My mom. She lived. She died. She’s here.

I’m not good with talking about my emotions publicly, openly, and without hesitation. I’m not good at feeling angry or upset or confused. I’m not good at knowing that my life is changed forever.

image2What I am good at, though, is realizing that just because my life is changed that doesn’t mean that life is going to be bad. The raw pain will turn into a dull one and I’ll soon be able to see myself living again. Being a father. Being a husband. Being an Automattician.

It’s been three weeks since my mother died. My mom. The woman who had so much faith in me that I learned to have faith in myself. The woman who loved me so much that I learned to love myself. The woman who was so optimistic about my future that I became optimistic myself. She died.

I’ve been visiting her grave and speaking out loud like a lunatic. When I visit, I feel like I hear her. She tells me to stop visiting because I can talk to her from anywhere. My mom. She died.

There are moments when I feel like I can’t breathe and I don’t know how to have faith or love or be optimistic. And then there are moments when I’m determined to make the most out of every second that I have left. My mom. She died. She was 62.

Alx's tattooWhen I think about her final years, I think about how much she lived. My mom never struggled. She never fought. She never battled cancer. She lived with it. She took what was a devastating and horrible turn in her life and she lived. She traveled. She loved. She laughed and danced and sang. She married people. She continued to grow and learn about herself and become the best that she could be. My mom. She lived. She died. She was 62.

I know that she’s here with us. I still ask her advice and I still lean on her for support. She’s around us and she always will be. She weaved her soul into me from the moment I was born. Teaching me, learning from me, growing me. My mom. She lived. She died. She was 62. She’s here.

My mom. My mom lived and then my mom died. She had 62 amazing years. I’d rather live with the gigantic hole in my heart than have had my life be any other way. I’m so lucky that I got to know her. My mom. She’s here.

This post was originally published on AlxBlock.com.

Written by Alx Block
Alx hails from the City of Brotherly Love, where he lives with his awesome wife and two awesome kids. His background is in book publishing sales and marketing and he has a degree in Spanish language, literature, and linguistics (which is clearly the most useful degree for engineering happiness.) While not attached to a screen, Alx enjoys telling bad jokes and teaching magic tricks to his kids.

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8 Comments

  1. a beautiful tribute to a woman who seems wonderful, raw, honest, filled with pain and with love.

    Reply
  2. She was so young, but filled your life with so much love. She lives in your heart and memories forever, so she is not completely gone. And love – love never dies.

    Reply
  3. My grief is slow, but picking up speed. It has taken me nearly a year and a half to feel the loss of my mother in a deep visceral way. I have been longing for it, wondering why my feelings were so deeply buried, worrying that they never would emerge. Now I am finally experiencing the rage, the overwhelming sadness, the intense longing, the doubts that I was a good enough daughter. It is a relief and a tribute. So much better than the numbness that masqueraded as composure and grace.

    Reply
  4. I feel the pain. You have my deepest sympathies on your mom’s passing. My mom crossed over 19 months ago [at 79], and m y dad, almost 6 wks. ago [at 82]. Your article is beautiful, and you will be in my thoughts and prayers.

    Reply
  5. I too lost my mom three weeks ago. She was 78. Everyday that goes by it gets a little easier to deal with the pain. I took care of her the last year of her life and I’m so thankful I did. I miss my mom terribly but I know that she is in a better place and no longer has to suffer. God bless our moms.

    Reply
  6. Alx, you’ve written such a beautiful tribute to your mom . I am so sorry for your loss.

    Reply
  7. Hi Alex:

    First of all let me extend my deepest condolences to you on the loss of your mom. You have my continual prayers. I enjoyed your blog so much, your words remind me of myself thanks so much for sharing. I loss my mom in 2003 to Pancreatic and Colon Cancer she was 61. I m the oldest of four children. I had my mom 6 years alone before they arrived. It seemed as though I always had a love for Seniors and Children and I can’t forget my love for animals. I hear my mom’s voice all prayer he time she is always with me in some way. I moved in with my mom 3 years after she was diagnosed, went to many doctor visits,treatments and Saturday yard sales together even when her strength was low she always managed to push herself even more. As I reminisce on the times we shared I have no doubts that I would do them all again. I have been working and traveling back and forth to NJ for the last 4 years taking care of my Aunt my mom’s oldest Sister and her husband both have dementia and other medical problems but I have tried to keep them in their home up until this past. August when both of them where placed in the hospital. Her husband met his demise on October 28,2014. She is now residing with my husband and I . I took a FML for 6 weeks to try and get things in order for her and transition to a new state. I face challenges each day in my marriage and life but my strength comes from above and I hear the voice of my mom telling me to keep the faith you can make it through this.

    Blessings to you

    Mary

    Reply
  8. my mother is sitting next to me as I write. 81 yrs old with CHF and dementia. I will soon be in your place my friend. Thank you for sharing. I miss my Mom already.

    Reply

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