My Journey with Complicated Grief

The Day Everything Changed

On November 15, 2024, my mom died. I knew her health wasn’t great, but honestly, her death still knocked the wind out of me. Grief hit hard and fast.

Growing up, our relationship was messy. I never really knew where I stood with her. Some days, she was loving. Other days, she felt a million miles away, and I never understood why. As a kid, I couldn’t see how dysfunctional things were. It made more sense when I started studying psychology. I threw myself into learning about mental health, desperate to untangle the chaos I grew up in.

Everything shifted when I became a mom myself. Suddenly, all the old wounds from my childhood started screaming for attention. I wanted to give my own kids the safety I never had, the safety that my mom couldn't offer that to me. I loved her, sure, but she wasn’t someone I could lean on. She never really had been.

Decline and Denial: Parental Aging and Caretaking

In 2024, her health took a nosedive. She practically lived in her bedroom, glued to the news or some reality TV marathon. She stopped taking care of herself. She started Ozempic, hoping to lose weight, but her body just kept failing. The falls got worse. Black eyes, bruised legs, even concussions. I begged her to get a walker. She refused. I begged her to let us get some fall detection device. She shot that down too. Watching her memory slip away was brutal and I felt completely powerless.

At my son’s high school graduation, she fell in the parking lot and ended up with two black eyes and broken glasses. I finally told her, “You’re getting an Apple Watch for fall detection, or we’re getting you Life Alert.” She picked the watch. But her mind kept slipping. She’d forget what year it was, how old my son was. It was scary to watch and also very sad.

Halloween that year, she fell again. The Apple Watch did what it was supposed to do, so the fire department showed up, but nobody in the house even realized she’d fallen. I wanted her to go to the hospital, but she wouldn’t go. The next day, she fell again. My dad and I had to help her into bed. That night, I just knew that we were losing her. I was terrified she’d die in her sleep. I was falling apart while trying to keep everything together.

For a moment, she seemed better. Then, on Monday, November 4, my dad finally convinced her to go to the hospital. Turns out, she had a terrible infection. She was actively dying and we had no idea how bad it was. The doctors started antibiotics, did a bunch of surgeries, but she never woke up after that. That was it. The beginning of the end.

Saying Goodbye

My dad and I had a hard talk about next steps. We both knew my mom wouldn’t want to live hooked up to machines, stuck in a coma, with no hope of getting better. It was a clear choice to take her off life support, but it still broke me in a way I never expected. I hated that this was the right call. I was so angry at her for not taking care of herself, but I didn’t want her to suffer either. I would not want anyone to live like this or die like this.

I was able to say goodbye before the doctors took her off life support. I apologized to her and also forgave her for not knowing/doing better. I told her I wanted her to find peace on the otherside and to not worry about us. Two hours later, she was gone. When I heard the news, I just fell apart. I fell apart in a way that I have never experienced before. I cried in a way that felt like it came from my bones. I missed her, the woman I’d kept at arm’s length for years to protect myself. I thought I’d already grieved our relationship. I figured losing her wouldn’t hit me so hard. I was totally wrong.

But honestly, I didn’t cry every day. Mostly, I just felt numb. Like I was watching my life through a fog. I tried to keep going, but it was hard to feel anything at all. I leaned on my friends, family, and colleagues. My clients were amazing and so patient and supportive. I’m grateful for the people in my life.

Grief is brutal. Even after all the work I did to mourn the relationship while she was alive, her actual death still hurt. I second-guessed my choices. I wondered if I should’ve let her closer to me and my family. Sometimes, I even forget she’s really gone. I find myself wanting to send her updates about my kids and can’t. I find myself going through old text messages and emails on occasion.

Grief isn’t linear and it’s fucking messy. Most days I’m fine and every once in a while I get hit with a huge wave of sadness. Sometimes the trigger to the grief makes sense and other times it comes out of nowhere.

In a cruel twist of fate

After my mother died, we inherited her dog, CJ (a chihuahua pug mix). He was so sweet and loved everyone. Everyone loved him. I didn’t want this dog but felt like I would be betraying her if we rehomed him. We loved him and took good care of him until November 2025. Five days before my mother’s death anniversary, CJ started to have labored breathing. We took him to the emergency vet and I told my husband “This is going to be so fucked up and brutal if we have to make the decision to put him down the same week as my mom’s anniversary.”  Well, we were forced with that decision, and it was the right decision, but so painful.

Here I was crying and mourning I dog that I didn’t really want while also grieving the loss of my mother, again. I felt like I let her down and like I let CJ down. Similar regrets, grief and anger showed up. I felt completely helpless. There was nothing I could do to make CJ better except to let him go, just like my mom the year prior. Again, I found myself grieving someone I did not feel close to.

I leaned into the grief, just like I encourage my clients to do. That was the only way to get through the pain. I had to feel it, I had to express it, and I had to let people help me. My family and friends were amazing again. They offered condolences, support, affection, and really anything we needed. If you know me, you know I’m a little too stubborn and guarded to ask for help so leaning on the people close to me was uncomfortable but very needed.

I sit here today, reflecting on my journey, knowing that grief will never truly be gone. I share with you so that you know grief is painful, messy, and so hard. There is no graceful way to grieve. It’s the ugly-crying, falling to the floor, kind of tears. It also has elements of anger, regret, numbness, and relief. It’s also a different experience for each loss.

I wish I could tell you that therapy will remove grief but it doesn’t. Therapy and healing make grief much more manageable most of the time. We can never truly erase grief because the love for the person (or pet) is still there.  Grief is the cost of love and I would not change one thing about it.

When you find yourself in grief, please allow yourself to feel the feelings and to reach out to supports. I promise it is the quickest way through it. It won’t be easy, but it is 100% worth it.