Overwhelming Grief

Here's a big deal, a really big deal. My mother died last March after suffering mercilessly from lung cancer. It was eight months of sickness and pain, as she tried and tried to beat it, be strong, and not think like a patient. But cancer is an asshole, and doesn't care that it blindsides victims that don't deserve the torture. She was the love of our lives, the light in our eyes, and we can't have her anymore. My sadness is so heavy, but my role in my family is to always be strong and get things done. The burden is great, but I have to be a role model, like my mother was for me, for all of us. In a way, I feel that I have to follow in her footsteps, but I'm no match. If I hadn't been going to grief counseling for the last year, I think I'd be in pieces.

My mother, Nana, helped me raise my daughters. Without her, I would've failed miserably, and felt so alone and worthless as a mother. She loved me unconditionally, didn't make me feel ashamed that I didn't raise my kids in a traditional nuclear family, and treated my children as if she gave birth to them herself. She loved them possibly more than she loved me, which is ok in my book! My mother was seemingly put on this earth to be a grandmother; she embraced the role with such excitement and pizzazz, teaching them about loving yourself, finding joy even in the face of obstacles, and being in the moment. Nana was part of everything in their lives--having moved here from across the country when my older daughter was a baby--birthday parties, recitals, tea parties, school events, first steps, first periods, everything.