Shea’s Story

For me, losing my mom was a special kind of pain because losing her meant losing that person who always answered the phone when I called. It meant losing someone with whom you could share life's unimportant details, like what's on sale at the grocery store or how traffic was coming home from work. Losing her meant losing her signature "good morning" text messages that symbolize someone in the world thinking of you and holding you in their heart. 

Like most mother-daughter relationships, ours was far from perfect! But all those little differences and conflicts we experienced seem so far away and unimportant now. Instead, I'm left with an overwhelming gratitude that she and I found mutual love, respect, and support for each other. Being loved by her has left an impression on me that goes beyond words. 

The Backstory

Before my mom's cancer diagnosis, I was in Memphis, TN, happily living my life and anticipating the day I'd move to Cincinnati, OH, to be with my boyfriend. After many months of long-distance dating, I couldn't stand it any longer and decided it was time to move. I had an apartment picked out, interviews set up, and I had given my notice at my current job. Everything was good to go! It was just a matter of waiting out my current lease. 

Years before, I returned to school for my Master's degree to become a mental health therapist. While in school, I discovered a particular interest in grief work. Before graduating, I studied grief work and dreamed of being a full-time grief therapist one day. Many therapists pick areas of interest that are meaningful in their personal lives. Still, I had no real-life grief experiences at this point in my life. Not to worry! The universe had some grief plans in store for me. 

The Diagnosis

One evening, one month before my move to Ohio, my mom called me. I could hear it in her voice that something was wrong. She proceeded to tell me that she had ovarian cancer. I remember both of us crying on the phone and saying how sorry I was that she had to tell me that. We talked further about her fears of telling my siblings and grandparents. I could feel a mix of fear and determination in her voice as she told me she would fight. After that call, I decided to break my lease early and go live at home to be closer to her until my move. 

Once I was back home, I could feel the constant stress and worry coming from the family. Everyone had their own neurotic ways of coping with the uncertainty we were experiencing. But I marveled at my mom, a constant source of positivity and strength. Not only was she carrying the weight of her cancer, but she was also carrying the emotions of her children, husband, and extended family. It was truly incredible and only something a mom could do. 

Navigating Grief

My mom's first chemo treatment coincided with my last day of work. It was on a Wednesday, and I was scheduled to move that Saturday. The Thursday after her appointment, I planned on taking my mom back to the hospital for a follow-up procedure. 

Around three in the morning, my mom woke me up in a panic. My dad wasn't breathing, and she needed my brother and me to help her try and wake him up. Hours later, after intense stress and fear, my dad died in the ER. 

I remember my mom telling me at the ER that I still had to move to Cincinnati, that my dad would want me to live my life, and that she'd be fine. This memory is one of the many examples of my mom focusing on her children's happiness and ensuring we were okay. 

After a short delay, I moved to Cincinnati and made many trips back to Memphis to help my mom. My siblings and I worked together to help close our dad's business, sell our family home, move our mom into an apartment where she'd be living alone for the first time, and ultimately support our mom in her cancer treatment. 

Any family undergoing cancer treatment can surely relate to the rollercoaster of emotions we felt then. Those months were a whirlwind of change. Changing treatment plans, changing doctors, changing response to chemo, changing symptoms, changing diet - change, change, change. Despite all the changes, my mom stayed positive and battled on.

Navigating More Grief

The first holiday season without my dad was understandably difficult, but my mom did her best to make it festive. She was stable in her treatment, and we all dared to hope, just a little bit, that we'd turned a corner. 

That following month, in January 2020, my mom called me with the heartbreaking news that my older sister, Karen, had died unexpectedly. I rushed back to Memphis, back to my mom. 

I remember seeing her for the first time after my sister's death, and I knew something had shifted for my mom. Cancer couldn't scare her. Losing her husband didn't stop her. Living alone was possible, but losing a child seemed like a fatal blow. I was shocked to see her spirit crushed and in total disbelief. In the following months, my mom's cancer stopped responding to the chemo. It's as if her cancer was saying, "It's over." 

Saying Goodbye

In March 2020, the school I was working at announced that in-person learning would be suspended for two weeks in response to the COVID-19 virus. I booked it to Memphis without telling my agency. 

My brothers, boyfriend, and I all worked remotely while taking shifts to care for my mom. She decided to stop treatment and do hospice at home. My days were filled with caring for my mom between virtual therapy sessions, and my nights were filled with too much wine and disaster-watching pandemic news coverage when I couldn't sleep. At this point, I felt like grief had a chokehold on me, and I was doing all I could to stay afloat. 

On my lunch break one afternoon, my mom wanted to talk to me about her dying. She tried to tell me it was over, she was at her end, and it was time for her to go. 

I remember being so mad at her for saying that. How could she leave me? I needed her! I had lost so much already. I wasn't sure if I could take it anymore. 

Eventually, I found some acceptance. I was scared to say goodbye, but I'd been saying goodbye every step of the journey. When she was diagnosed, when I took her to shave her head, at chemo treatments, and all along the way as her cancer demanded more and more of her. 

On April 3rd, 2020, with our immediate family, I held her hand as she died. Exactly how she'd wanted to die, at home with her family. 

Life After Loss

The next few years were a blur. All the delayed grief with my dad and sister mixed in with the grief of losing my mom. I used to say I was in the underworld; I felt separate from "normal people." 

Lots of personal grief work, support groups, amazing friends and family love, and individual therapy helped me climb out of the underworld and find my footing with the "normal people." 

I may be more in touch with the "normal people" now, but grief changes you. It definitely left its mark on me; I'll never be the same, and that's okay. I don't sweat the small stuff anymore, I'm not afraid of what life throws at me, and I live with much more purpose.

Grief can still make me wobble sometimes, but grief and I have become friendly-ish! Now, if grief wants to talk, I listen. I know it won't overtake me, and sometimes, it's nice when grief reminds me of my mom. 

My grad school dream of being a full-time grief therapist is my reality! Helping others navigate loss and make meaning from their pain is so rewarding. I feel honored to be a small part of their healing as they learn to grow around their loss. My mom lives through me in my work and my life. Whenever I'm generous, optimistic, fun-loving, or supportive, I know it's really my mom, Heidi living through me.