Whew.
Tomorrow is Halloween. But in my heart and in my home, October 31st will always be something else first: it’s my mother’s birthday.
Ever since she passed—and losing Daddy just five short weeks before her—this time of year hits with a specific, heavy ache. Over the last six years, between that double blow of grief, family legal struggles, and the natural passage of time, it can feel like the very foundation of our family has fractured.
We used to be so close. We had rich, vibrant traditions that anchored us. Now, with very few “littles” left in the family to dress up in costumes and run through the yard, the quiet feels almost deafening.
It hurts. Some days, it feels like the whole thing has fallen apart.
The Urge to Scream Into the Void
If I’m being completely honest with you today, there are moments I just want to scream.
I want to gather everyone together and shout: Look at how different this is! Look at what we lost! I want to force us all to face the grief head-on, to acknowledge the empty chairs at the table, and to weep for the way things used to be when Mom and Daddy were still the sun around which our whole world orbited.
Grief has a way of isolating us, making us feel like guardians of a flame that everyone else has stopped watching. When the matriarch and patriarch pass, the family dynamic shifts whether we want it to or not. People cope differently. Some pull away, some quiet down, and some hold on tight to the memory of what was.
How Do We Honor the Past Without Staying Stuck in It?
So how do we keep moving forward without feeling like we’re abandoning the people and traditions that made us who we are?
I’ve been wrestling with this all week, and here is where my heart is landing:
- Traditions Can Morph Without Dying: The way we celebrated with Mom doesn’t have to be the exact template we use today to honor her. Cooking her favorite recipe, lighting a candle on her birthday, or sharing a quiet story about her around the table is keeping her tradition alive. It doesn’t have to be a big, bustling party to be sacred.
- Accepting the “New Chapter” Family Structure: The closeness we had twenty years ago looked different because the season was different. Accepting that our family structure has changed doesn’t mean loving them any less; it just means acknowledging that grief reshaped the landscape.
- Building Small Bridges: We can’t force everyone to grieve on our timeline or face the loss in the exact way we need them to. But we can keep the door open. We can send the text, invite them for a cup of coffee, or pass down a memory to the older kids who are now growing into adults.
- Giving Yourself Permission to Feel the Absence: You don’t have to pretend everything is fine. Honoring your parents means allowing yourself to feel the deep space they left behind. The ache is just proof of how deeply they were loved.
Carrying the Torch Forward
Tomorrow, on Mom’s birthday, I am choosing not to let the silence win.
I will remember her laughter. I will remember the kitchen lessons, the warmth, and the way she held our family together. I will honor Daddy and the legacy they both built. And even if our traditions look different, quieter, and smaller than they used to, they are still ours.
We don’t have to pretend the loss didn’t alter us. But we can take a deep breath, hold fast to the love that remains, and carry the torch into this new season.
Exhale. We can honor where we’ve been while learning how to live where we are.
Take a deep breath in, let it all out, and have a gentle, peaceful weekend
