Two Years Without You

**Grief Trigger Warning

It's true what they say about the stages of grief not being linear. I've found that in this second year without my mother, I have reentered the anger and denial stage. This is partially why I haven't written a blog post in months.

Year one, I was experiencing everything for the first time, and I used this blog as an outlet to process my emotions and relearn how to live and enjoy life. However, in year two, since I've figured out how to cope and start living again, I wanted to stay in this happy space for as long as possible. I didn't want to feel sad and bogged down by grief, so I didn't go on my self-love dates to self-reflect on where I was in my grief journey. I just bitterly thought, "I have my whole life to grieve and be miserable, I'll do it later."

I didn't want to believe that another year could go by without her. That made me upset and I was so tired of crying. I just bottled up my emotions and denied the fact that they were there. I wanted to solely focus on the good—exploring a new city, playing in improv classes, starring in a stage play, and loving my amazing boyfriend. (Don't worry, I'm gonna backtrack and write about all these at some point!) So naturally, I didn't have much to write about for a blog about grief when I was in denial about my own.

Unfortunately, my grief is still very real and would resurface no matter how hard I ignored it. It would bubble up and over at random times, or the classic moments, like when Mother's Day came around again. I knew I couldn't avoid it forever, so I decided to devote a whole day to letting out every emotion I had bottled up over these past few months. And what better day to have a "grief fest" than the anniversary of the worst day of my life? August 9th, 2025 marks two years since my mother's passing.

The worst part about the anniversary day is that you can't help but relive it. Relive the dreadful phone call, the soul-crushing heart break, the suffocating reality that against your will, your life has changed forever.

As you can imagine, I cried my eyes out for most of the day. (Note to self: You feel better after a good cry, so stop bottling it up!) I cried for the past memories of her and for the future memories I feel robbed of. I cried for all the things I wish I could've done and all the ways I wish I could change how it happened. I cried, longing for her smile and to hear her voice. I cried thinking about all the "last times"—the last time I saw her, the last time we hugged, for not knowing it would be the last time.

The last time I was with my mother. My birthday, February 19th 2023.

Two years without you... it still doesn't feel real.

As I think about this next year, all I can do is hope. I hope that ping-ponging between the grief stages gets easier. I hope that I can find the healthy balance of enjoying this new life I've learned to live, while grieving the old one I've lost. I hope that I can continue to make my mother proud and know that even though it feels so lonely at times, her love is always there when I need it most.