Tag Archives: motherless daughter

It’s Time


It’s been nine long months since I last posted.

My mind and heart have been spinning in a whirlwind of emotions ever since.

However, it’s time…

It’s time to release ALL the words. It’s time to get my emotions out in the open. It’s time for me to share what’s been on my mind and heart.

I’m going to try my best to not have a filter, which is very hard for me. I always think of who may read my blog and hold back accordingly. I will be as honest as I can be, which means it will inevitably bother some people, but these are my words, from my heart, from my mind, going onto my page. I can’t, and won’t, apologize for what’s inside me.

So, here I go…

This past year has been very hard for me. Most everyone knows I lost my mom last April, which turned my world upside down.

Trying to get to South Carolina in time… the excruciating pain of not being able to say “I love you” one last time… not being able to hold her hand and say goodbye before she passed away–  it’s all burned in my heart, mind, and soul.

It happened way too fast. (If you want to read the post I wrote about it, go here.)

I don’t think my heart has ever hurt so badly in my life. No… I know so. I swear it felt like my heart was glass and had shattered into tiny pieces everywhere.

My mom was the one person in my life who knew me inside and out. She always understood me. She loved me unconditionally. She never made me feel like I should be or act like anyone but myself. She had a way of knowing what I was thinking and feeling, even though I was hundreds of miles away. She would check in on me like a mom, but listened like a friend. I always knew I could call and talk to her until I couldn’t talk anymore, and everytime before hanging up, she would say, “I always love our talks and I love you.”

I would give anything to hear those words again.

Weeks after her death, I felt an emotion creep inside me. I wasn’t all that surprised, but when mixed with grief, it’s all encompassing and taxing.


I was so angry.

If only she would have gone to the doctor sooner. If only the large bruises, nosebleeds, fatigue, and horrible headaches would have SCREAMED, “GET TO THE DOCTOR, NOW!” If only she had gotten a second opinion after the first time she went to the doctor. If only she hadn’t gone on a trip and stayed home and listened to what her body was trying to tell her.

If only… I may not have lost my mom.

Yes, beating cancer would have been a long road, and it wouldn’t have been easy, but she would have fought so hard. She wasn’t ready to go. She wasn’t.


One thing that pisses me off about grief is how people try to quantify it. You can’t do that. You can’t say your grief is bigger and deeper than anyone else’s. By doing that, you belittle the grief of those around you. You should respect how others are feeling. Respect their breaking hearts. Respect the depth of how much they’re hurting. You can’t do that while saying you’re grieving more.


There are other things that have truly gotten to the core of me during this grieving process… things I wasn’t ready for, and still aren’t ready for, but… to use my husband’s words… it is what it is.


It’s hard to overcome, but I’m working on it as much as I possibly can. I’ve learned I need to rid myself of the anger to allow as much room as possible in my heart for Mom’s loving memory. That’s what matters the most.

Now, onto to the next feeling, that when mixed with grief, and anger, it’s even more encompassing and taxing.


What do I feel guilty about? Let me list the ways….

Over the last year:

I’ve been a horrible friend.

I’ve been a horrible daughter, sister, sister-in-law, granddaughter, aunt…

I don’t call enough.

I don’t message enough.

I’ve been a bit of a hermit.

I go from happy to sad in a millisecond.

I clam up.

I don’t know how to express myself like I used to.

I know… I know… “Amy, don’t feel guilty over these things. They’re normal during the grieving process.”

I get that. I really do. However, I can’t deny I feel guilty ALL THE TIME.


I apologize to everyone close to me for how distant I’ve been. Staying in my little bubble has been a protective shelter and I know I need to pop the bubble at some point.

I hold onto guilt more than I do anger, so I need to work hard on letting it go. It’s a process, just as everything else has been, and that’s okay.

The next phase of grief is coming toward me. I feel it inching its way in. I’m sure it’ll be snail-like in its progress, but I will welcome it…


I know the loss of my mom will always be a part of me. I will never get over her not being physically in my life, nor would I want to.

I love her so very much. We had a special relationship and I miss her to the deepest part of my heart.

I’m so blessed to have had such an amazing woman as a mom and friend.


She comes to me in my dreams often. I can feel her during my simple days and my hard days. I feel her when she’s proud of me. I feel her wrap her arms around me when I’m sad. I feel her laugh when I laugh. I feel her smile down on me when she knows I’m happy.

I feel her.

And, for that, I’m so thankful.

I may not be able to pick up the phone and call her, but I can speak to her amazing spirit and know she hears me, which heals a small piece of me each and every day.


My beautiful mom, Judi Thompson, while on a cruise with my husband and me.

Before I sign off, I need to give love and thanks to my husband.

Chris, you are my rock. You have been so patient, loving, giving, supportive, and understanding. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Thank you for loving me. — I love you.

For the last words of this post, I want to quote one of my favorite authors. She says it well…

“A daughter without her mother is a woman broken. It is a loss that turns to arthritis and settles deep into her bones.” — Kristin Hannah

Continue to rest in peace, Mom. I love you.



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Filed under March 2017