plans to pick her up less than a month later so she could meet her great granddaughter. Those plans never happened. Every year since, my oldest daughter’s age marks how long she’s been gone.
I replay our conversations over and over, wishing I had asked every question, recorded every moment, and was entirely present every time I was with her, especially those middle school years when I lived with her.
I regret listening when she told me not to drive with a newborn. Because what happened? I drove with my baby anyway, just to say goodbye.
Here are 8 lessons I’ve learned in the 8 years since losing my Mama.
1. You will always wish for one more moment.
No matter how much time we had, it never would’ve been enough because it will always feel cut short. I know I will always long for just one more hug, one more laugh, one more conversation with her. I would make sure to pick up every phone call. I would save every voicemail. I would keep every card.
2. Regret is part of grief.
The “what ifs” and “if onlys” replay in my mind. I know regret doesn’t mean I didn’t love her well, it just means love always wants more time.
3. Memories become treasures you can’t replace.
What once felt ordinary like those middle school years I spent living with her has now become a collection of memories I hold close. She always took me to the library and never once grew impatient as I chose my books. She would be ready to take me back as soon as I finished them, knowing I’d max out the checkout limit again and again. Even the books I was assigned in school, she would research, ask around, and make sure they were appropriate before letting me read them.
She didn’t let me go on my 8th grade trip to Washington, D.C., wanting to keep me close. Her way of loving me was an overprotectiveness I didn’t understand then, but deeply appreciate now. I’ll never forget our trips to the movies, Disneyland, the Grand Canyon, Las Vegas, our special meals at In-N-Out with milkshakes, and the train rides to Georgia. She guided me through one of the most challenging ages but always choosing to fully love me. What I felt was overbearing back then, now I see as her pure love for me.
4. Grief doesn’t follow a timeline.
Eight years may sound like a long time, but sometimes what happened feels just like yesterday. Other days, it feels like a lifetime ago. You think you’re okay one day and the next, you feel like you can barely make it through the day.
5. Grief is felt in the “what should’ve been”
It’s not just about the years that have passed since her death, but it’s about everything she has missed since then. She never got to meet either of my girls. She hasn’t been here for the milestones, the celebrations, the ordinary days we would have shared if she were still here. It hurts, it aches and she’s always on my mind wishing she was still here.
6. Grief teaches you that love becomes legacy.
Grief has shown me that my Mama’s love didn’t end when her life did, it continues as a legacy. I can share the stories I remember with my girls hoping that it impacts them enough to remember them too. I want them to keep carrying her name long after I’m gone because she doesn’t deserve to be forgotten. She deserves to be remembered, even if they’ve never met her.
While grief often feels heavy, I’ve learned that joy and grief can live side by side. There have been days when I laugh with Hope and Faith and then immediately ache because she isn’t here to laugh with them too. I have to remind myself that the joy I feel is part of her legacy.
7. Grief isn’t just mine, it’s shared.
I lost my Mama, but my mom lost her mom. My aunt and uncles lost their mom. My siblings and my cousins lost their Mama too. Each of us carries our grief in our own way. However, I’ve learned that part of grieving is also remembering that I’m not the only one who misses her. It means checking in, starting the conversations, and still talking about her with the people who loved her too. Grief can feel lonely, but you’re never really alone.
8. Grief reminds you how a long life is never guaranteed and just how much love matters.
I kept the recording of the moment I told my Mama that I was pregnant with Hope. The joy in her voice was overflowing. She knew the struggles we’d faced, and she celebrated with us. She couldn’t wait to meet Hope, but she never got that chance. We make plans all the time with the people we love or put off making plans with them because we think we have all the time in the world. The painful truth is that those plans can shatter in an instant and those moments we postpone may never come.
We make plans all the time with the people we love or put off making plans with them because we think we have all the time in the world. The painful truth is that those plans can shatter in an instant and those moments we postpone may never come.
I also didn’t expect how grief would make me more sensitive when I hear about the losses of others. When I read a tragic story in the news, hear about what someone’s going through, or I watch someone I love walk through their own loss, I feel it so much more deeply. Grief has a way of linking us to the pain of others because once you’ve carried it, you recognize its heavy weight everywhere.
As much as we know death and loss are part of life, it never becomes easy. Grief doesn’t teach us how to “get over it,” it reminds us that we should carry love and loss together.
He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” Psalm 147:3