Emily’s Story
My mom was my best friend. She taught me to be kind, to lead with love, to appreciate life’s simple pleasures like a good glass of wine, to dance like no one’s watching, to surround myself with people who build me up and love me for me, and although it was for only a short time, how to embrace the chaos and beauty that is motherhood. With no other choice but to be strong, I’ve embraced motherhood and everything that comes with it, but I lost my mom when I was 32, just as I had become a new mom, and she had just turned 59. She had less than four months with her grandson, during a time where she was so sick, with the pandemic being the backdrop for everything happening in our lives.
Just a month or so after I told her I was pregnant, after she had been my rock through two miscarriages, she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. It came completely out of nowhere, as this type of cancer does, and everything changed. What should have been joy, celebration, and preparation for this new life was clouded in a blur of a whipple surgery, failing grueling chemotherapy treatments, ongoing doctors and specialists visits, emergency room visits, endless confusion and frustration navigating the healthcare system with such a complicated and scary diagnosis, and a prognosis that we all knew deep down had no hope but no one could fully come to terms with. She was terminally ill, she wasn’t coming back from this.
My pregnancy was a complete blur of being the go-to support for my mom. We lived in the same city at the time, she had just left her husband, my stepfather, and was finding her way on her own. I drove her to appointments, did her laundry, got her groceries, ran errands for her. Eventually she moved in with me but only for a short 3 weeks before she began to decline rapidly and hospice was our only option. Part of me was in denial that I was literally growing a human being in my body while I was navigating the literal hell of my reality, that my mom was dying and I couldn’t do anything about it. How could death and new life be so close, so intertwined? I didn’t stop to think about or process everything that was going on until a few months after she died.
She was diagnosed in May of 2021, my baby came in November of 2021, she died in March of 2022. So much happened in such a short time and it didn’t start to truly sink in until I heard, “your mom is gone, she died overnight.” We weren’t allowed to see her whenever we wanted due to protocols at the time, and it broke my heart that she died when I wasn’t there. Only after all of the administration and her celebration of life was over did it become reality; my mom was gone.
No more texts in the middle of the night asking how I was doing because she knew I was awake with my son, no more morning phone calls just to see if I had finished the Wordle or was watching anything good. Just total silence, when all I had known my entire life was her voice, her energy, her life chats, at a time when I needed her so so badly. It’s now been almost 1.5 years but it feels like a lifetime, as if I am living a completely different life without her in it and with so many other changes. I miss her everyday and my grief has become a part of me instead of consuming me, but in the quiet parts of my day, I’m still in disbelief that any and all of this happened.
For as long as I can remember, my mom was adamant about building memories and ensuring that I understood the importance of time spent with loved ones and cherishing each moment. Growing up, I never failed to give my mom a hard time about how cheesy that was and I wasn’t afraid to roll my eyes or complain about why we were doing so much together. But now, of course, I get it. She loved to travel and make connections with everyone she met and her love of adventure brought my brother and I to many different parts of the world and provided us with experiences that were truly once in a lifetime. Something I hope to continue and share with my family now.
It was only later in my life that I truly appreciated how much she loved being my mom. I judged her harshly, as a daughter typically does, but I’ve realized that the decisions she made and how she lived her life was intentional, bold, and brave. Her favorite quote was, “comparison kills happiness, don’t diminish your accomplishments, your worth or your happiness by comparing yourself to others. Celebrate your life and your successes and appreciate all that you have and all that you are”. That was her motto and she lived by that. Something I am working on in order to find joy and happiness through the pain of losing her.
She was truly one of a kind, everyone who knew her says this. She always took time to check in with her family and friends, to go the extra mile however she could just to make someone happy or feel safe. She loved fiercely and deeply and always wanted to be involved in every aspect of my life. She wanted to share her passions with me, begging me to go to concerts or to be her running buddy in countless races and at the same time, was supportive of all interests that I held dear. I’m so lucky to have had that. I’m so grateful to have had that. I am and will forever be grateful that she was so persistent in being a part of our lives. She was so ingrained in my life and for that I am forever thankful.
I am working on sharing her life, legacy, and my own journey through navigating grief, motherhood and mental health, through writing and pictures on @askingforjoy on Instagram. Thank you for creating the Motherlove Project, thank you for providing a space for daughters to share about their mothers. Thank you for letting me share about my mother, Anna Kunz. I am forever grateful to be her daughter. Her soul, energy and vibrant life force lives on in everyone she loved.
