Losing someone you love isn’t just heartbreaking; it’s life-altering. It shifts everything you thought you knew about the world, leaving behind a hole you can never quite fill. This is the story of how losing my mother changed my entire life—and how, through that loss, I found a new purpose.
The Strongest Woman I Knew
My mother was the backbone of our family. She was the kind of person who never stopped moving, never stopped helping. Whether it was cooking a meal for a neighbor or working late nights to provide for us, she was always doing something for someone else. I always admired her strength, even when I was too young to fully understand the sacrifices she made for us.
She was my best friend. We laughed together, cried together, and dreamed of better days together. No matter how hard things got, she always found a way to make life feel a little lighter. “There’s always hope,” she’d say, with a soft smile that could make even the darkest days feel brighter.
The Day I Lost Her
It was sudden. One day, she was there—alive, strong, and vibrant—and the next, she was gone. A heart attack took her, and just like that, the person I leaned on the most was no longer there.
I didn’t know how to process it. How could someone so full of life just… disappear? The grief was overwhelming. It hit like a tidal wave, pulling me under, suffocating me. I stopped caring about everything—school, friends, my future. Nothing seemed to matter anymore because the one person who believed in me the most was gone.
The Long Road Down
After her death, I lost myself. I couldn’t get out of bed most days. The silence of the house without her was unbearable. I started skipping school, isolating myself from the people who cared about me. Friends would call, but I’d ignore them. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to talk about anything.
I started drinking, hoping it would numb the pain, but it only made everything worse. I pushed away the people I loved. I was angry—angry at the world for taking her from me, angry at myself for not being there when she needed me most. Every day felt like I was sinking further and further into a darkness I didn’t know how to escape.
The Moment Everything Changed
It wasn’t a single moment that pulled me out of the darkness. It was a slow, painful climb. One day, after months of feeling lost, I found myself standing in front of a photo of my mother, the one she always kept on her dresser. She was smiling, holding me as a baby, and looking at me with so much love.
I broke down. I cried harder than I ever had before. And in that moment, something shifted. I realized that my mother wouldn’t have wanted this for me. She would have wanted me to live—to fight for the future we had always dreamed about together.
That day, I made a decision. I was going to live again—not just survive, but live the way she would have wanted me to.
Finding a New Purpose
It wasn’t easy, but I slowly started to rebuild my life. I went back to school, surrounded myself with people who loved me, and started going to therapy. Talking about the grief helped in ways I never thought possible. It didn’t make the pain go away, but it made it bearable.
And through the pain, I found something unexpected: a passion for writing. I started journaling, pouring out all the feelings I had kept bottled up for so long. Over time, those journal entries turned into stories. Stories about loss, about love, about the strength it takes to keep going even when the world feels like it’s crumbling around you.
Writing became my outlet, my way of processing everything. It helped me heal, little by little, word by word.
That day, I made a decision. I was going to live again—not just survive, but live the way she would have wanted me to.A New Chapter
It’s been seven years since my mother passed. The pain is still there—it always will be—but I’ve learned to live with it. I’ve found joy again, in ways I never expected. I’ve published two books, both inspired by the strength of the woman who raised me, and I’ve met people who understand the depth of loss and the beauty of healing.
And in a beautiful twist of fate, I’ve reconnected with my family. The same family I had pushed away in my grief is now my biggest support system. We talk about my mother often, remembering her laugh, her kindness, her love. In a way, she’s still with us, in every story, in every memory.
Honoring Her Legacy
I’m now expecting my first child—a daughter. We’ve decided to name her after my mother, to keep her legacy alive. Every day, I strive to be the kind of parent she was—strong, compassionate, and full of love.
Losing my mother was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. But through that loss, I found a purpose, a new way to live. Her memory pushes me forward, reminding me that even in the darkest times, there is still hope.
And now, I’m teaching my daughter what my mother always taught me: there’s always hope.
