The Shape of Grief
Last week, while I was at my annual Rainforest Writing Retreat, my sister called to tell me my mother had died.
It wasn’t unexpected, not exactly. She’d been older, and our lives had been separate for a long time. Still, the finality of the news landed heavily, like something unmovable settling into place.
My relationship with my mother was complicated. We hadn’t been in contact since 2021. The distance wasn’t something I chose, and I couldn’t find a way to resume communication. Over time, the silence became its own kind of structure, and our disconnection something I learned to live around.
For a long time, I held onto the idea that there would be a moment when things shifted. Nothing dramatic, but a crack that would be enough to build on. A softening that could lead to a conversation. Some small change that would allow us to meet somewhere in the middle.
That moment never came, and now it never will.
Grief Without Resolution
Grief is supposed to follow certain patterns. There’s an expectation of memory, of closeness, of shared history that you can revisit and turn over in your hands. But this is different. It’s less like losing something I had, and more like surrendering something I kept hoping to find.
There’s a particular kind of absence in that. Not just the loss of a person, but of a relationship that never existed.
I circle this more than anything else. Not the last conversation, because we didn’t have one. Not unresolved words, as we’d already said or not said everything we were going to. Instead, it’s the quiet understanding that whatever possibility I held onto, however loosely, is now gone.
And with it, the hope for something better.
That realization is strange in its own way. There’s grief in it, yes. But also clarity. Some stories don’t resolve. The characters don’t come back together at the end. The stories simply… stop.
Right now, I’m letting my grief be what it is. Not trying to reshape it into something cleaner or more meaningful than it feels. Just acknowledging the weight of it, and the space it leaves behind.
Some losses are about what was. Some are about what wasn’t. For me, this one is both.
The header photo is a composite image. Base image by Tommy Bond on Unsplash
I’m so sorry you were never able to have the relationship with her that a girl should be allowed to have with her mother. I’m so sorry that the hope of that is gone. I’m glad for you, though, that the internal fight no longer needs to happen. It’s over. One of my very nearest and dearest friends lost her mom a few years back and she never grieved. I kept waiting for it to happen. I think, though, after reading this, that her grief happened while her mom was still alive, while there was still that yearning for something that should be but never will. I’m so sad for you (and her) but also glad that you can finally begin the process of healing for real. Take care of yourself.
What a kind thing to say! Thank you for taking the time to do so.