Daughter’s in Grief, Together.

February 19, 2024

She sits in the chair across from me, strangers until this very moment. We’ve just met, but immediately I see a kinship in her eyes. I can tell her heart and soul hold similar pain and empathy. Recognizing this element in people has been my superpower since losing my mother. I notice things about others, things that are usually oblivious to the outside world. 

I notice grief. I notice compassion. I notice pain and longing. I notice love too, as it’s usually the foundation for the others. 

We sit. We chat. But even more powerful, we listen. We each intently, purposefully, listen to the other. Each vulnerable piece of authenticity. Each heartbreak and each loss. Each situation and each stress. Each story. 

We listen intently– without judgment or expectation. 

We listen with understanding.

We listen with a knowing that our stories might not duplicate each other like carbon copies, but recognize they share a universal theme– the loss of a mother. Mine to death. Hers to Alzheimers. Both complicated and harsh.

We don’t try to measure our grief to see which is heavier. We don’t try to stack our heartbreak to see whose will be higher. We don’t compare. 

We empathize. 

We acknowledge. 

We listen.

We care. 

We sit united by the love of a mother and also the loss of a mother too. Even just meeting her I know she was built by a mother like mine, one with infinite love and unwavering support. I can tell we both lost not only mothers but our best friends, and also pieces of ourselves. 

We are united by grief and also by love. We are united by the pain of losing a mother, one to death– now in heaven, one still here–different and slowly slipping away. We sit here sisters in circumstance, holding both our own ache, and each other’s too.

And while we wouldn’t wish this sisterhood, or camaraderie on others, I speak for us both when I say it’s also a complicated blessing. It feels safe to share this brokenness with someone shattered too. It feels comforting to know we’re not alone, even when it feels like it.

We’re together in grief.

Together in hope.

Together in striving to make our mother’s proud.

And though I wish she didn’t understand, I’m grateful our paths crossed, so from now on, we can be in this—- together.

xox, Chels

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A wife, mother and educator who has Indiana roots and a passionate spirit. Chelsea is a sappy romantic, coffee junkie, book collector, and person who wears her heart on her sleeve. She’s sarcastic, full of jokes, full of tears, and enjoys writing most when life gets messy or complicated. In 2017, Chelsea's mother passed away. Through her grief journey, she decided to take her mother’s advice and share her writing with the world. One day she gained the courage to honor her mother's wishes and write. It turned out to be one of the best decisions she's ever made.

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