The funeral is long past. The first major holidays have been endured. Craving for my favorite home-cooked meal by Mom surpassed. After losing my Mom, people around me often operate on an unspoken, frustrating timeline, expecting the intensity of grief to diminish to a manageable memory after a few weeks or months.

But anyone who has loved deeply knows the profound, long-term truth: Grief is not a destination; it is an ongoing process of learning to live with absence. It is not something you "get over," but something you learn to carry. Years later, the need to cope remains, often shifting its shape in unexpected ways.

Grieving started one Monday afternoon in January, just a week after my birthday and a week before her 75th birthday. My Mom and I were having a late lunch, and I can say that it was just a simple lunch, but one of the happiest moments with her. Little did I know that it would forever haunt me. It was one of the many heart attacks where she cheated death, but this time, she’s defeated. Twenty minutes later, Mom was pronounced dead in an emergency room, and my world stopped.

The Surprise Attack of Lingering Loss

Losing her suddenly brought acute pain in my heart; my grief entered a quiet, long-term phase, where the challenge is less about surviving the day and more about navigating a life permanently reshaped. This is often when the most difficult, surprising feelings arise.

Her favorite radio program, a scent of her favorite cologne, places we often visit—and suddenly, the deep, raw sadness of year one is back in a single, paralyzing wave. This is a normal part of integrating the loss, but it can feel like a setback.

My early grief focused on the past, and the long-term grief is focused on the future. All the milestones she will never witness, like her grandkids’ graduations, birthday celebrations, and the family traditions during Christmas and New Year. The realization creates a unique, enduring ache.

Some people stop asking, assuming I am "fine." My social isolation made the pain heavier, creating a silent pressure to perform normalcy when I feel something.

Rewiring Life

The connection doesn't end; it changes form as it is the most crucial part in my long-term coping. People may ask, How am I coping? Simple: I still grieve, but now I give myself more time to engage with reality.  I always cook her signature sinigang, or just by simply talking about her naturally in conversation. I’m even talking to her as if she’s physically present beside me or attending the mass seating in her usual spot. This keeps her memory vibrant without being immobilizing. I also embraced all the qualities and lessons I learned from her. I carry her forward by embodying her spirit; I am carrying my Mom in my heart.

A Final Thought: The Cost of Love

Grief is, ultimately, the price I need to pay in loving her. Moving forward does not mean forgetting her; it means finding a way to carry her absence without it breaking me. It means transforming the weight of grief into the quiet, resilient strength of remembering. I am coping because I loved, and that is a story that deserves a lifetime of chapters.

I love you, Mom! You’re always in my heart.

About the Author

Vhin is a high-energy marketing leader with a passion for seeing the "big picture." As the Assistant Marketing Manager of St. Peter Life Plan Inc., he blends strategic vision with a friendly, approachable leadership style. Deeply rooted in his faith, Vhin also lends his voice as a Lector and Commentator at Parokya ng Banal na Sakramento. He is a firm believer that branding is more than just visuals—it’s about building trust and connection with people.