It is in the joyful moments, as well as the quiet ones, that I am able to reflect. To think of how I have gotten to where I am, who I have become and the obstacles and downright roadblocks I have encountered along the way. There have been marriages and births, deaths, failed relationships and deep sadness, as well as monumental events full of beauty that have occurred over these last 30 years. I am reflective of who I had envisioned I would become in comparison with who I have actually become. Many times during these years I have experienced deep conflict as I expected more of myself and anticipated greater wealth, a bigger home, a happier life, etc. The list could go on but for what reason? That is only dysfunctional and blatantly disregarding all I have accomplished and been blessed with. I would like to think that most things I have achieved have not been by accident. I recognize I have found love, built a family, received a solid education and made lifelong friends. That is most definitely worth embracing because they are the things that matter. 

Today is thirty years since my mom died. That bright blue skied morning in March, contrasting with everything horrific that it brought. I look back to that little girl, who was nearly the same age as one of my daughters is now. Ironically four of my daughters have passed that age with just one more that will reach the age I was when my life was upended. I am so grateful they have not endured that pain. That is not to say they have not experienced challenges, but different ones nonetheless. It makes me envy them sometimes. More than anything it leaves me feeling so grateful to provide them with something I did not have and so desperately needed. 

In some ways, certain things in my life did not change when my mom passed. For that, I am grateful. My closeness with my grandmother remained steady, though I was dreadfully afraid of losing her once my mom passed. That certainly initiated me pulling away to a rather significant degree. It made life seem so much more fragile and neither of my grandparents were in the greatest of health, compounded by an infinite amount of grief that enveloped them in their late adulthood. My grandfather who had made it clear that he was ready to die became even more adamant about those feelings, saying he had now lived too long. That is quite a concept to process as a child. Now, as a parent myself, I cannot help but understand why he felt that way but as a 14 year old it was only a conceptual idea and the last thing I wanted to as for him to be gone too. His loss was a loss that was simply unbearable and the pain does not simply go away as time goes on. 

In terms of loss and the hardships endured by my grandparents, I remember my grandmother would say she missed her mother more as time passed than she did when she actually lost her but even then I know the loss was enormous for her. My grandmother was nearly 60 at the time of her mother’s death. By the time my mom passed, it had been nearly 20 years without her mother. And I felt for her, she experienced a great amount of loss and that made me very reticent to mention my mother as I did not want to increase her sadness. Looking back, that may not have been the right choice but it also made it easier for me as opting not to mention her felt safer and left me feeling less vulnerable, a feeling I hated then. I was simply so very tired of crying. It is likely that led to feeling the grief longer and in more dysfunctional ways. But what does a 14 year old know with such little life experience and limited guidance? Even now at 44, it is so evident how little I know. That is one of the gifts of growing older: appreciating what you do know and being at peace with what you do not. 

If my mother was here, I know she would appreciate my travels. She would love my enthusiasm for seeing the world as she had done in the time she had. I remember her trips when I was young as well as the ones she told me about before I was born. I know from my own travels the self-discovery I have experienced has  been deeply meaningful. I am sure she felt similarly. I wish I had  been able to hear more about her travels and also that I had been mature enough to care. You do not know when life as you know it will change, and it is easy to take things for granted and think that the status quo will remain for years to come. This is something that has plagued me in my life as I have always been afraid of the carpet being ripped out from under me. I frequently remind myself: life could change in a second and I feel the need to remind myself of that to be cognizant of what I do have. In the hectic moments, the beauty is often fleeting and feels more stressful than something worth appreciating. Taking time to see the good is so important and changes my perspective almost every time. 

I would love to know what my mother would think of my daughters. Would she have ever guessed she would have five granddaughters? How cruel it is to think she could not meet even one. And ironic to think that if she had met just one, it would have been the one most like me. I do not doubt that would have brought her great amusement. Would she have thought I named Shannon after her? Would she have understood I simply was not comfortable with naming any of the girls after her because of feeling superstitious but was so in awe of Jason for suggesting it, especially when he had never met her. Would she have been at their births? Would she have thought our family size was too large? Or just perfect? Would she have helped watch the girls? Or maybe lived with us? Would we have traveled together? What stories would she have told the girls about me as a child? What would my girls have cherished most about my her? These are all hypothetical questions but the are they what I have. Sadly, I mention my mother rarely to the girls but I am always thrilled when she is mentioned. It makes her feel a little more present when she seems so very far away most days. 

It has been 30 years since she passed. More than 10,950 days that I have not seen her or heard her voice or touched her hand or hugged her. I remember when she was dying that I wanted her to die because seeing her so ill felt torturous to both of us. It was an odd feeling to feel and one I mentioned to my grandmother at the time. I can only imagine how that made her feel as one of her dearest friends was about her to take her final breath but I had my eye on the relief I would feel. Was that the birth of my bluntness? It was simply how I felt. I most certainly felt guilty about such dark and morbid feelings. Though how I yearned for more days once she was gone. The nights I stayed up crying after she died. The dreams that brought me comfort and allowed me to feel closer to her. Most often on days I skipped school – it was almost a motivation to skip. The devastation I did not anticipate but found me so easily and threatened to never leave. And then one day, I guess it did. There was no particular moment, just a slow and quiet evolution but not without the occasional curveball to remind me of how unpredictable grief can be. There are not five stages of grief but so many more that catch you when you finally think you are past the darkest moments of it. You have learned grief cannot be figured out but only lived through. 

And then life slowly went back to a new normal. Most definitely a strange normal with freedom I had no idea what to do with and led me into trouble that I am still processing. That is what makes us who we are though. Our differing experiences and relationships shape us into the people we become. 

There are things that happened during my adolescence that I would not wish on my children ever and then there are adventures and experiences that I am immensely grateful for that still make me smile and have truly shaped me for the better. If only we could pick and choose from the very best moments and erase the worst. However, if we made it possible to avoid the darkest moments it would change who we become and leave us devoid of resilience and appreciation for the healing that comes living through challenging times. It motivates us to find what makes us the most alive. And when we find what makes us the most alive, we have become so much more than grief, and then, we are truly living.