It has been over a decade now since losing Andrea, and grief has reshaped my world. My memories of her are as vivid as ever. I remember her as a child, with her locks of curly, golden hair and captivating blue eyes. The continuous compliments were awe-inspiring wherever we went. The way the sunlight caught her curls and the childhood laughter melted my heart as she played. I remember the pride I felt that followed me through the years, as I witnessed her milestones, accomplishments, and the way she nurtured her little boy. Those moments shaped my days, and I imagined every tomorrow with her by my side. Now I walk in the space of what was and what is, with the echoes of past moments, longing for a life that will never be.

Loving Andrea so fully then did not prepare me for the life I would have to live without her. Grief has taught me that it is not a single emotion; it is a spectrum of sorrow, anger, longing, confusion, and fear, all woven together by love. It is a complex landscape of emotions that shifts over time. I am still learning to walk through the shadows of grief, healing, and continuing to be her mother. I live in a space of what once was and what is. It remains an unwanted life of what might have been and the moments that will never come. One thing is sure: our love is unchanged and eternal.

When I explore the space I live in now, I often feel overwhelmed. I find myself yearning for my daughter to be here — for life to be as it was before losing her. With loss comes so much change: some of those changes have become more noticeable to me lately. The way love once flowed, the relationships that are gone forever, the bonds that could no longer continue, leaving an ache for what was.

There was a time when we sat at the same holiday table, when joy was absolute, and my heart was whole. When Andrea left, her little boy was only two. Too young to remember her laughter, her gentle touch, or how she cherished him. He doesn’t know her love the way I do — not the warmth of her smile, the sound of her voice, or the way she would have filled his life with joy.

Over the years, I’ve tried to give him what memory could not. I tell him stories about his mother’s kindness and love for animals, especially horses, and about how her presence lit up a room. Each year, as her son decorates the Christmas tree that honours her, my heart feels the weight of her absence but the warmth of her love. A sacred moment that reminds me grief and love are intertwined. I want him to know that even in her absence, love still surrounds him. I give him her love; he knows now that the extra hug or kiss is always from mommy. Watching him grow is a gift, but one that is both bitter and sweet, because he is a reminder of what was lost. Sometimes, I see Andrea in his smile, the sparkle in his eyes, and his quiet, intelligent personality. I appreciate the time spent with him, but I find myself grieving for him because he will never know her touch, what it felt like to be in her arms, or hear her say his name. He is the bridge between what once was and what is now, and through him, I hold the past close while slowly learning to live and move forward.

Yet even as love continues to be my beacon, the vacancy remains. There are days when the void feels endless, a space where laughter once lived. The silence can be deafening, and sometimes the pain overpowers any logic. I know in my heart that the emptiness will stay for the rest of my life. Fourteen years have passed, and I have learned to grow around the void. Feeling the joy of my family, the laughter of my grandchildren, and the gentle sunlight are gentle reminders that life, though changed, must be appreciated.

Still, there are times when the ache of what used to be returns in full force. On these days,  her absence overshadows the present, and the weight of grief weighs so heavily that I am weak with pain and endless tears. It is exhausting, yet I have learned these are grief days; letting grief have its space is a vital part of the healing process.

Oh, my sweet Andrea — life is divided between the before, when you were here, and the after of losing you. I miss the closeness we shared: the laughter, the stories, your physical presence that filled the space between us. I miss your heartfelt hugs, your cheeks to kiss,  the simple joy of admiring you—just everything.

Grief is a journey woven with longing, love, and quiet hope. I have learned it is about choosing to allow the whispers of joy, hope, and peace to enter the brokenness. I know the pain of losing you is forever, but our love is eternal, and your presence continues to shape my life. I am sure that our golden thread of love ties the past to the present, bridging heaven and earth. I will always be Andreas’ mom, and our bond continues to be the beacon lighting my way and connecting the two worlds.