Love Letter: A Year Without Mom

November 3rd marked a year since my precious mom, Erma, passed away. When she first left this world, I didn’t know what I was going to do. Grief is real. I was an emotional mess. The sadness of losing my mom was overwhelming. I literally felt as if my heart had broken into pieces.

Along with my sadness, I was also mad. I could hear Mom saying, “Only dogs get mad!”, but I reached the point where everything and everyone was getting on my last nerve. Mom was at the golden age of 92, and her health was failing her, but I didn’t want her to go. I thought she would live forever because, to me, she was superwoman.

As I sat with my grief, I began to remember all the things Mom taught me – which was a lot. Fifty-one years of stuff, to be exact. Some of her wisdom included:

Encouraging me to try and do as much as I could for myself, but not to the point that it was going to cause me harm.
Reminding me that if something was too hard for me to do, all I had to do was call home and she would send one of the “Super Coopers” (my siblings) to help me. She was right about this. To this day, as soon as I call them up, my family is on the way.
Helping me understand that not everyone is nice, and how to be proud of myself. Mom made it plain that I didn’t have to go out of my way to convince people to like or love me, because if they didn’t, it was their
Demonstrating how to maintain strong faith when it feels like there’s nothing else, and trusting that through many trials and tribulations, it will help see you through.
Mom, like many parents of children with disabilities, made it her main missions in the world to make sure her child was happy, safe, and had a prosperous life. Mom was my first advocate. She went to bat with biggest and baddest to ensure my rights as a person with a disability were being upheld. Watching her taught me how to advocate for myself.

Today, I’m at the point in my grief where I know I’ll always grieve for my mother and I’m ok with that. Mom was my constant source of unconditional love. Sometimes I can smile and not break down when I think, talk, or write about her. I still have moments of sadness, but I give myself grace, because few things compare to the pain of losing your mom.

My mother was a spirited woman that exuded happiness. She loved music and dancing. There will never be another one like her, and I will always hold her close in my heart, where only she can continue to guide me.

Recently, as I looked through pictures of me and my mom, I noticed how often she is holding my hand. You might call that a coincidence, but for me, it’s a reminder that no matter what I go through, she’s always watching over me and holding my hand.

For those of you dealing with grief, give yourself some grace. It’s a hard process to endure. My hope is that one day, you’ll reach a point when you can smile when you remember the ones you’ve lost. I also hope you’ll keep living the best life you can, since that is what your loved ones would want you to do.

Mom, I’m doing ok. I miss you more than words could ever say, but the teachings you instilled in me prepared me to deal with life. I so thank you for that. My biggest hope is that I’m carrying on the inner light you passed to me, and that you’re looking down on me proudly. As long as I know you’re holding my hand, I’ll keep pushing. Keep resting. I love you.