Lia’s Story

My mother fell off a ladder. I think.

Whatever happened, she died of a traumatic brain Injury, alone, in a another city. She was labeled a Jane Doe and spend days in the ICU before we knew it was her. My Dad and I flew from separate states to be there but it was too late. We returned to our AirBnB. I had just had my first child, he was 3 months old at the time and I had left him at home with my husband's family. I was newly postpartum, freshly grieving and lactating though the only shirt I brought with me. I cried in the shower all night. My dad and I drove her car home that weekend, in relative silence- still processing.

In the time since her death, I compare myself to her in every aspect, especially my own parenting. I wonder what kind of parent I would be with her guidance. She had only met my son once for a few days. I remember she sang to him a lot that week. I struggle to sing or read familiar books without crying now. All the things she once loved are now the hardest for me. I never expected grief to be such a large part of my own parenting journey.