Grief Doesn't Have an Expiration Date

Years ago, I lost my sweet mom to cancer. Enough time has passed that the world expects a sentence like that to feel like history. But grief doesn't understand calendars. It changes, certainly. The sharpness softens. Life grows around the loss. You learn how to laugh again, celebrate again, build a life, raise a family, pursue a career, and become a version of yourself you wish she could see.

But you never stop missing your mom.

There are still moments when I want to call her. Moments when something wonderful happens and I instinctively wish I could tell her. There are hard days when I would give anything to hear her voice or ask what she thinks I should do. And then there are the ordinary moments-the ones you don't expect-that can bring the grief rushing back.

Losing my mom taught me that grief and gratitude can exist in the same heart. I can be incredibly grateful for the life I have while still grieving the person who isn't here to experience it with me. I can be strong and still have days when I miss her deeply. I can move forward without moving on from the love we shared.

For a long time, I thought healing meant eventually hurting less. Now I think healing is learning that love doesn't disappear simply because someone dies.

My mom is part of the woman I became. She is woven into how I love, how I lead, how I care for my family, and how I see the world. Cancer took away the years I should have had with her. But it didn't take what she gave me.

So when grief finds me-even after all these years-I try not to fight it. I let myself miss her. Because grief is not evidence that I haven't moved forward. It is evidence that I loved someone deeply enough that her absence will always matter.

And I think there is something beautiful about carrying that kind of love for the rest of my life.