Grieving People Who Are Still Alive: My Mother

 

I didn’t grow up with my mother. I was raised by my grandparents my whole life, and she was in and out. I didn’t have a close relationship with her—until my grandmother passed in 2020. That’s when I tried. I tried to know her, to build something.

But she carried her own trauma, unprocessed and heavy, and it showed. Her heart was full of hatred toward the family, and she brought it all to me. She was toxic, mean, disheartening, and cruel in ways I never expected from someone who’s supposed to be your mother. I remember trying to protect my grandfather when I saw him being abused in the home. I called APS because I couldn’t watch it happen, and instead of understanding, she threatened to call the cops on me. It was a confusing, heartbreaking moment—trying to do the right thing and being met with anger instead of care.

There were times in my life when she chose the men she dated over me. She married and moved away without me. And while she raised my brother differently, giving him things I never received, I don’t see that as blame—I see it as part of her story, part of her unprocessed pain. It didn’t make it easier for me, but I recognize it’s not the whole of who she is.

It hurt. Deeply. It was unbearable to see someone so cold, so distant, toward their own flesh and blood. I tried to navigate it, to connect, to love her in the ways she wouldn’t let me. But she didn’t respect boundaries, and she kept calling my phone—back to back, back to back. I could not take it. She was not kind to my son either. There was backstabbing, gossip, and constant negativity.

I had to make a choice. I had to find a way to protect myself. So I blocked her number. I cut contact. I have not spoken to her since 2022. She played a role in my grandfather’s passing, and a huge part of me has forgiven her—but forgiveness doesn’t mean I have to let her back in. I have to maintain my peace. I have to honor my healing.

Grieving someone who is still alive doesn’t always look like conversation or closure. Sometimes it looks like distance. Sometimes it looks like saying, “I love myself more than I can risk loving you right now.” And that’s what I did.

This is my first step in learning how to grieve people who are still here, without letting their pain consume me.

This is part of my glow up.

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