The Love That Remains

Loss and grief are powerful. They spring up when you’re in the middle of something ordinary, unaware of how much sadness you still carry. They wait quietly inside your heart. When loss happens unexpectedly, it brings such a mix of feelings—anger alongside sadness, disbelief, frustration, regret.

My mom passed away recently, and I am still processing this loss. I found out while I was at the circus with my children. I sat there in the audience, my five-year-old sitting on my lap, and although I tried to keep my emotions under control, the tears kept coming. I remember it was the final act, and three or four clowns were on the tightrope while the audience kept going wild. And there I sat, knowing my mom was most likely already dead. (I found out for sure when I left the tent and was in the parking lot with my kids.) The cheering and laughter surrounded me in my grief. I don’t know if I will ever be able to go back and enjoy the circus—not anytime soon, anyway. The juxtaposition of those two opposite experiences felt surreal and deeply unsettling.

Since that day, I sometimes wonder and ask myself why I don’t feel more sadness. Then I have days where I can’t stop crying. Her death wasn’t exactly unexpected, as she had been having health problems for some time, but I also didn’t realize how bad it had gotten. She must have known that her health was declining—she left a video with her attorney for me and my sister. She starts the video by saying, “Hi girlie-Q’s!” I honestly have no idea where this nickname came from, but the moment I heard her say it, followed by her little giggle, I broke down. Even thinking about it right now, I can’t stop the tears. I am so lucky to have been her daughter, and I will cherish my memories of her—especially the silly little nicknames, the way she laughed, and the way she held my hand, even as an adult. These are the moments where her love still feels so close.

Having no parents has left me feeling like I have a hole, a blank space in my heart. It feels unreal that they’re both gone. Surely that can’t be my reality—I must be mistaken. I am lucky to still have my sister. Even though she lives very far away, we still talk almost every day. I also have my children, and that is honestly what keeps me going—what gets me out of bed and functioning. I need to, for them.

I also recently started a meditation teacher training. It is a program that runs throughout the year, but my meetings with our teacher trainer have already been life-changing. He reminded me that I don’t need to have a perfect, regular meditation schedule. That expectation doesn’t fit with my lifestyle, especially when my kids are on holiday breaks from school. Instead, I need to be mindful in the time I spend with my kids. I need to stay present and remember that they are just little kids, and that they need so much love and guidance with their own regulation.

He recommended that I come up with a little mantra of sorts—something I can tell myself when I feel like I’m losing control, when I’m getting angry and frustrated. These feelings are, of course, normal and human. But how I respond to them is a choice. Instead of getting angry and yelling, I can notice those feelings coming and choose to react differently. Perhaps I need to take a few breaths, give myself a time out, or simply remind myself that it’s okay to be mad and that it’s also okay that they are acting like kids.

The mantra I chose is “return to my heart.” It may sound simple, and maybe I’ll change it and pick a different one in the future. But for now, I like it. It reminds me of the love I have for myself and for them—and that, deep down, I can return to my true nature. When I say these words to myself, my mind and awareness automatically move to my heart center. I feel myself taking a few deep breaths, consciously observing my chest expanding and then softening. Even these few moments seem to help, no matter what is going on around me, especially in moments of overwhelm.

I realized, though, how much this advice can also help me in my grief. In those moments when I feel empty and lost, I can remember how much my mom loved me. How my heart is so full of love because of all the years she spent loving me. She was an amazing person. She wasn’t a perfect mom (who is?), but I still love her so much and have deep compassion for her struggles. She did her best, and that is all I can expect.

What I will never doubt—what I know deep down in my heart—is that she loved me unconditionally. She loved me when I failed and made wrong decisions, when I came back to her crying. She loved me no matter what and was so proud of the woman I became. And I know that even if my life had turned out completely differently, she would have loved me then too. I was her baby girl, and her love lives on in me—in my heart and in the love I have for my kids.

This realization has also been so freeing for me as a mother. I know that I am not perfect, that my kids are going through a difficult divorce, and that I carry so much guilt around that. But I also know that I love them unconditionally, and that this love is more than enough. Even when I make mistakes as a mom, it’s okay. I’m just human. I love my kids with all my heart, and that is what matters most.

When I think of my parents, my grief feels a little lighter knowing that they would be proud of me no matter what. And as long as I love my kids the way they loved me, everything will be okay.

So no matter what is happening in your life—if you’re experiencing loss or grief—know that I understand. I’m there with you. Try to find the love in your heart: love for your family, love for your life, and love for yourself. 

If you are moving through loss, try gently returning to your heart.

The love that shaped you is still there.

It doesn’t disappear.

It lives on in the way you love