The Goodness of Grief

I’ve been thinking a lot about grieving lately. Not just grieving loved ones lost, but grieving the many things that pass in our lives, friendships, loves, and even paths that didn’t work out. There is a sadness that comes with each, and with each, a different type of sadness and mourning. It is important to grieve the passing of these things so that you can move forward in life and find peace in your new reality.

My mom passed away suddenly last December. I was able to take the girls to see her when she first made it to the hospital, the first hospital of a few, and enjoy her last day of being her old self. The one who had a bright smile and warm stories from the past. She told my daughters old stories about her life and some embarrassing things I did growing up (there are quite a few of those). It was so good to see that. We saw her in a different hospital the next day, and she was completely different. She had fallen in the hospital during the night and hit her head. She passed away a few days later from a brain bleed.

It really hit all of us hard. We weren’t ready; we had expected the normal path of life, where you slowly go down until the end. Where you get to spend time with that person, gather more stories, and create new memories with grandkids. A path where we have more time to plan more for what happens with my autistic brother, who has lived with her his entire life. It was, and still is, a storm of chaos and grief.

It's been almost two months, and I still haven’t found that deep moment of release. I’ve had the time to grieve, but it has been this slow and numb release of what I expected to be a floodgate of emotional release. There are days when I walk my dog that feel alien to me. I used to call Mom on my walks. It was time that I could dedicate solely to her on a regular basis. Now, I feel like I am walking on an empty path, which is so odd, considering that I’ve walked this path for over a decade.

There is a thought about grief that says it is really unexpressed love, all the love that still wants to be given but can no longer find the person’s physical presence. That is what tears are: love that doesn’t have a hand to hold anymore, a voice to answer the phone, their laughter to fill the room. If grief is unexpressed love, then our grief for that person is holy, because it testifies to how much they mattered and how fully they loved us. This love does not end; it now moves through our memories, our stories, and the ways we choose to live because of them.

I gave her eulogy on December 5, 2025, 14 years since I gave my father’s. The ending of her eulogy, I believe, is a good point to begin my grieving and to move forward:

And so, from that place of love and longing, my words become both a promise and a farewell:

and when the time comes
to settle my debt,
and move on from
this beautiful life,
I’ll look toward heaven
to find you,
and none too soon
I will meet you there.

Until that day, Mom, Maxine, I will carry you in my heart and in the way I live. I’ll miss you. We all will. Life just won’t be the same; the first holidays will be especially hard. This is not goodbye forever, only goodbye for now—until I look toward heaven, find you, and, none too soon, I will meet you there.