The story of her life > The story of her death

Navigating grief presents its challenges. I spent 29 really amazing years with my really amazing mom, yet, after she died, the good memories I had of her were overshadowed by the 9.5 weeks of bad ones. Every time I thought of Mom after she died, I pictured her laying in the hospital with a million tubes coming out of her. I remembered her unable to breathe on her own, I remembered the fear on her face, and kept hearing her pleas of "I don't want to die" playing over and over in my mind.

The image of Mom's final moments haunted my every waking hour. It was the first thing I thought about in the morning, and the last thing I thought about before I fell asleep. And this image was often what would jolt me awake at all hours of the night.

David Kessler, in his book "Finding Meaning: The Sixth Stage of Grief," talks about the fact that in early grief, we must tell and retell our story. It helps us to understand it, to process it, and to begin to accept the reality of what happened. I think that is what was happening for me. To truly comes to terms with my mom's death, I needed to confront those distressing memories head on. Even as I tried to bury them in busyness, my subconscious processed them on my behalf during my sleep.

Once I found an outlet where I could tell and retell the story about what happened to my mom, the story of her death had less power over me. I became more comfortable talking about what happened without crying, the terrible thoughts stopped interrupting my sleep, and the memories of healthy Mom became more accessible. I believe this marked my first steps toward acceptance. I'll never be OK with the premature loss of my mom at 57 while I was only 29, but I acknowledge that it happened. No amount of pleading or wishing can change that reality.

Although I am certain I won't ever forget the memories of Mom's death, and the weeks that preceeded it, I feel that I am at a point in my journey where the story of her life finally overshadows the story of her death. When I think of my mom, I smile. When I eat Mom's favourite foods, I remember how much she enjoyed them. When I think of familiar phrases Mom used to say, I can hear her voice saying them. In these moments, I am reminded that Mom's life was so much greater than those final weeks. It was filled with laughter, love, and countless cherished memories that far outweigh the pain of her death. Her legacy lives on in the lessons she taught me, the values she instilled in me, and the love she had for all of us. So while the story of her death will forever be a part of my narrative, it is the story of her life that truly defines her legacy and brings me comfort in my grief.

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