Dear Mom,
Yesterday was the 13th anniversary of your death. In the week leading up to it, I was a ball of anger and fear. Every small thing put me on edge. The first drafts of this year’s letter ended up in a dark, painful place. I could feel the emotional trauma weighing down my body, leaving me utterly exhausted. Despite being surrounded by people, loneliness echoed. I went to bed afraid. There was no telling what August 14 would bring.
The next morning, I was with three of my best friends who had come into town to visit. We sat on my couch reminiscing about the last twelve years of our friendship. How we’ve known each other through the evolution of adulthood, making mistakes and memories while trying to discover who we are. In that moment, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for my friends and the life we’ve lived together. It was such a sharp contrast to the pain I had been struggling with the week before. Holding both experiences reminded me of something my therapist once told me: “We exist in the duality of grief and gratitude.”
I’ve been thinking a lot about how intertwined the two are. I grieve the life we could have had together, and I am grateful for the life that came after losing you. I grieve not being able to share my hopes and dreams with you, and I am grateful for the people I’ve met who stepped up to share those hopes and help me pursue my dreams. This reminds me that the anniversary can be more than a day to mourn and miss you. It can be a day to recognize the weight of the loss without carrying it the entire day. To say, “You’re here. I remember. I acknowledge.” To hold that grief in my heart for a moment, and then allow it to pass. I spent so long after losing you fighting to survive that I will never forget the day I remembered how to live. Being able to live again is how I discovered who I could be.
The day ended up being a celebration of friendship and reunion. It passed with the briefest whispers of you. There was some relief in knowing that the 14th could feel like a “normal” day. I am grateful to those who remembered and reached out. There is comfort in knowing you carry part of my grief with you. To share in the anniversary so that I could continue living.
My friends and I ended the day watching Celine Song’s Past Lives. The main character, Nora, reconnects with her first love and a part of the world she left behind in Korea. She grieves the life she could have had with this man while holding gratitude for her husband in New York and the life they built instead. It could not have been a more fitting movie.
Mom, I will never know the life we could have had together—that’s something I’ll grieve for the rest of my life. I will also be forever grateful for the life that came after you, and for everything I became from it.
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