There are years that pass quietly, slipping into memory without much ceremony. Then there are years that divide a life into before and after. This past year was one of those, my mother’s last year on earth, and the year I learned what it means to carry grief into a new beginning. As the calendar inched toward its final days, I felt the weight of time differently. Every holiday, every season, every small ritual seemed to echo with the awareness that she had been here just months ago. Her voice still lived in my phone. Her handwriting still marked old grocery lists and birthday cards. Her presence still filled the spaces she once moved through. And yet, the world insisted on moving forward.
The Strange Stillness of an Ending
The end of the year is a time for reflection, but this time it felt like standing at the edge of something vast. I kept replaying the moments from her final months. The conversations and quiet afternoons, the things I wish I had said, and the things I’m grateful I did. Grief has a way of distorting time. Some days felt impossibly long; others vanished in a blur. But through it all, there was this steady, aching truth: I was living the last chapter of a story I wasn’t ready to finish.
Stepping Into a New Year Without Mom
When the clock struck midnight and the world erupted in celebration, I felt suspended between two realities. One part of me wanted to honor the tradition and toast to new beginnings, make resolutions, imagine possibilities, make plans for the future. The other part felt like I was betraying something by stepping into a year she would never see. But grief doesn’t ask us to choose between remembering and living. It asks us to learn how to do both.
So I made a quiet promise to myself: this new year wouldn’t be about “moving on.” It would be about moving forward with her memory woven into every hour of my days, living my life in a way that honors my mother. I would carry her stories, her lessons, her laughter, and even the parts that still hurt. I would let her shape the way I love, the way I show up for others, and the way I show up for myself.
What I’m Learning as the Days Go By
Grief isn’t linear, it is all over the place. Some mornings feel light; others feel like starting over. Both are normal. It’s okay to feel that way. Love doesn’t end. It changes form, but it doesn’t disappear. I feel her in unexpected moments, sunlight through a window, a familiar scent, a phrase she used to say, or a song on the radio. New beginnings can hold sorrow and hope at the same time. They aren’t opposites; they coexist.
Carrying Her Into What Comes Next
As I step further into this year, I’m learning that the absence of someone you love doesn’t erase the impact they had on your life. My mother’s last year taught me about patience, resilience, strength, and the quiet power of presence. This new year is teaching me how to live with the space she left behind. I don’t know exactly what the months ahead will bring. But I do know this: I’m walking into them with her love as my compass. And maybe that’s enough.
The grieving caregiver 