Today is my mom’s birthday, and I’m caught in a whirlwind of emotions I didn’t see coming. It’s funny how age sneaks up on you – I’ve always thought of myself as pretty stoic, but nostalgia and melancholy are my constant companions these days.

Since my mom died in October, grief has been playing hide and seek with me. It jumps out at the most unexpected moments, catching me off guard when I least expect it. Everyone says this is how grief works, so I shouldn’t be surprised.

Recently, I found myself at a family reunion. It was primarily for my dad’s side, but after 63 years of marriage, the lines between “his family” and “hers” had long since blurred. So there we were—aunts, uncles, and cousins from both sides, all mingling together. It was a fun time! And yet, I spent the entire day teetering on the edge of tears.

Mom’s absence was like a gaping hole in our family tapestry. She was always such a vibrant presence in the family, her music and her laughter weaving through conversations. She made herself a part of everyone’s lives and cared so much about everyone. Now that thread was missing, and boy, did I feel it.

The reunion brought home not just my personal loss but a broader sense of life’s impermanence. Looking around at my older relatives, it hit me – our time together is finite. It’s not a morose thought, exactly, but a reminder to treasure these moments. As a mom with growing kids, I’ve also been struck with impending empty nest syndrome, which adds fuel to my melancholy.

I don’t think I have a huge lesson here on grief and remembrance, but I’m learning that emotions are complex beasts, and I’m getting more comfortable with tearing up at the oddest times, and I have a deeper appreciation for the time I have with my people.

On my mom’s birthday, I find myself grateful for the memories we shared and the lessons she taught me. Her absence cuts deep, but it’s bittersweet and also beautiful—just like life itself.

Mom’s faith in God was the foundation of her life, and it’s always been a comfort to me. The hymns we used to sing together echo in my mind, bringing a sense of peace amidst the sadness. While I miss her physical presence terribly, there’s solace in believing she’s in a better place, free from pain, and reunited with loved ones who went before her.

As we celebrate her birthday in her absence, I know I’ll see her again. Until then, I’ll keep her memory alive, living out the values she taught me and sharing her stories with my children.

P.S. If you’re dealing with grief too, hang in there.