I’ve been thinking about my mom a lot lately. In just three weeks, it will be her birthday. This will be the third one without her, and the weight of her absence still feels heavy. Three years without the woman who was my constant, the one who always knew how to light my way. But what hurts even more than not having her by my side is knowing that my kids won’t have the incredible Nana they deserve. She was so much more than just my mom; she was a force of love and joy to everyone around her.
I’ll never forget how deeply she loved being their Nana, how she spoiled them with affection, made them feel like they were the most important people in the world, and filled their hearts with warmth and laughter. I can still hear the sound of her voice during their regular FaceTime calls, reading them stories, playing endless games of UNO, and making every moment feel like an adventure. To my kids, she wasn’t just their grandmother; she was their confidante, their biggest cheerleader, and their best friend. And now, they have to navigate life without her. It breaks my heart every time they mention her, and every time they speak of her in the past tense.
As her third birthday without her approaches, what hits me the hardest is how much harder it is to be a mom without my mom.
Our relationship may have been complicated at times, but she was always the model of what it meant to be a mother. She had a quiet strength, an incredible ability to listen, to comfort, to handle the chaos, and to celebrate even the smallest triumphs. She made motherhood look so effortless, like she had all the answers, even when I was struggling to find my own. Every day I feel the absence of her wisdom and guidance more than I ever imagined. There are moments when I wish I could just ask her how to handle something or hear her voice telling me that I’m doing okay.
I never truly understood how much she did for me, the quiet ways she helped me find my footing in motherhood, until she was no longer here. There are countless moments when I find myself reaching for the phone, ready to call her for advice whether it’s on parenting, handling tough situations or just needing someone to tell me that I’m doing okay. But those calls are no longer possible. It’s in the moments of this deep exhaustion, when I’m struggling to stay balanced or second-guessing myself as a mom, that I feel her absence the most. It’s in these moments when I long for the sound of her voice offering reassurance or wisdom, even if I didn’t realize how much I needed it at the time
Being a mom without your own mom is a kind of hard I never truly grasped until I felt it myself.
It’s in those quiet moments when my kids need comfort and I can’t pick up the phone to hear her reassuring voice. It’s the holidays and birthdays, when I feel that ache of the space she used to fill, knowing she won’t be there to help make those moments special. It’s watching my kids grow and realizing they won’t have the same experiences I did with her, no more making brown sugar candy together in her kitchen, no more spontaneous trips to town to help out, just because… And as much as I try to give them all the love and memories she would’ve, I can’t help but know I’ll never be able to fill the gap she left behind.
But as I reflect on how hard it is to be a mom without her, I can’t help but think about how my mom did it. She lost her own mom when she was just 16. That’s a delicate age to lose someone so important, yet my mom carried on and became an incredible mom herself, despite the absence of her own mother. It speaks volumes to me now as I try to navigate motherhood without her. The strength and resilience she showed in those years after her mom passed was always in her, and it was something she passed onto me. And now, I see how much of that strength I need to tap into for my own kids, just like she did for me all those years without her own mom.
For the last couple of years, I’ve tried to mark her birthday in a way that feels right. I started a small tradition of paying for someone’s cake at Dairy Queen. It’s something pretty simple, but meaningful. It’s a small way to pass on the kindness and joy she spread so freely. It helps me honor her in a way that’s still connected to the joy she brought into our lives, even though she’s no longer here.
As her third birthday approaches, I still feel like I’m learning how to be the mom I want to be without the one who was my greatest teacher. Every day feels like a reminder that I am doing this without her, without her voice, her guidance, her wisdom. And while that sometimes feels overwhelming, it also strengthens my resolve to keep her memory alive for my kids. I may not have her here physically, but I carry her with me in everything I do as a mother. I try to live up to the standard she set.
Even in the midst of this pain, I hold onto the hope that one day, I will see her again. My faith reminds me that death isn’t the end and we will be reunited in God’s perfect time. Though my heart aches for her presence, I find comfort in knowing she’s with Him, surrounded by peace and love and her own mom. And one day, when I cross into eternity, I’ll be able to hold her once more, to share the joy and love that never truly ends. Until then, I’ll carry her memory in my heart and trust that God’s promise of reunion is real.
If I were to have just more conversation with her on this side of heaven, I would thank my mom for being the incredible mother she was to me and for being the best Nana my kids could possibly have. I’d thank her for showing me what it meant to love and nurture my own children. I’d tell her how her absence is felt in every corner of my life, and I’d promise to do my best to carry on her legacy of love, kindness, and grace. I’ll never stop missing her, but I will continue to share her love with my children, just as she did with me.
For anyone else who’s lost their mom, I see you. I know the weight of that loss. It’s overwhelming, and it feels like it will swallow you whole. But I promise you, even when it feels impossible, you will survive. It will be different, and it will hurt for a long time, but the love your mom gave you will carry you through. I’m still figuring it out myself, but I’ve come to realize that surviving the loss doesn’t mean forgetting or replacing the one we lost. It means continuing on with their love as the foundation that guides us. We will carry that love in our hearts, and in time, we will find a new strength we didn’t know we had.
It’s okay to grieve, it’s okay to feel lost, and it’s okay to admit that you’re struggling. You are not alone in this journey. We’ll get through it together.
