Drowning In My Own Tears
On the 3rd of October 2023, three months had passed since the world had lost the warm embrace of my mother. As I sat alone in her favorite chair, surrounded by the gentle hum of memories that lingered all around me, at this three month anniversary of her death I found myself still grappling with the enduring weight of grief. I was drowning in my own tears….
I had thought that time would heal the wounds left by her departure, that with each passing day, the pain would ease and the world would regain its color. But instead, it felt as though I was caught in an endless loop of emotions, forever orbiting the event horizon of my loss.
As I gazed out of the window, my mind wandered back to the days when she was alive. Her laughter, her nurturing touch, and her unwavering support had been the bedrock of my existence. How was it possible that her absence continued to gnaw at my soul?
The weight of my mother’s death pressed heavily upon my chest, and as the memories flooded back, I felt as though a dam had burst inside me, and the tears flowed like a torrential downpour. The photographs on the wall, the scent of her favorite perfume still lingering in the air, and the empty chair where she used to sit, all conspired to unleash the floodgates of my grief.
As I wept, I let go of the need to be strong, to hold back the tears. I allowed myself to remember her laugh, her comforting embrace, and the sound of her voice. Each memory cut like a double-edged sword, simultaneously a source of pain and solace.
I cried for the moments we would never share again, for the conversations we would never have, and for the future she would never witness. The tears were a testament to the depth of my love for her, and as they flowed, I realized that they were also a crucial part of the healing process.
With each sob, it was as if I were releasing a piece of the grief that had been consuming me. The pain was raw and unrelenting, but it was a necessary pain, a cathartic release of emotions that had been pent up for too long.
As the hours passed, my cries eventually subsided, leaving me physically and emotionally drained. But in their wake, I felt a glimmer of something new — a faint sense of relief. It was as if, by allowing myself to confront the depths of my sorrow, I had taken the first step on the path to healing.
In that moment, I understood that healing wasn’t about forgetting or moving on; it was about acknowledging the pain, embracing it, and gradually learning to live with it. My mother’s death had left an indelible mark on my heart, but by allowing myself to grieve, I had also taken the first tentative steps toward honoring her memory and finding a way to carry her with me, always.
I revisited the moments we had shared, the stories she had told, and the wisdom she had imparted. I savored every treasured memory almost as if I was willing it back to life.
I have come to understand that grieving isn’t about “getting over” the loss of my mother; it is about learning to carry her legacy forward. I am starting to embark on a journey; seeking solace in the realization that grief isn’t a linear journey; but rather it is a labyrinth of emotions, a testament to the depth of my love for her.
As I allow myself to feel the pain, to reminisce, and to honor her memory, I am beginning to notice the smallest of changes. The heaviness in my heart is slowly beginning to lift, like a fog dissipating in the morning sun. I am starting to smile when I remember her, and the tears I still shed for her are bittersweet tokens of our love.
I am finally at peace that my grief is not a sign of weakness. It is a tribute to the beautiful, irreplaceable soul that was my mother. And in understanding this, I have found a path toward healing, one that allows me to carry her with me, not as a burden, but as a cherished part of my being.
“It is the capacity to feel consuming grief and pain and despair that also allows me to embrace love and joy and beauty with my whole heart. I must let it all in.”- Anna White
