When I was twenty-three, my mother died suddenly from a brain aneurysm. She’d always been a healthy, hardworking, vibrant woman who had loved life right up until her last minute on earth. In fact, I saw her the night before she died. We met at an auditorium to watch a high school basketball tournament. She was laughing, talking, and enjoying life like she always did. But just twenty-four hours later she was gone. The loss of my mother affected me deeply.
I couldn’t imagine going through the rest of my life without her advice, laughter, or love. At the time, I was working as a therapist at a community mental health center, and I took a few weeks off to privately deal with my grief. I knew I couldn’t be effective at helping other people unless I was able to productively deal with my own feelings. Becoming used to a life that no longer included my mother was a process. It wasn’t easy, but I worked hard to get myself back on my feet.
From my training as a therapist, I knew that time doesn’t heal anything; it’s how we deal with that time that determines the speed at which we heal. I understood that grief was the necessary process that would eventually alleviate my pain, so I allowed myself to feel sad, to get angry, and to fully accept what I’d truly lost when my mother passed away. It wasn’t just that I missed her—it was also the painful realization that she would never be there again during the important events in my life and that she would never experience the things she’d looked forward to—like retire from her job and become a grandmother.
With supportive friends and family, and my faith in God, I found a sense of peace; and as life went on, I was able to remember my mother with a smile, rather than with pangs of sadness. A few years later, as we approached the third anniversary of my mother’s death, my husband, Lincoln, and I discussed how to best honor her memory that weekend.
Friends had invited us to watch a basketball game on Saturday evening. Coincidentally, the game was being played in the same auditorium where we’d last seen my mother. Lincoln and I talked about what it would be like to go back to the place where we’d seen her, just three years ago, on the night before she passed away.
