Heartbreak, heartache, and love.

I’m writing this ahead of time because I’m not sure what my mood will be in the morning.  You see, 2 years ago today, my mom was alive.  Sick, yes, dying, yes, but alive.  In fact, we were due to be visiting 2 days from now.  Celebrating Busy B’s birthday up there in New Hampshire, one last little hurrah before Baby B was born.

My heart broke into a million pieces early in the morning on July 25, 2009.   Mom wasn’t responsive and my OB had told me driving that far away wasn’t a good idea, my blood pressure was rising and they wanted me to stay put.  I’d called my dad to touch base and tell him I wasn’t going to be able to come up with the kids, and how disappointed I was….and expecting like normal to just have him say “here’s mom.”

I remember cleaning up from lunch and deciding I better call RIGHT NOW to tell mom, just once more, that I love her.  Once more.  Hurry, before its too late.  Only my dad beat me to it.  The phone rang as I was reaching for it, rinsing dishes, multitasking as most of us do.  “Dad! You beat me to it! Can you hold the phone up to moms ear?”  “Mom’s gone, Brett.  She’s gone.  She died a few minutes ago.”


Tears, pain, shock, sorrow, sadness.  Heartbreak.  She wasn’t supposed to die.  She was supposed to fight, at least a little longer, so she could meet the new baby.  My new baby.  My last.  Her namesake.  It took my breath away.  It still does sometimes.

Empty.  Lonely. Confused.  Hollow. 

Thirty years of a tumultuous relationship and 5 years of wonderful mother-daughter friendship.  It wasn’t enough. It isn’t enough.  It has to be enough.  

13 days later, on August 7th, my water broke and Baby B descended into the birth canal fast and furious- and both feet first.  My blood pressure was 195/120 and wouldn’t regulate.  Baby was fine.  In no time, I was fine.  Physically, anyway.

I’m better. The heartache is there, but the heartbreak is waning.  At least, most days it is.  Right now, writing this, it is not.  It is taking my breath away.

I’m finding more and more that I’m sharing things about my mom with the kids.  I guess that’s how she’ll live on.  In the stories, the memories, the shared love of books, of helping others, championing the underdog, and really, the love of family.   That’s what I’ve got.  That’s her legacy.   

I just wish she could have stopped smoking because had she been able to, this post wouldn’t be written.  She’d be here, anxiously waiting for the new Harry Potter movie to be available for pre-order on DVD, sending us links to new recipes she found to try online, knitting sweaters, weaving baskets, sharing newly beloved books and rediscovering formerly loved books. 

If you got this far, bless your heart.  This is apparently a therapeutic post and I got long winded (yet) again.  Apologies.  But if you have read this much- hug your loved ones.  Life is short.  Too short. 

Love a lot.

About the author: I’m a 30-something mom to three, brand ambassador. content creator, social media maven, blogger extraordinaire, earth lover, butcher, baker, candlestick maker (or something along those lines) – love word games, crafting, cake decorating or shooting pictures.

8 comments… add one
  • Thank you for sharing that with us. I almost didn’t read it, as my mom and I have a very strained relationship—it started last year in March, we reconciled for the Holidays, and then she quit speaking to me again in January. I say that to say this–I’m glad that through whatever happened–you were able to have those last five years of good with your mom. I’m so very sorry she left you like that—with a new baby on the way, etc.

    When I lost my beloved Granny–who was like a second mom to me—she took her last breath as I was standing there—I thought I would never come out of the depression I felt for almost two years. I never forget her, but last Christmas finally felt like Christmas again (she died on December 27th, 2007) It does get easier.

  • I appreciate your sharing. I can feel your heartache. Yes, the deep pain is still there, but it is not as strong as before. You sound very much like your mom, “the shared love of books, of helping others, championing the underdog, and really, the love of family”. Very grateful I know you!

  • Oh sweetie I know the pain you feel. I lost my beloved grandmother, my rock, a several yrs ago now. I still find myself wanting to pick up the phone and just hear her voice! Your story brought tears to my eyes.Oh BTW, My oldest son that will be 22 soon was also born Aug 7th!

  • I’m so so very sorry. Hugs and prayers.

  • Oh sweetie! Wish I could give u a big hug! I am so sorry. No words can help. When I talk about my daddy now after 10 years I smile. But still I hurt. I wish he could see my kids. Take today and remember the wonderful times. Tell your kids funny stories. 🙂 call or chat with me. You know I am here. 🙂

  • My heart goes out to you. Really all we can do is celebrate a loved ones life. Pass it on!

  • ((( Hugs ))))

    I have a similar story about my grandmother, who basically raised me. She was also a smoker, had emphysema and still wouldn’t stop. Even Hospice didn’t scare her. One day she layed down to take a nap and never woke up. Your kids are blessed to have the stories of her to hear and pass on to their kids.

  • thinking of you sweetie.


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