The Year I Grieved

I realize that the topic of grief is a departure from my usual content, but it's impossible for me to talk about 2023 without talking about the loss of my mother. Her death was intertwined with a year that started with an optimistic yet gentle goal of taking at least one family adventure each month. I’m not usually one to make big resolutions as a new year dawns, but I wanted to be more intentional about spending time together. I could not have known just how much I would need this little family of mine to get through her unexpected death.

January

The year began with the arguably poor decision to pull an all nighter driving to Santa Barbara to ring in the New Year with friends. Although I can’t recommend it, certainly not with a three year old, driving overnight maximized our time in California. We had a lovely few days, but my mind was worried as I shared that my mom was still hospitalized after an ER visit two weeks before. We toasted the new year and decided we wanted to schedule at least one “family adventure” for each month of the year.

After returning home, we kicked off this year of adventure with a day trip to Diamond Lake to snow tube with friends. We had a blast and Harrison could be heard shouting, “Again! Again! Again!” with unfettered glee after every run. It was a good day and I was already thinking about our February adventure.

The following Friday, I learned my mom had cancer. A few days later, I was flying to Arkansas on a one-way ticket, with no idea when I would return to Oregon and my boys.

February

I stayed in Arkansas for a few weeks, splitting my time between the hospital , my parents’ house, and my brother’s house. My dad had spent almost every night in the hospital since mid-December except for the days my mom was in the ICU, so I stayed overnight as much as I could to give him a chance to sleep in an actual bed. Her second round of chemo had been delayed, but when she was finally strong enough to start it, there was optimism that she might improve. With this, I decided to go home. I told my mom I loved her and we said our goodbyes and that would be the last time I would hear her voice except through the phone.

I was glad to get back to my family and thankful for a spouse who could manage all of the things while I was away. We decided that our February adventure would be a weekend at the coast. I booked two nights at the Inn at Otter Crest (using my annual $300 Capital One credit to offset the cost). We swam, we walked along the beach, we ate delicious food, deciding that Tidal Raves in Depoe Bay might be a new favorite on the central coast. Harrison and I both had our first trip to the Oregon Coast Aquarium and we hiked the charming Hobbit Trail.

In short it was a perfect Oregon coast weekend. Except. Except the phone call, the one where my dad shared that she was no longer responding to treatment, the one where we had impossible conversations about hospice and end of life decisions, the one where he asked me to come back. I stood on our balcony watching the wild Oregon waves as my heart broke in a way that has never fully healed.

I was back in Arkansas two and half days later. My mom could no longer talk, but we had two precious days of being together in that hospital room, all of us - my dad, my brothers, and the other family and friends who stopped by - sharing memories, playing my mom’s favorite music, quietly existing in the sacred space before death. Those days were a gift, some of the hardest and most beautiful days of my life.

March

The next weeks were spent in a haze of grief and the blur of necessary arrangements. Brandon and Harrison joined me in Arkansas. It was a strange few weeks marked by deep sadness and equally profound gratitude for the love and support we received. My dad ended up with so many casseroles that I froze them in single portions and I don’t think he had to cook a meal for months.

We stayed after the funeral so that dad wouldn’t be alone on their wedding anniversary. We marked their 43rd anniversary at one of their favorite restaurants. We also decided to have a family adventure before returning to Oregon, albeit one tinged with grief. We went to Mountain View for the day, spending some much needed time in the sunshine at Blanchard Springs Caverns and visiting some of mom’s favorite spots. We ended our day at the Jimmy Driftwood Barn, tears running down my face through a poignant performance of Wayfaring Stranger. It might seem strange to have a day like this amid a season of loss, but I have a lifetime of stories that remind me that tomorrow is not guaranteed, that if I want to spend time with the people I love, the time to do it is always now. So we chose togetherness, even if happiness was beyond our reach.

April

The first months of the year had exhausted me in every way possible. Most of April was spent trying to get back into some of our routines. Our adventure was a small one - an evening watching Monster Trucks. This was clearly not motivated by my interests, but few things make my heart happier than watching Harrison experience something he loves. Grief would remain a constant presence the rest of the year and beyond. Behind every smile there was a bigger, more complex story as I began to figure out how to navigate life without my mom.

May

May is the month of my birthday and it is the month of my mother’s birthday. We took a long planned trip to Grand Cayman to celebrate the beginning of the end of my thirties. It was a lovely week and it was also a really hard week. My first birthday without my mom, her first birthday after her death, Mother’s Day - even in paradise I struggled, frequently lashing out at my family who loved me anyway.

Rather than return to Oregon, we made our way to Arkansas, where Harrison and I would stay for the next month. Brandon could only stay a week, but we celebrated our 5th wedding anniversary and my niece’s high school graduation before he left. For the rest of the month, Harrison and I filled our nights and weekends with as much time with friends and family as we could possibly manage.

June

My time in Arkansas put me back together a little bit more. I think I needed those weeks in one of the places I call home, to share in more depth with my son the people and the places I love, of which he usually only gets glimpses. To be surrounded by people who have given me a lifetime of being both known and loved. I wasn’t ready to leave and Harrison and I were both so ready to get home to Brandon. Even though most of the month had passed before we were back in Oregon, we still managed to fit in a hike to Lemolo Falls for our June family adventure. I’m pretty sure Harrison subsisted on rainbow cake and cheese, the mosquitos subsisted on us, and 2/3 of us were still adjusting to Pacific Standard Time. Even so, being together again, hiking through an Oregon forest to a gorgeous waterfall was a perfect day.

July

As it does most years, July brought one of my favorite summer traditions: 4th of July horse camping with the Schumaker family. I look forward to this every year, but this year was especially good for my soul. A few days near the ocean, enjoying delicious meals next to the campfire, spending time with some of my favorite people - it was exactly what I needed. And yet grief would still arrive in unexpected moments, like when I walked into a store and was immediately overwhelmed with a wave of grief. I walked outside in tears. When my brain caught up to my heart, I realized it was one of her favorite places to go each time we came to Bandon.

We ended the month celebrating Harrison. My dad and brother came to visit, so we packed a lot of adventure into a few days, including a stunning hike at Crater Lake. Being together was both a comfort and a stark reminder of her loss. My parents were regular guests at Harrison’s birthday parties, making the summertime trip to Oregon to celebrate with us. Mom loved sitting in the rocking chairs outside the lodge at Crater Lake. My mother’s absence was tangible. It was always that — the good things and the hard things coinciding.

August

Although Harrison had an incredible birthday party, we continued the celebration with what Harrison dubbed his “hotel birthday.” We booked a night at the historical and lovely Weasku Inn. We explored the nearby Oregon Caves National Monument and met up with friends for dinner. We have tried to continue this tradition for all birthdays since, although I don’t exactly need encouragement to book a hotel.

As the summer continued, my grief had shifted and became a little less sharp. Time with my people in beautiful places helped me get through. Each hike, each breathtaking moment, each new memory sparked a little more joy. There was more laughter and less tears. There was also a weekend in Tahoe with one of my best friends and our boys, which was practically perfect.

September

As we began to settle into our preschool routine, I fit in another camping adventure. We spent a weekend camping at Tumalo State Park in Bend, hiking 5 miles of the Deschutes River Trail and checking out Lava River Cave. It was wonderful. I was struck by how time passes. Brandon and I had been in some of the same places exactly 7 years before to celebrate our one year dating anniversary. Time is weird and I know I will look back on this weekend in another 7 years and wonder where the time has gone.

OctobER

Despite being tent campers, we managed to stretch our camping season into October. I think I just needed to be in nature. We spent a weekend at Silver Falls State Park. It was the perfect fall weekend to hike to all ten waterfalls. The days were golden and the nights were perfectly cozy next to the campfire. My mom, although certainly not a hiker, did love fall colors. She would have enjoyed the colorful trees.

November

If you’ve been here a while, you know Thanksgiving is when I am the most homesick. That was especially true this year. I wasn’t going to have the chance to go back to Arkansas at all over the holidays, so we ignored Thanksgiving and went to Mexico instead. It was a good solution and also doubled as Brandon’s “hotel birthday.”

December

And then came the holidays. The year had held sadness I could not have anticipated a year before. And yet we had managed intentional family time each month - we had day trips, local adventures, traveled to states across the US and to two international destinations. Most importantly, we had made time for each other, to be together with fewer distractions and more intention. I had made it through the most intense phases of grief and I don't think I could have without my little family. The holidays, however, were a challenge. I was almost constantly sad, struggling to muster the least bit of holiday cheer. The people who loved me let me be sad. We did the holiday things - cutting down a Christmas tree, my annual girls' spa night, breakfast with Santa. We did the things even when I didn’t feel like it. The first Christmas without your mom, the one who so often created the magic, is not easy. It was sadness amidst the twinkling lights, grief covered in glitter.

It was a really hard year. And I made some incredible new memories with the people I love. The ways my husband, my son, my friends, even my co-workers simply walked alongside me while I grieved is beyond words. I aspire to be that kind of friend. Life is so much, often all at once: grief and belonging, sadness and joy, loss and love. I am forever grateful for this year’s adventures and most especially for the people who were a part of them.