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It is inevitable that we lose our parents at some point in our lives—unless we perish in an accident or succumb to a terminal illness ourselves. As adults, especially over 40, the likelihood increases, and with it, the expectation that we don’t grieve too intensely. After all, we are not only more independent, but are more likely to have more attachments: spouses, children, siblings, friends, and others. But what if we are alone—single, divorced, or widowed? What if our parent was our closest relation and friend? What if our lives are also already difficult? As a 51-year-old daughter who lost her mother to bile duct cancer, I didn’t think I could go on. I was not only faced with caring for a father with whom I had a very conflicted relationship, but writing a textbook in hopes that I would receive a promotion or more lucrative job offers. In other words, I was not only dealing with loss, but personal and professional hardship with very little emotional support. But somehow, I learned to come to terms with my grief. I managed to care for my father, even if he passed away in less than 5 years after my mother. I managed to complete that textbook—even if it took 5 years rather than 2. Here, on Substack, I want to express the grief and longing I have for my mother: I want to relive some of my memories and delve into the changing relationship I had with my mother, a nurturing, yet sometimes harsh woman who schooled, scolded and soothed me through the years. I want to provide support to all those grieving for their parents by sharing my own experience with grief for my mother: not just the intense heartache that persists through a terminal illness and loss, the feelings of isolation and loneliness after many in my parents’ circle abandoned us, the occasional thoughts of suicide, but also feelings of hope and determination that slowly emerged in the aftermath. I want to show how some days are worse than others—and how happiness eventually becomes possible. I also want to remind readers that grief has no time limit or process. Because grief is essentially an outpouring of love for the deceased one: the closer we are, the more we hurt. It’s only natural. Because as we all know, as Tennyson wrote:

I hold it try, whate’er befall;/ I feel it, when I sorrow most; ‘Tis better to have loved and lost/ Than never to have loved at all.

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