Five Things I’ve Learned About Grief

When I turned my phone back on again this morning (I had turned it off the prior evening, a rarity) there were some messages and one voicemail awaiting me.

The voicemail was from my boyfriend, calling to say goodnight. He sounded a bit worried but I had forwarned him that I was checking out for the evening. I seriously needed to be alone and just let everything go for a nice chunk of time.

It felt good to have no more fucks to give for a change of pace, an exceptionally freeing and guiltless act of self-care.

There was a message from one of my cousins, sending love and encouragement for the hard day ahead. Another message from my friend Cheryl, sending the same kind of thoughts.

I sent them both a heart emoji because that’s all I had in me to do.

My aunt had texted me “Morning Merry! Call me when you can.”

Since we don’t talk often, once I had woken up enough to think straight(ish) I found her number in my contacts and dialed her. She didn’t answer so I left a message.

She called back a few minutes later.

“I must have been in the bathroom, sorry!”

We discussed my mom, of course. An entire year now. We both agreed that it had gone so fast.

There were tears, a couple of laughs, many shared memories of her, several personal thoughts and then a rant about our annoyance with the cemetery, which throws everything that we bring to the grave away once a week.

I usually stick with plastic dollar store flowers. Some of them are really pretty.

I’ve lost my fair share of loved ones over the years. I’m not a newbie at this.

Yet my mom dying has been absolutely the most difficult death to accept and move forward with.

I’ve been as proactive as I could within the last year…attending a grief group, finding a new therapist that I really like, seeing my awesome doctor on a regular basis, writing as often as I could, plus reading, learning and exploring the topic of grief. I don’t like to stay stuck and the more knowledge that I have, the better my chances are for personal growth.

Rekindling my relationship with the big guy in the sky has also been wonderful, like being thrown a life preserver in a stormy sea filled with sharks.

Anyway, I’ve learned a few things about death, loss and grief but I’m keeping it very simple.


When I got the call early that Monday morning a year ago, my first thought was that of pure relief. Relief that she was no longer suffering and was finally at peace. It was also a feeling of relief for myself, that I no longer had to witness how very sick she was. One of the hardest things is to watch someone you love in pain and not being able to do a damn thing about it.

Of course, I felt guilty for feeling that way, until I read about something called anticipatory grief. She’d been ill for so long that deep down I had already begun the process of grieving before she even died.


Trying to act tough will only make matters worse. If you feel like ugly snot crying, do it. On the other hand, if you can’t cry and just feel numb, that’s alright as well.

There’s no right or wrong way when it comes to grieving.


Once the first week or so is over, people will go back to their lives and you’ll be left alone to try and figure out how to move forward without your loved one.

Pay close attention to the people who reach out to you during this time and if no one does, then reach out to them. (When you’re ready.)


There will always be a void that will never be filled again once someone dies and as much as that reality sucks, I personally wouldn’t want anyone else to fill in for my mom. That’s how much I continue to love her and always will.

She was special and one of a kind.

That empty space will belong only to her for the rest of my life and I cherish the fact that she resided there for so long.


My mom is still with me.

Those first few weeks after she passed away, I kept waiting for some profound thing to prove to me that she was alright. She’d told me to keep an eye out for her.

But it’s not usually like that.

It’s a certain song on the radio, a bird, a feather, a dream…and often, it’s just a feeling you have, that you cannot explain.


My mom was almost my age in this photograph that I took of her, while we were on a family trip to Hershey, PA way back in 1989.

She had a zest for life and this photo represents that perfectly, I think.

I miss her so much.

Silent Crevices

I’ve witnessed many things that I will never be able to unsee.

Not with the strongest eye bleach on the black market, nor any cheaply made cornea wet wipes ordered on Wish that take two months to arrive.

There isn’t a strong enough medication available to erase these disturbing images from my mind, for they’ve been deeply seared into my memories flesh, until the day that I pass on from this world.

No alcohol, by volume or proof, would ever be capable of forever eradicating the series of traumas that I’ve been exposed to.

For all it would accomplish is rendering me unconscious for a spell, only to wake up many hours later, discombobulated, with everything a blur, yet still unfortunately intact.

The only way forward towards survival is to allow myself to feel it all, to absorb it into the core of my being, by somehow (with sheer determination and prayer) continuing to live with all of the heartaches, the sorrow, and the multitude of crevices that are now permanently a part of my infrastructure.

I’ve learned that it is indeed alright to cry, to feel sad and to just stay quiet if you need to, even though these are behaviors that are mostly undesirable, unwanted and not socially acceptable.

I’ve been very silent lately, finding myself unable to put my thoughts or feelings into action, the way that I’m accustomed to and which makes a lick of sense.

I’ve had to remind myself time and time again that it is alright to be this way right now.

Deep inside my ever-churning brain, that’s always been riddled with ideas, where my words and creativity used to flow so free like a water faucet, is now dried up.

Hopefully just temporarily.

Watching my cherished dog as she passed away recently, then looking on at my daughter’s pure anguish (and now her regret and guilt that she didn’t spend enough time with her best friend while she was still alive) has sucked up the last remaining droplets of moisture on my tongue and fingertips.


I love you, my sweet Maggie May. Thank you for everything.

I’ve learned many things during my grief journey and I plan on sharing them here this Wednesday, on what will be my mom’s 1st deathiversary.

Until then, stay safe and well. Thank you for reading.

A Loss For Words


I haven’t known what to write about lately…everything has been so fucked up.

I’ve been at a loss for words and all of that.

But I need to write about this.

Tonight, as my daughter and I watched some TV, our eldest dog Maggie started to pant profusely. After a few more minutes, she was struggling to breathe. She seemed extremely out of it and wouldn’t eat a piece of roast beef that I had offered her.

We called the vet office that we took her to last time back in January which is closer now to our new house and since they are a 24-hour clinic, they advised us to bring her in.

Since we were not allowed inside due to the virus, a vet tech came out to get her while we waited in the car.

She could barely walk.

It didn’t take very long before they called us with the bad news. She had a tumor on her spleen that had started to bleed into her stomach. They said that surgery wasn’t even an option because she was already in the process of dying.

They came out right away to get us, so that we could be with her during her last moments. In the rush, my daughter had forgotten her mask but they were kind enough to still allow her to be with Maggie.

I asked a few times to please hurry with the syringe of whatever it is that they use…we didn’t want her to suffer any longer than she had to. My daughter let me do the talking since all she could do was sob.

I cried into her fur, talking to her, petting her softly and thanking her for so many years of unconditional love. My daughter was completely hysterical. Maggie had watched Brooke grow up; she had been her best friend.

Maggie was an old dog, at least 13 years old. We’d gotten a reprieve back in January, just enough time so that Maggie could enjoy having freedom for a couple of months with a yard to romp around in.

Our surviving dog Maya is sticking close to my side while I sit here in front of my computer typing this. I’m up so very late (how can I sleep?) and her sister is missing.

Dogs grieve just as much as humans do, only in different ways.

My God, my sweet girl is gone.

How many cracks can a heart endure before it completely shatters?

My mom’s one year death anniversary is coming up on May 20th.

My best friend’s mom died going on two weeks ago from the fucking virus.

It feels like death is everywhere, there’s so much loss, endless pain and watching my daughter’s grief-stricken, shaking body hunkered over her beloved canine companion of the last 12 years was almost too much for me to witness.

I am burnt the fuck out. Almost completely depleted.

If I could scream right now without scaring everyone in the house, I would, so fucking loudly that the windows would shake in their frames.

Maya keeps walking around, looking for her now deceased partner in crime. How do I comfort her?

How do I comfort myself?

How do I comfort anyone when I don’t even have the words anymore?