Too Young to Lose a Mom

What grief taught me about love, legacy, and remembering

I lost my mom when she was just 57 years old — and I was only 33.
Too young for her to go.
Too young for me to know how much I’d still need her.

Cancer has a way of stopping time. One moment you’re planning your next visit, and the next you’re clinging to every memory — her laugh, her voice, her scent, the way she said your name.

For years after she was gone, I could still hear her inflections in my 99 yr old aunt’s voice when she spoke my name — the same gentle tone, the same familiar warmth. It was comforting, like a small piece of my mom still lingered in the world. But now, with both of them gone, that sound lives only in my memory.

For a long time, I thought grief was something you worked through — that someday it would end. But I’ve learned that grief doesn’t end. It just changes shape. It becomes softer, quieter… something you carry with love instead of pain.

There are still days when I wish I could call her — to ask what she would do, or to tell her about something simple, like how good the flowers look this year.

That’s the hardest part about losing your mom — all the conversations that never get to happen.

Maybe that’s why the Mom Journal means so much to me. It’s a way to help other families hold onto those stories before they fade — to give moms a voice that lives on long after they’re gone.

If you’re lucky enough to still have your mom, ask her about her childhood. What made her laugh? What scared her? What moments made her who she is?
Because one day, you’ll wish you had written them down.

✍️ Preserve your mom’s stories while you still can. You can find the Mom Journal here.