Still Guiding Me: Five Years Without My Mother’s Presence, But Never Without Her Wisdom

It has been five years. Five long years since I last heard her voice—that sweet melody that used to call out, “Michelle, have you cleaned your room?” or “Michelle, it’s time for church. Go put on a dress. And don’t forget your slip.” The same voice that could soothe my fears with just a few words.

Five years have passed since I last saw her face—the face that brought me peace and happiness, a face I can still picture vividly in my mind, even as time has softened some of the details. Five years since I last held her hand, feeling the softness of her hands as she held tight to mine, the gentle squeeze of a hug that spoke volumes—of love, of comfort, of unwavering support in moments of joy and sorrow alike.

Five years since I last told her how much I loved her. The words were simple, yet they carried the weight of my entire heart. And in those moments, I could always feel the warmth of her reply—a warmth that enveloped me like a cozy blanket on a cold winter night, assuring me that my feelings were reciprocated and cherished. Most importantly, it made me feel seen.

Every day since she has been gone is a reminder of what once was—a bittersweet echo of laughter and shared dreams that lingers in the silence. The memories flood my mind, vivid and haunting, as I navigate the space she left behind. And through it all, I long for just one more moment—one more chance to express the depth of my emotions, to hear her laugh once more, and to feel the comfort of her presence by my side.

Grief exists as an unusual complex partner which weaves itself deeply into the structure of our existence. Time does not determine when grief will fade away because its behavior remains unpredictable and disorganized. The emotional journey of grief produces a changing terrain of intense feelings which create both mental confusion and overwhelming sensations.

Grief manifests as a soft whisper which produces a hidden heartache that dwells deep inside me. Memories of my lost loved ones haunt my mind with soft gentleness during these days as they gently show me the enduring emptiness. The love we shared leaves behind a soft nostalgic glow which produces a mix of happiness and sadness that makes me smile while thinking about our times together. The world keeps its natural pace but I continue my daily activities while the persistent heartache reminds me of my permanent loss.

However, there are days when grief crashes into me like a tidal wave—overwhelming and fierce. These moments are marked by vivid memories that surge forward with an intensity so strong, they feel almost tangible. I can still hear her laughter echoing in my mind—a sound so familiar and comforting, yet now tinged with sadness.

This weekend, my daughter had a dance competition, and her twin brother played in a soccer game. I was incredibly proud of them. But the entire time—especially Saturday—I couldn’t stop thinking about my mother. Saturday marked five years since her passing, and with both kids’ events falling on that day, it was yet another reminder that she was no longer here.

She loved everything my children did and always found a way to support them. She never missed a leap or twirl, nor did she miss a goal save or a goal scored. And when it came to my firstborn—if anyone looked at him the wrong way—she was there with her claws out, ready to defend him.

I sat in the auditorium and stood on the soccer field, fighting back tears.

Last year, while I was in New York, I purchased a perfume. I remember smelling the sample and immediately thinking, This smells exactly like my mother. So, I bought it.

Every time I wear it, the scent fills the air around me, wrapping me in something familiar—something deeply personal. It transports me back to a time when she was still here, her warmth surrounding me in a way that feels almost tangible.

In those moments, I can feel her presence as if she never truly left. The weight of that realization is both comforting and profoundly bittersweet.

I have this shirt of hers—the one I kept when we were cleaning out her condo. Honestly, I could never stand that shirt. She wore it so often that it lost its shape. But it was her comfort shirt—the one she reached for when she wanted to relax at home or make a quick trip to the store or the bank. She wore it while she cooked, while she sat reading her daily word, sipping coffee, and watching Joel Osteen.

Maybe it’s all in my head, but whenever I feel down, lonely, or afraid—when I sense a panic attack creeping in and my husband isn’t around—I find myself reaching for that shirt. It still smells like her.

You’re probably reading this and thinking, Michelle has issues. Maybe I do. Or maybe, in those low moments, I’m simply searching for my comfort shirt—the one that, for just a few minutes, makes it feel like she’s still here. The one that wraps me in the kind of hug only she could give.

The complex emotional landscape of grief reminds me that it does not follow a linear path. The process of grieving cannot be neatly organized into distinct stages or a predetermined timeline. Love and loss weave through a winding journey of unexpected turns and detours, making it difficult to express emotions fully.

One moment, I hear a song my mother loved, and I sing along with joy in my voice and heart, smiling without the slightest urge to cry. Yet, the next time I hear that same song, I may feel an overwhelming wave of sadness, wanting to break down in tears or turn off the radio entirely.

Grief is unpredictable. Each experience presents new obstacles and insights, forcing me to confront my deepest emotions and reflect on the realities of my life. How I react to the same song at different times often depends on the events of that day.

Perhaps I had a wonderful day at work, and although I can no longer call my mom to share my excitement the way I used to, hearing that song feels like a quiet moment of connection between us. Or maybe I had a difficult day, and again, though I can’t pick up the phone to hear her reassuring voice, the song becomes a bridge—a reminder that, in some way, she’s still with me.

A lovely portrait of my mother, elegantly dressed in lace, with the heartfelt note "All my love, Jean" written on her photograph.

In essence, grief is a multifaceted companion that teaches me about resilience, love, and the enduring nature of memory. It reminds me that the bonds we form with those we love transcend even the boundaries of life and death. And while the journey through grief may be fraught with pain, it is also rich with moments of reflection, connection, and ultimately, a deeper understanding of what it means to love and to lose.

But if there is one thing I’ve learned in these five years, it’s that loss does not erase love. Love remains—woven into the fabric of my life, stitched into every decision I make, every lesson I carry forward, every dream I chase. My mother may not be here in the way she once was, but her wisdom continues to guide me in ways I never imagined.

When I look at my three beautiful, big babies, I see her.

Many people say my kids have my attitude and determination, along with my husband's creativity, thrill-seeking nature, love for spontaneous adventures, and wild imagination. But I see my mother in them, too.

My daughter loves the same candy my mother could never let go of—Werther’s Originals. Eww! My mother also had a strange habit of sticking her chewed gum on her lampshade at night. Without even knowing it, my daughter does the same thing. And just like I used to with my mother’s gum, I secretly throw it away whenever I remember. I mean, who wants day-old, lampshade gum the next day? Those two… eww!

My youngest son carries her seriousness and her ability to sit for hours watching old Westerns. And my oldest—my mother’s other best friend—has her sharp ability to ignore you completely if necessary, paying you no mind in a heartbeat. He also inherited her strong intolerance for unfairness.

They all—my kids and, apparently, me—have been told that we possess a way with words that can cut deep. And if we give you that look, you’ll stand up straighter and realize we’re not here to be played with.

She taught me resilience—not by simply telling me to be strong, but by showing me what strength truly looked like. It was in the way she faced life’s hardships with grace, in the way she picked herself up after every setback, in the way she refused to let difficulties define her. When I find myself struggling, unsure of my next step, I ask myself: What would Mom do? And the answer, always, is to keep going. To trust myself. To believe that even when the path is uncertain, I am capable of finding my way.

Through her lessons I learned genuine kindness which extended beyond superficial expressions of politeness and courtesy into profound unconditional love. The kind that listens with full attention, that reaches out even when it’s inconvenient, that chooses love over judgment. In moments of frustration or doubt, I hear her gentle reminder: Kindness costs nothing, but it changes everything.

She taught me creativity—the joy of dreaming, imagining, and bringing something meaningful to life. I still see her influence in the words I write, the stories I tell, and the way I shape my own world. She nurtured my love for storytelling and encouraged me to pursue ideas that felt too big, too wild, or too unconventional.

Whenever I doubt myself, I remember how she believed in me long before I ever believed in myself.

Five years. The experience still feels unreal, as if it remains trapped in my mind like an unshakable dream. Time has stretched into years, yet her absence continues to create a noticeable void—one that fills my existence in ways I never imagined.

The absence of her laughter, her wisdom, and her warm hugs still brings pain. But I understand now that she remains present in my life—not in the way she once was, but through the choices I make, the way I love others, and how I navigate the world.

Every choice I make is colored by her presence, as I constantly find myself wondering how she would react and how she would handle certain circumstances. Her spirit guides me through uncertain times, reminding me to stay strong while remaining compassionate and resilient. The values she instilled in me resonate deeply, shaping the way I connect with others and how I understand love and kindness. I strive to embody the qualities she demonstrated, ensuring that her legacy lives on through my actions and the way I treat those around me.

I still wish I could call her, to hear her voice echo through the phone, bringing comfort and familiarity. I still long for one more hug, one more conversation that lasts late into the night and another piece of her delicious marble cake. The ordinary moments which I took for granted at the time have become precious to me because of their deep meaning. Her spirit surrounds me in the silent times when I reflect on death and thankfulness. The love she left behind wraps around me like a comfortable blanket which shows me that her spirit lives inside me even though she is no longer present physically. I swear every night, right before I fall into that deep slumber, I feel her presents in the room.

And that is enough to keep her memory alive, to keep our connection strong, and to navigate this world with a heart full of love that she helped cultivate.

She is still guiding me. Always.