Ovarian Cancer Awareness Day

May 8th, 2023 was Ovarian Cancer Awareness Day. Had I not been home in Ireland packing to return to the USA, I would have posted on the day. Angelina Jolie shared on social media about her mother’s death following years of struggle with ovarian and breast cancer. Barack Obama’s mom died age 52 from the disease, as have so many other women around the world, including my brave & loving mother who died at age 50. Too many women have died from this disease.

I was 5 when Mam was diagnosed and 11 when she died. I knew for several years that the cancer was related to her ovaries and having babies, though I didn’t fully understand any of it at the time. As a result I’ve lived with some suspicion, fears & uncertainty related to my ovaries. These organs resulted in my mother’s death after all, at least from a little girl’s perspective. So, when Tami Kent, local author and founder of Holistic Pelvic Care shared an illustration by Sarai Llamas, an artist in Spain and Italy, I fell in love with the work and ordered a print from Sarai immediately.

For over two years, while I’ve polished and completed my memoir BRIEFLY I KNEW MY MOTHER, I’ve enjoyed this gorgeous work of art hanging on my office wall, reminding me of the preciousness, beauty and power of a woman’s body, her uterus and ovaries.

It isn’t necessarily my fate to get the same disease as my mother. As those of us who have close family members (in particular mothers and grandmothers) who have died from the disease know, we live the fears daily. As I write and share about the death of my mother when she was only 50, her ovarian cancer and the profound and lasting impacts of early mother loss on children, I hope to raise awareness of this deadly disease.

The American Cancer Society estimates that about 19,710 women will receive a new diagnosis of ovarian cancer in the US in 2023. And about 13,270 women will die from ovarian cancer in the United States this year. It’s a horrifying and disheartening number. Ovarian cancer ranks fifth in cancer deaths among women, accounting for more deaths than any other cancer of the female reproductive system. A woman’s risk of getting ovarian cancer during her lifetime is about 1 in 78. Her lifetime chance of dying from ovarian cancer is about 1 in 108. (These statistics don’t count low malignant potential ovarian tumors.) About half of the women who are diagnosed with ovarian cancer are 63 years or older. It is more common in White women than Black women.

In time perhaps a cure will be found.

Carmel Breathnach is a writer and former school teacher born in Ireland and living in Portland, Oregon. She holds a B.A. degree in English literature and Irish language studies from NUI Maynooth, and a Graduate Diploma in Education with honors from St. Patrick’s College, Dublin. Her writing centers on childhood grief and the long-term impacts of early mother loss. Carmel’s work has appeared in the New York Times, The Irish Times, Huffington Post, Upworthy, Scary Mommy, Voice Catcher, Modern Loss, Pendemic.ie, The Good Men Project, the anthology Hidden Lights: A Collection of Truths Not Often Told and on the National Alliance for Children’s Grief (NACG) website. She is currently querying her memoir titled Briefly I Knew My Mother.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CarmelBreathnachAuthor/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/carmelbreathnach/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorCarmelB

On Writing My Memoir

For most of my life I longed to read a personal account by a woman whose mother died at a similar age to me. I wished to find myself, or a friend, in the pages of somebody’s story, to learn of their journey out of childhood and into womanhood without a mother. My memoir BRIEFLY I KNEW MY MOTHER explores how my mother’s prolonged illness, and death when I was eleven, shaped the course of my life and made me who I am today.

I’ve had some impactful realizations recently and these insights will improve what I’ve already written. They’ll clarify things for the reader as they have for me. This is how it is with writing. Especially memoirs. Since I believe in divine-timing maybe I needed to get to this place before my book was really ready. At the beginning I believed I was writing the memoir for Mam. I think she’d be proud of it, and I write it in her memory, but the story is mine. And the book is for readers who, for some reason or another, will find value in what I share. Mothers and daughters will recognize themselves – and each other – in these pages. It will resonate with fathers of motherless children, caregivers, teachers, therapists, and anybody who knows a grieving or suffering child.

It’s a lot of work to write a book, and there are many things I’d change about the process if I was to begin again. For one thing I’d make sure I had someone, a therapist maybe, to talk to while doing these emotional deep dives into my past. It has taken years for me to get to this place, and now I’m ready. Maybe 2023 is the year!

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” ~ Maya Angelou

Carmel Breathnach is a writer and former school teacher born in Ireland and living in Portland, Oregon. She holds a B.A. degree in English literature and Irish language studies from NUI Maynooth, and a Graduate Diploma in Education with honors from St. Patrick’s College, Dublin. Her writing centers on childhood grief and the long-term impacts of early mother loss. Carmel’s work has appeared in the New York Times, The Irish Times, Huffington Post, Upworthy, Scary Mommy, Voice Catcher, Modern Loss, Pendemic.ie, The Good Men Project, the anthology Hidden Lights: A Collection of Truths Not Often Told and on the National Alliance for Children’s Grief (NACG) website. She is currently querying her memoir titled Briefly I Knew My Mother.

Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/CarmelBreathnachAuthor/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/carmelbreathnach/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorCarmelB

Striking Acts of Decency

“Our house began flooding with constant visitors. We had night nurses on rotation who helped my father look after my mother but weekdays from 9 a.m. until 4 p.m. others stepped in. Not every friend or neighbor was able to dedicate several hours a day on a weekly basis to my mother’s care but in their own ways they showed up. Showering us with kindness during my mother’s illness people stopped by with flowers, home baked brown soda bread, apple tarts and biscuits. They dropped off cards, well wishes, mass bouquets and cake. Relatives from all over Ireland visited every weekend. My mother, cocooned in love, slipped away from us gradually.”

An essay of mine combining the story of my mother’s death when I was 11, with the outpouring of kindness towards my father that I’m witnessing-long distance-from the US, during the pandemic, was published in Pendemic.ie yesterday. The above paragraph is an extract from the piece. Read the entire essay “Reports of Striking Acts of Decency” here. All writing submitted to the site since March 2020 will be preserved by Irish Poetry Reading Archive at UCD Library.

We are all going through a tough, challenging time at the moment, grieving a life we used to live and freedoms we took for granted. Far too many lives have been lost and continue to be lost. My essay was written to show readers that there is hope, we can inspire and lift one another, we can offer love instead of hatred and fear. Each one of us has our limitations but we can reach out in small ways to make a difference. I remember kindnesses shown to my family over thirty years ago. No kindness or act of love is too small.

Be well. Stay safe. Stay aware. Spread the love.

“No kind action ever stops with itself. One kind action leads to another. Good example is followed. A single act of kindness throws out roots in all directions, and the roots spring up and make new trees. The greatest work that kindness does to others is that it makes them kind themselves.”

― Amelia Earhart

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.

Dear 11 Year Old Me (a letter)

Today, November 21, 2019, in honor of Children’s Grief Awareness Day, I penned and recorded a letter to eleven year old me, the age I was when my mother, Kathleen, died. I share my recorded version at this link on my public Facebook page if you would like to take a listen. Below is a similar transcript of the letter.

The Highmark Caring Place, A Center for Grieving Children, Adolescents and Their Families, created Children’s Grief Awareness Day to raise awareness of the distress and impact that the death of a loved one has in the life of a child. It “seeks to bring attention to the fact that often support can make all the difference in the life of a grieving child.” Children’s Grief Awareness Day is observed every year on the third Thursday in November and is now recognized by organizations around the world.

To be honest it is not easy for me to put this personal letter into cyberspace. However, I sense that my words might touch others who need them, making it worth my hesitation to share. Also, I came across this quote by Brene Brown providing me with the encouraging little shove I needed.

“People who wade into discomfort and vulnerability and tell the truth about their stories are the real badasses.”
― Brené Brown, Rising Strong: How the Ability to Reset Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead

Advice I’ve received from both professionals in the field of grief and psychic mediums over the past few years has been to visualize myself as a child, the age I was when my mother was ill and embrace her (little me) and console her with comforting words. Although I don’t do this very often, I’ve found it to be a worthwhile endeavor.

So here is my letter:

Dear 11 year old me,

I’m writing this to you when I’m 42 years old. I know at your age 42 seems so mature, grown up and far into the future and in some ways it is but I’m still the same Carmel with many of the same values, dreams and aspirations.

My dear 11 year old Carmel I see you clearly to this day. I feel your unwavering love for family, your love for those close friends you hold so dear and I feel your pain. You are being so brave now that Mam has passed on. You watched her suffer for too many years. You witnessed the pain, anxiety and sorrow of those you love the most.

Dear little 11 year old me, you bear too much fear and sadness for such a little girl. Not only did you worry deeply about the mother you loved so much, but you also worry for your kind, devoted, loving father and your older brother. You hold your anger inside to protect others. You shouldn’t have to go through this. It’s not fair.

You allow your anger to show at school sometimes and you regularly get into trouble for it. Teachers get annoyed with you. They become frustrated when you lose concentration during school time. They don’t understand your pain. They never ask you how you are doing. You don’t have many opportunities during class to express yourself verbally or creatively and this is very difficult for you. I still feel this inside. Sometimes division and multiplication just don’t seem that important because you have other things on your mind. But you are diligent and always do your work, along with all of the extra work you are given for talking back to a teacher or laughing with a friend when you aren’t supposed to be laughing. It is good to laugh, little one, and you do love having fun. You love playing with your friends and spending time with Dad and your brother. Life holds many beautiful experiences for you. Savor those moments of delight.

I’m proud of you, Carmel, for consistently doing your best in school when it is truly a challenging environment for you. Your friends can’t relate to your personal experiences and no trusted adult is available for you at school. You will take those difficult experiences and turn them into love. You will become the kind of early childhood educator you need today and, Carmel, when you get older you will shower compassion, empathy and care onto little children who need support. They will feel your genuine love for them and you will positively impact their lives. You sincerely love little children and babies and you’ll work with them for many years. They will touch your heart and bring you joy and love. Because of how much love you have inside you’ll give extra attention to the ones who know pain and trauma. And you’ll always remember these children.

You’re a very special soul. Remember this please.

Carmel, you’ll travel through life fearlessly at times, moving to far away countries, exploring many jobs. You will also experience anxiety, sadness and anger and it is okay to feel all the emotions. Express these in safe places when you can. Keep journaling and writing. Your beautiful, considerate words and insight will touch a lot of people’s hearts someday. Your story is important. What you have to say is valid. Believe in yourself. Keep playing and having fun. It’s important to laugh. Try to release the burden of worry as worrying won’t change anything. I want you to know that you don’t need to worry about Dad as he will be with you in your life for many, many wonderful years, as a close, loyal confidante and dear friend to you always. So, don’t worry anymore.

You are a brave, bright, giving soul and you are loved. Keep shining that light.

I love you.

(In the featured image above I am sitting in our back garden on a bench, displaying the medals I won in Irish dancing competitions and a trophy my mother presented to me for doing well in school. The trophy was not a usual occurrence. Given the tough time we were all going through she wanted to offer me encouragement. I was thrilled with it and have the trophy to this day.)

Motherless Daughter. Fatherless Son.

Several weeks ago following a public reading where I read an essay I had written about childhood mother loss a young woman approached and told me, through tears, how optimistic she felt on seeing me read in front of so many people. It wasn’t just the story I had written, she said, though it really moved her, what she felt most optimistic about was seeing me, apparently doing so well today, following such a traumatic loss in my early life. I thanked her and told her I appreciated her coming to the reading. She nodded, clearly upset and I realized there was more to her interaction with me than I initially thought.

“My best friend just lost her battle with cancer,” she blurted. “Now, there is a little eight year old girl without a mother.”

“Oh I’m so sorry to hear that,” I responded, my palm automatically moving to my heart.

“Yes, it’s very sad. Every day is a struggle. But your reading gave me hope. To see you stand up there, after all these years and to hear you express yourself, what you went through, so articulately…I know she’ll be okay now.”

I thanked the lady and told her how sorry I was for her loss and for the little girl’s loss. I wanted to tell her if she needed anything to let me know, but sometimes it’s difficult to do that with a stranger because people are private and wish to deal with things their own way. Also, there isn’t a lot I can do because I can’t bring a mother back and that is all anybody really wants. I mentioned my blog and my FB page where I post regularly on grief and mother loss. I don’t know if she has visited either but I think of our interaction often. I’m glad my essay moved that lady, and gave her hope. We often have no idea in any given moment who needs our stories the most.

I’m glad the little girl has a caring, nurturing woman to look out for her. I hope they are thriving in this world that manages to break our hearts wide open with sorrow while continuing to gift us with tremendous joy and love. The lady told me that even though the girl is only eight she loves to pen stories about her mother. It was my turn to shed a tear. Her mother will not be forgotten.

Many children draw or create art from pain and sadness, as we adults do. One little boy I had in Kindergarten a few years ago drew his way through his father’s terminal illness. And when the little boy came to visit me after transitioning to first grade he carried with him a picture of his dad, drawn in yellow and brown crayons.

“How is your dad?” I asked him, taking the picture into my hands and admiring the portrait.

“He died,” he said simply.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, reaching out and giving the little boy a hug. “How are you?”

“Okay,” he said, before quickly changing the subject. He told me I could keep the picture. I knew he wanted to tell me about his dad but it was easier for him to show me a drawing than tell me straight out. Art is a way for our hearts to speak when words can’t explain the depth of our grieving.

That little girl will have her own story to live and tell, as will that first grade boy, as I have mine, and you have yours. We carry within us a blend of such sad stories and very beautiful ones.

We are all tremendously resilient. Spread your wings and fly loves! Or crawl at first, if that is what you can manage. Take a deep, deep inhale and let go. Drop those shoulders. Pick up a pencil. We inspire others by being brave and sharing our creations. I’ve learned, and continue to learn so much from humans of all ages and walks of life. I’ve always believed in my inner strength and knowing. I have known heartbreaking sadness and I’ve experienced life’s most precious joys. Don’t give up story-makers, dream-creators, resilient beautiful beings! We’re all on this Mother Earth together and we can help each other. Now fly!

Carmel X

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.

Connecting Through Grief

Recently an article I wrote about a moving grief connection I had with my L.A. Lyft driver was published in Modern Loss. I wrote and shared that story “Mother Loss and My Lyft Driver” because the powerful, albeit brief, conversation the Lyft driver and I had has stayed with me since, and the interaction occurred two years ago. Hesitant to talk about my writing career when the Lyft driver asked me what it is I do, I mentioned only that I am a writer, hoping he would move on from that and ask no more questions. For those of us who have experienced the death of someone close to us, we understand the feeling of awkwardness and discomfort that comes with relating a loss. We don’t want to make anybody feel bad as we explain how we’ve lost one of the most important people in our lives. We don’t want to ruin anyone’s day, or be a Debbie Downer.

But as more of us write about our grief experiences and talk about death more openly we are seeing that the majority of people do really want to talk about a loss they have suffered. Since writing the story “Mother Loss and My Lyft Driver” I have experienced another grief conversation in a Lyft, also in L.A. with a young lady who brought up the topic herself. When I asked how her day was going she told me she was in a lot of pain. Her back was giving her trouble. I asked if it was related to work but she said it was mostly a result of stress and grief. I listened as she opened her heart to me on the drive to LAX. Her beloved father had died a couple of years before and her mother died when she was a child. This young lady moved to the USA from Syria when she was seventeen and was now trying to make a new life for herself. She was struggling. Before I got out of the car at LAX I told her that my mother died when I was eleven and so I understood her sorrow and pain, although it was different to mine. She put a hand to her heart and started to sob. I offered my card explaining that I write about mother loss and grief and I encouraged her to contact me if she needed to talk more. I said I knew people; grief therapists and councilors who may be able to help her. She thanked me and placed my card in her purse. I never did hear from her but I still think of her and I hope she is doing okay. Perhaps by allowing her the time to talk, by listening to her story when she needed to release so much helped in some way.

The Lyft driver I wrote about in my published piece wanted to talk about his loss also. Words of nostalgia and love for his dead mother poured from him as he drove me to my hotel that sunny day in L.A. I believe we both felt better after our grief chat.

Sometimes people don’t feel like talking about a loss. That’s understandable. There are times when I want to talk about my mother’s death and times when I don’t. But I now believe more folks than we think long for a safe space to grieve, to share memories of their loved ones passed and to be granted the opportunity to revisit these memories whether they bring tears, comfort or laughter.

And if you are a listener all you need to do is that; listen. You really can’t get that wrong. By listening you are acknowledging another human being’s pain. That in itself is a true gift to give somebody.

As Cheryl Strayed once said “Compassion isn’t about solutions. It’s about giving all the love that you got.”

Listening is one way to give love.

And as my friend Emily, who also understands loss and the sidestepping of grief conversations said “It’s refreshing and builds connection when we lean into these conversations.”

So let’s refresh and lean in to grief conversations together.

Carmel X

(Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.)

Getting Through Mother’s Day Without a Mother

When my mother died in Ireland in 1988 I did not know a single child (other than my older brother) whose mother had also died. Every child I knew had a mother and that meant I was different. I had nobody to talk to who understood what it felt like for a little girl of eleven to have lost her mother. As I’ve previously mentioned in my writing I had, and still have, a wonderful, supportive and loving father in my life who was happy to talk about my mother and keep her beautiful memory alive in our home. I am the capable, loving, independent person I am today because my father stayed by my side, guiding me and loving me through it all. I will always be grateful for him.

That said, it is refreshing to see an increase in the number of grief support groups online and an acceptance and appreciation of what these groups offer. Vulnerability is no longer seen as a weakness. People who wish to share their stories of heartbreak and loss now have several platforms from which to share. I often receive messages thanking me for my blog posts and though I’ve never met most of these people I can now see that there are people who understand. I had no idea that so many women lost their mothers when they were young children because back then I knew of nobody my age or even a little older, in my position. Now that we are all more connected through technology I see how our heart stories help others. Our experiences can guide and empower those who feel alone and afraid. Why should people feel alone in their grief when death and grieving is a natural part of the life cycle?

We shouldn’t feel alone. It is devastating, anxiety-producing and lonely to lose your mother as a child. Until we talk about it we carry that trauma around in our bodies. The more we talk openly about death and loss the better a society we are. I wrote BRIEFLY I KNEW MY MOTHER, my memoir-in-progress, to show others what a child’s journey through anxiety, mother loss and grief looks like. I turned out okay. I got through school and I earned two college degrees. I taught young children in elementary and kindergarten for thirteen years and I am married to a wonderful man. I’m happy and grateful for the life I have. But there have been struggles over the years as a result of losing Mam. It’s helpful to find your tribe.

If you haven’t yet found an online grief support group following your mom’s death or if your friends can’t relate to your feelings, or if you just want to work through this grief period alone for a while, here are some suggestions for getting through Mother’s Day.

Online grief support groups and pages dedicated to grief and loss are popping up and thousands of people are joining them. More people are open to sharing their heart stories while offering support and comfort to fellow grievers. These communities are welcoming and supportive. Here are a few of my favorites (I include my own pages in the list):

• A Lovely Woman is where I blog regularly about mother loss, early childhood loss and grief.
• My Facebook author page offers support, inspiration and healing to women who have experienced mother loss & to all grievers worldwide.
• Hope Edelman has a website dedicated to her work in the field of mother loss and grief. On her site she lists statewide support groups for those missing their mothers. She also has a public Facebook page where she shares a wealth of information and stories pertaining to grief and loss.
• Mother Loss International is a Facebook page offering community, support and kindness.
• Without My Mum hosted by Leigh Van Der Horst, author of the book ‘Without My Mum.’ Opportunity to join a private group on this page.
• Motherless Daughters is a page dedicated to mother loss with supportive posts and comments by a community of over 400,000 followers.
• Grief Rites Foundation is a Portland based community movement where people openly share their grief stories.
• Modern Loss offers candid content, community and resources on loss and grief. These ladies organize the ANNUAL MOTHER’S DAY SWAP.
• Modern Loss closed group for the Modern Loss community.
• OptionB.Org offers the tools you need to build resilience after grief and trauma. There are opportunities here to join specific groups for solidarity and support and find information from experts.
• Motherless Daughters Virtual Support Group is a global support network hosted by my friend Adrienne for women who have experienced mother loss.
• Project Brave Birds is a page run by my friend Cheryl where the journeys and achievements of inspirational motherless women are celebrated.
• Meetup.com offers an opportunity to find or organize your own Motherless Daughter group. I found the Portland group through Meet Up many years ago and became organizer for one year.
• The Imaginary Library on Instagram is one woman’s beautifully illustrated and relatable grief-journey.
• Motherless Daughter’s Early Mother Loss Group on Facebook is wonderfully supportive.
• Claire Bidwell Smith is an author and grief therapist. Claire frequently shares personal stories of her own grief journey on her beautiful Instagram page.

Suggestions for Mother’s Day weekend include:

• Try writing a healing letter to your mother on Mother’s Day. It might allow you to feel closer to her, and less alone. I give some suggestions on how to attempt this on my blog.
• See if any of these book suggestions might help. Make yourself a warm cup of tea, settle into a cozy chair and put your feet up. Some of these books will make you cry, others will allow you to feel less alone. All of them helped me in one way or another.
• Hope sometimes hosts a free 30-minute conference call for motherless daughters the day before Mother’s Day. Check out her page for details.
• Motherless Mother’s Day Ceremony to be held in Portland, Oregon. Suggestions for participation are given on the page for those unable to attend in person. Or perhaps hold your own.
• Give to a charity in honor of your mother or volunteer for an organization where your expertise is appreciated. Examples include EmpowerHer, Womenforwomen, Girl’s Inc., The Dougy Center and Camp Erin.
• If you’re in Australia check out this fabulous idea Trees For Mum.
• Take a look at my blog post and see if any of these twelve ideas help.
• Most of all be kind to yourself.
• Share my blog post What Not to Do When Someone You Know Has Lost Their Mother. It’s one of my most popular blogs but I’ve a feeling it’s mostly us motherless daughters who are reading and sharing it! 🙂

Sending big hugs and lots of love to you this Mother’s Day. Notice the soft breeze on your cheek, listen to bird song in the trees, take time to breathe and give yourself some sweet care. Listen for the whisper of your mother’s voice. Her love is with you today and always. Speak to her. Place your hand on your heart. That’s where she is.

Much love,

Carmel X

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process. Check out my rated books here on Goodreads.

What Not to Do When Someone You Know Has Lost Their Mother

The following TEN points may seem obvious. At least they do to me, but since we are all human and nobody is perfect I’ve decided to put this list together. Also, the first thing on my list happened to me today bringing to my attention that people need reminders every now and again. In fact, all ten points have happened to me, many of them on multiple occasions, so if you know all of this already please feel free to share it with somebody who doesn’t. It might prevent an awkward or upsetting situation from happening in the future and we all strive to be better people, right? I, for one, know that I’ve much to learn from others and their personal experiences. That’s one of the many reasons I read memoirs. When we immerse ourselves in somebody’s story, tapping into the struggle of another human being, we get to exercise our empathy muscles.

Here are my suggestions.

TEN things NOT to do when someone you know has lost their mother:

1. DO NOT email a motherless daughter gift advertisements for Mother’s Day. I know, unbelievable right? Even so, it happened, and the person knows my mother isn’t alive. Just what I didn’t need in the mail. The message on the ad stated “Pamper your mother this Mother’s Day”. Really? Please don’t do this. It’s bad enough that our inboxes are automatically bombarded with these kinds of advertisements leading up to Mother’s Day.
2. DO NOT invite them to your own Mother’s Day event and expect them to be in a cheerful mood for the entire party when everyone around you is celebrating the wonder of mothers and those who have them. (If the motherless daughter is particularly close to your mother, then this may be a different case, but please ask them sincerely if being at the party is where they want to be). I hear from women all of the time about how hard Mother’s Day events are for them, but they do it to please a partner or keep others happy.
3. DO NOT post publicly about missing somebody who has died, on a date that is significant and meaningful to that person and their family, without a) asking permission of the grieving relative or person closest to the deceased b) referring to the grieving person and their own unique and significant pain and c) requesting that people connect with the grieving person on her page or privately. Posting about missing somebody after a death is a beautiful thing if the family has given you permission or if you were extremely close to the deceased. Please be mindful as to your approach. It’s hurtful to be tagged in someone else’s post about your own mother and follow along as they receive condolences throughout the day.
4. (In connection with above post) DO NOT offer your condolences to somebody for their loss on another person’s page and simply assume, or hope that she’ll see it. A personal message, a kind gesture offered in private (rather than on someone else’s page) is more meaningful. Check to see if the bereaved person has written something of her own, describing her personal journey and offer a genuine response to that.
5. TRY NOT TO FORGET significant dates, in particular death anniversaries, Mother’s Day and birthdays. Mark them on your calendar and make that call. Often it will only take five minutes. We can’t all remember significant dates for everyone. I get that. But if you have a very close friend or family member who suffered a major loss surely that date is etched in your brain? No. Then maybe take note and write it down in order to remember. What do most of us look for in a genuine lengthy friendship? I would say we wish to be thought of and held in that friend’s heart. Well, this includes being thought about on tough days like the anniversary of your mother’s death. We want to know that our friends haven’t forgotten our most challenging life experiences. Offer a kind and sincere thought on the anniversary of a rough day. Believe me, it makes a difference.
6. DO NOT tell a motherless daughter that you wish you didn’t have to spend the day with your annoying, cranky mother. Just don’t.
7. DO NOT compare your loss with somebody else’s. Grief is one of the hardest things life will ever throw our way. Losing a loved one changes us, and our lives forever. I feel deeply for any person who is grieving. For motherless daughters Mother’s Day can be miserable. The bombardment of advertisements telling us how we should pamper and celebrate our mothers when we no longer have them is heart-wrenching. For women whose babies/children have died it is a cruel reminder of a massive loss. The day is tough on widowed parents, terminally ill mothers and families where a terminally ill mother is fighting for her life. Let’s not compare one loss to another. This has happened to me, on several occasions for example in another story of mine. Pain is pain. Nobody wants to lose the person they love. We are all in this life together.
8. DO NOT, if you are a teacher or a grown up, assume that a child has their mother at home. I still can’t believe how insensitive my teachers were following my mother’s death. “Take this home to your mother!” they would say, handing me a note for home. I would look at them in disbelief but they would continue on down the classroom aisle with no thought given to what they had said. These teachers were well aware of my loss. We were from a small town and my school was small. They just didn’t think about what they were saying or it didn’t matter enough to choose their words with more care.
9. DO NOT tell a motherless daughter they should be over their loss by now. It doesn’t matter if it’s a year, twenty years or fifty years, we never ‘get over’ losing our mothers. I have dear friends who lost their mothers forty and fifty years ago and they still miss and long for them. I lost my mother thirty years ago and although the passage of time heals in some ways I’ve never stopped missing Mam. I’ve longed for her throughout my life at different periods such as when shopping for my wedding dress and other random moments.
10. BE MINDFUL of speaking in a group about the blessing of having a nurturing, loving mother while a friend who is motherless sits listening. I am in no way suggesting to daughters (or sons) not to celebrate and cheer on their mothers because any love expressed is a beautiful thing. It warms my heart deeply to see mothers and daughters interact in loving ways. I wrote about the beautiful mother-daughter bond here and here. Be considerate, is what I’m saying. Two former friends gushed about their mothers in front of me one day. We had just returned to the college campus after a weekend at home. They described everything their mothers did for them, how nurturing they were and how much they loved them announcing “Where would we be without our mothers?” Granted I was blessed with a gem of a father so I could have shot back ”Where would we be without our fathers?” but my heart hung heavy by that point, not only as a result of being reminded of what I was missing, but because my two lovely friends forgot what I could never forget.

If we are more mindful in our interactions with friends, if we take the time to consider how we would feel in a particular situation and if we make the effort to learn from those who have gone through challenges then we’ll do just fine. I promise. And sincerely I appreciate all the love I receive on a regular basis since beginning this very personal journey of sharing.

Previously I wrote a piece on how to be present for someone who has lost their mother. If I can help comfort another woman or give ideas to those who want to do better for a grieving friend then I’m doing my work. I saw this picture on Instagram recently by Mari Andrew, a writer and illustrator based in NYC. I relate.

If you are interested in finding more tips or advice on how to help a grieving friend or someone going through a really tough time pick up a copy of this book by Kelsey Crowe and Emily McDowell. It’s packed with great advice.

Much love,

Carmel X

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.

Thirty Years Without My Mother

On March 2nd, 1988 my dear mother, Kathleen, passed away from ovarian cancer, at home in Ireland, where I was born and raised. I was eleven and my brother was a couple of years my senior. It’s hard to believe it has been thirty years, and yet it does seem like a lifetime since my mother held me close.

My family stuck together through everything. In this way I feel fortunate. Dad, grieving but kind and present, guided us through the tough times with a gentle, open heart. We didn’t see therapists or read books on grief, we just plowed forward with determination and love. I don’t know if there were therapists around town in those days. Nobody spoke about therapists and the thought just didn’t cross anyone’s minds. We weren’t familiar with grief books either, though I was curious to find one about a little girl my own age whose mother had died. Concerned about puberty and worried about how I’d tackle female issues without my mother I wanted a friend who understood, even if that friend was a character in a book whose story was similar to mine.

I never did find that book. It wasn’t until adulthood that I came across a book on the subject of mother loss. I’ve seen a therapist on a couple of occasions but grief counseling has not been effective in my case. It can be of enormous help to some people but just wasn’t what I needed at the time. Or perhaps I didn’t find the right person. Maybe the timing was off. I’m not sure.

Growing up I could talk to my father about anything and I relied on him for love and consistent care. He never let me down. We often spoke about Mam, and we still do. Permitted to look through her things, wear her clothes if I wished and explore her belongings, it brought Dad happiness to witness my continued love for my mother. Every day I wear a ring of hers, gifted to Mam from my father. On my wedding day in 2016, along with my mother’s ring, I wore a beautiful brooch of hers embedded in a unique hair set made locally for the occasion. We keep the memory of my much-loved mother alive to this day by displaying family photos around the house. We were able to move on with our lives, creating new experiences and memories, while treasuring openly the woman at the center of our lives.

It’s hard to imagine that my mother is gone from us three decades now; a vibrant, beautiful spirit in her healthy days, and a courageous, kind human-being during the tough years. These past thirty years have been a real mix of ups and downs. For those of us who lost a loved one early in life we are constantly riding the unpredictable waves of emotions. In the first few years I focused on school, drama classes and my friendships. It felt important to me to stay strong for my family’s sake. Genuinely happy many of those days, I had great friends and a comfortable home, albeit without my mother. School was not my favorite place and as the years passed my anxiety there increased. Even as a child the focus in school was placed on listening to teachers, very little creative expression or physical movement and chastisement for any little thing.

I didn’t understand it back then but I experienced a sense of relief following my mother’s death. After watching her suffer for so many years we were exhausted and often frantic with worry. The progression of her illness broke our hearts. For six years we hoped and prayed that she would get better, but she didn’t and there was a lot of pain during those years. When Mam died I was broken-hearted, but eventually the weight of anxiety fell away. This is a difficult thing to explain to anybody who hasn’t watched someone they love suffer for a long period of time and it’s even harder to admit to ourselves. Now, after all of these years I long for even one more minute with her. What a miracle that would be!

Going through puberty posed challenges for me and I wanted to ask Mam so many questions. My friends and I surmised and speculated about things but I longed to ask Mam about girl stuff. I wanted to know what her responses would be. My friends told me I wouldn’t ask my mother private things even if she were alive, but I knew that I would.

Unexpectedly, in my mid twenties I experienced deep sadness and regret over not having the relationship I saw other women my age enjoying with their moms. I craved maternal comfort, and I knew my mother, a nurturing, loving person, would have graced me with that unconditional love. I believe my grieving truly started then. In my studio here in Portland, I would suddenly break down and cry at her memory. I felt terribly hard done by. It was during these years that I sought out energy healers and psychics. A few of the female healers appeared to have the ability to connect with my mother’s spirit and the readings offered much comfort. During these sessions I felt certain my mother’s spirit was close. Shortly after this time I began writing about my loss and connecting with other motherless daughters.

There are times when I feel deep pangs of sorrow and I wish Mam had been granted a much longer life than what she was given. Today, she would be eighty years old had she lived. But I allow myself to think and talk about her every day and writing about her over the years has really helped me process her death. I started this blog two years ago on this date and am happy to have connected with so many motherless daughters who have read and related to what I have shared. We all have our own stories, but we find comfort in the connections we make through writing. I’m working on my memoir Briefly I Knew My Mother to honor my mother’s memory while helping others understand the long arc of grief.

People ask if it will get better or easier over time, if they will ever stop missing the person they loved and lost. My mother died thirty years ago and I can say this; things do get easier eventually, the weight of loss does lighten, but the void will always be there. I’ve never stopped missing Mam and I’ve missed her in varying ways. Some years have been harder than others. Why particular years were more challenging depended on phases and experiences in my life and so our grief journeys are not linear. Some moments are heavy and sad, while others are filled with beauty and joy. Life is but a collection of moments. Getting through a moment is easier than getting through a day or a week or a year. The key is to try and find something beautiful in a moment and go with that into the next. Hold your person in your heart, keep them in your thoughts, but live as best you can in each precious moment.

The sadness we experience in grief is borne out of the love that grew within us for that particular person. Love is a tremendous gift. My mother and father showed me the true meaning of love by caring for the other deeply and in their unconditional love for their children. I keep a photograph of my mother in a beautiful vintage frame on a table in our hallway alongside a scented candle, fresh plants and a bowl of lavender. I pass this area frequently, glancing at Mam’s smiling happy face as I carry on with my day. Her spirit is with with me, I can feel it. No, it’s not the same as having her here in person; chatting together over a cup of tea, but it’s a comfort to me nonetheless. Mam has a prominent place in my heart, to this day, thirty years following her death, and a prominent place in our home.

Much love,

Carmel X

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.

Compassion Blooms

I see my sadness in your sadness.

I lost Mam when I was 11 years old. As a young child I watched my beloved mother suffer as she attempted in so many ways to get well again. She was in and out of hospital for weeks, sometimes months at a time. She had to leave her husband and children while she spent days attached to drips in hospitals around the country. It must have been almost unbearable for her. But she fought with all that she had, for her life and for us. She fought for as long as she was able, until she could fight no more.

Today I feel my eleven year old pain, and I feel the pain of every child who grieves the loss of their mother. I hurt for children who have lost a father, a sibling or that special somebody who meant the world to them. I weep for those who are going through suffering, whether they are watching a parent fight for their lives or they are fighting for their own life. Because I know what pain, anxiety and loss feels like to a child, and although my circumstances are different to theirs as humans we know what a broken heart feels like.

To the little five year old girl who was in my classroom and whose mother had just been diagnosed with cancer; the little five year old boy whose dad was dying from aggressive cancer; the little girl whose father committed suicide; the little girl whose brother had sexually abused her; I wanted so badly to protect each of you from your pain. Your precious little hearts and bodies were aching and I saw each one of you. I still hold you all in my heart. For some of you it has been more than fifteen years but I remember each of you by name and I can see each of your tiny faces in my memory.

I see my sadness in other people’s sadness.

I see it in fathers, widowers, husbands who are in and out of the hospital visiting a suffering loved one and in adoring partners who want nothing more than the health and well-being of their chosen love. My heart breaks for them. It isn’t easy. And everything doesn’t always turn out as we want it to. I don’t know if there really is a divine plan. It doesn’t make sense to those of us who have lost someone, and it doesn’t help to hear that part of the divine plan is losing the good ones.

For the grieving parent who has lost a child; the woman who goes through miscarriage after miscarriage; the girl who has lost the love of her life; the man who experiences grief in every cell of his being; the child who misses a parent so much they just want to die; the person who misses a grandmother more than anyone; I feel your sorrows. I do. Our situations and circumstances are different and our pain is different in form but I know what it is like to hurt and despair. We have lost and feel broken, unsure of how to go on, angry at the world, envious of those who have what we no longer have.

Many of us know the pain of losing someone. Not everyone does. Unfortunately everybody will. Instead of bitterness and cruelty towards one another it is time to reach out and offer space for others. None of us know the full extent of the pain that another person is carrying on any given day. Let’s pause and consider this before we pass judgement or criticize. We can offer compassion. And let us never forget that we too deserve space and compassion. Let’s do the best we can in any given moment. We must take care of our own hearts too.

I went to hear Joe Biden speak in November here in Portland, Oregon. Joe has written a book about the death of his son Beau and much of the talk centered on the pain of that loss. Also mentioned was the loss of Joe’s first wife and baby daughter in a tragic car accident and yet Joe was able to look out into the audience and say to us, “I know that my grief is nothing compared to what some of you have experienced. Everyone in this room has gone through something.” He said that he didn’t mean to make his grief sound worse than anybody else’s. He wanted to acknowledge that we all have our burdens to carry.

Every one of us can speak of our losses, share our stories, and assert our needs while acknowledging that this is a world filled with people who understand heartache and burden. As we embark on a new journey in this bright and shiny new year let’s celebrate all the love that there is in the world. Love is a gift in all of its forms. Let’s not deny another person’s love. We can reach out to one another, offer a listening ear and share our vulnerabilities and our stories.

I began a Facebook page in which to share personal stories of mother loss and updates on my memoir. It has since morphed into a page where I share various grief articles (although still with an emphasis on mother loss), because as humans we all have the ability to relate to another person’s sorrow. I see my loss in another person’s loss. It is extremely helpful, of course, to connect with people who share similar experiences e.g Motherless Daughter’s groups, because within our tribe we experience a connection that can carry us when we are having trouble standing on our own.

In 2018 let’s see if we can reach out to each other more. To the refugee who has had to flee their home, leave their family and an entire life behind; to the child who finds themselves in trouble because a parent isn’t present in their lives; to the single mother who is trying her best to be present for their child and to those parents doing their best to care for a sick child. I see my struggles in their struggles.

Different, but the same.

Sadness around us.

Human suffering. Humanity suffering.

Because we love.

Humanity.

Love.

Let’s be the light, even as we ourselves struggle. Let’s be the light in this precious world of ours. Love wins, even when it hurts.

Peace and love to you all this new year.

Much love,

Carmel X

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.

Talking Grief

I can’t overemphasize the value of finding somebody to talk to about your grief; somebody who understands, somebody who cares, somebody who listens without judgment. We are rarely totally alone on the path of mourning, although it does sometimes feel that way.

For years and years I didn’t talk about my loss. I was only eleven when Mam died, so I didn’t process her death as I would have had she died when I was an adult. I went about my days, playing with friends, getting into trouble at school (minor troubles like talking too much when I should have been listening or cracking up laughing with my BFF when we should have been paying attention to the teacher), spending hours on my homework and enjoying home-life with my dad and brother. But, there were times when things were hard for me. Hitting puberty without my mother caused anxiety and embarrassment. Meeting new friends who didn’t know about my loss caused anxiety and embarrassment. They would mention something about parents and as I’d quickly relate my situation I’d end up almost wanting to apologize for being the bearer of such bad news while hoping that this new fact could be ignored by the others and we could just move on. There were other things too. But, what really would have made a difference I believe is had I met another little girl who shared my experience at the time.

There was no little girl who ever said “My mother died too.”

I didn’t hear those words ever. And in that way I was alone in my loss. My dad was, and is, always willing and open to talking about Mam. I am blessed in that regard. Dad was there for me every step of the way. But in social circles there was nobody who understood.

And that is why, when in my late twenties I found Hope Edelman’s book ‘Motherless Daughters‘, that I found a tribe of women who were like me. I couldn’t believe there were so many of us because I had never met another young woman who was without her mother. Many blessings come with finding your tribe. We don’t all share the exact same feelings and experiences and that is okay. We understand the power of sharing our stories and the value of having people there to listen.

Here in Portland, Oregon we are fortunate to have the Grief Rites Foundation which provides awareness, advocacy and education to the grieving community. On a monthly basis storytellers come together and share their stories of life, loss and love in a safe space. Grief Rites says they are about “Taking back our right to grieve. Our right to mourn. Our right to live. Our right to love. Our right to remember.” I just love those words, especially ‘Our right to remember’, because often when we lose someone we don’t feel that we have the right, or the safe place, to remember those dear loved ones we miss so much.

People don’t know what to say when I tell them that I’m writing a memoir about losing my mother to cancer when I was a child. When the conversation comes up about mother loss people try to say the right thing with good intention but unless they really get it, clichés are usually offered. I’m used to it after all of these years and I don’t take it to heart. A listening ear, or a kind word is often all that is needed.

What hurts is when people say something without putting thought into it, something that is said to invalidate your grief. A few years ago I was reading Wild, by Cheryl Strayed. Wild is a gorgeous book about bravery and loss, self-discovery and healing, love and heart-ache. My friend had also read Wild just a few months before me. We were sitting together having lunch, looking out over a beautiful lake; Wild beside me on the wooden bench. “Her heartache, her loss, her grief is so huge,” my friend said to me. I was only a few chapters in but I was already familiar with Cheryl’s aching heart, and I related to her words in a way that was not only powerful but refreshing. Cheryl had experienced the loss of her mother, one I experienced as a child, and although our experiences were quite different, we both loved so resolutely the woman who had birthed us, and we both felt all those emotions that came following her death; anger, frustration, bitterness, guilt, emptiness and on and on. I was connecting in a deep and meaningful way with the author when my friend said, in between bites of her sandwich, “I know you lost your mother when you were a child, but she (the author) was so close to hers, they were like best friends! Her loss was felt at such a deep level because she grew up feeling so close to her.” She went on to say a few things about why Cheryl’s loss was more harrowing than mine while I sat dumbfounded, hurting and in disbelief that anyone, let alone a kind, smart friend of mine would compare mother loss like that. What hurt me most was that she didn’t know what I had lost. I didn’t know what I had lost when I lost it! But nobody else can possibly know anything so personal, and nobody should be the judge of that.

We can all make comparisons. I met with the wonderfully smart author of The Mercy Papers, Robin Romm, at Powell’s recently and when I told her of my loss she was very sympathetic. She said it was difficult for her to lose her mother when she was a young adult but that it was another thing to lose Mam when I was a child. I appreciated her sentiments but said that it was difficult either way. In Robin’s gut-wrenching book she shows us how difficult losing her mother was for her.

What happened in my life is of course very sad. I didn’t get to have my mother for long and she was a kind, devoted, intelligent woman who could’ve taught me so much. But there are friends of mine who lost their moms at an even younger age than me. I get messages from women who lost their mothers when they were only babies. These stories break my heart in two. I’m broken for the sweet mother who had to leave her baby and I’m broken for the baby who will grow into childhood without her mother and into adulthood yearning to know their momma. Losing the person we love so deeply rips us apart at any age.

It’s not kind or valuable in any way to use our stories to undermine somebody else’s story, or to seek to accrue more sympathy than somebody else. What we need to do is deepen our understanding of one another by hearing what the person is saying, asking questions and really listening to the response, reading about other people’s experiences and thinking before we speak. If we can increase our powers of empathy and emerge from our experiences as new people we can tear down the artificial wall that stands between us and the other. We can grow as humans. We can support one another. We can create safe places for those who need to grieve, share, laugh and love. This goes for anybody’s story, whatever it is. Let’s reach for one another, use our voices and connect with love.

Much love,

Carmel X

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.

“When we share our stories, what it does is, it opens up our hearts for other people to share their stories. And it gives us the sense that we are not alone on this journey.” Janine Shepherd

10 Books I Recommend for Motherless Daughters

Beverly Cleary said “If you don’t see the book you want on the shelf, write it.” I didn’t see the book I wanted or needed, so I decided to write it. Currently I’m editing my memoir-in-progress Briefly I Knew My Mother, a personal story of early mother loss and the long-term effects of childhood grief. I hope to have my memoir ready soon.

We search for ourselves in the stories of others. A great memoir can provide comfort, hope and education for the reader because when we find ourselves on the page of somebody else’s book we no longer feel so alone. Memoir can help us realize deeply buried emotions and feelings we haven’t yet acknowledged or explored. Motherless daughters, grieving children, devastated fathers and anxious teens all need to know they are not alone in their loss. Teachers, grandparents and concerned friends of grieving individuals often turn to books in search of insight and guidance. It’s through shared experiences we connect, and in turn, heal.

It took me years to believe that I had a story worth sharing. My mother died when I was 11. She got sick when I was very young. Blessed to have a supportive and devoted father who raised me with care and kindness, I didn’t however have any friend whose mother was dead and so in this way I felt alone. I longed to meet another little girl whose mother had died so I might befriend her, then I wouldn’t be the only little girl without her mam. These ‘friends’ were not characters in the books I read either and it wasn’t until my twenties that I found a relatable book on mother loss.

Since then I’ve discovered several wonderful books about mother loss by female authors, a few of whom live in Portland, Oregon, where I currently reside. These works have meant the world to me. Every story here is unique, but the struggles, pain & courage are relatable. The author’s/character’s ability to push through pain and adapt to circumstances empowers us. I’ve put together a list of my favorite books (at this time) on the topic of mother loss. All but one are non-fiction/memoir. My list is in no particular order but I begin with the ‘mother’ of all motherless daughters’ books, one that continues to positively impact thousands of motherless daughters around the globe.

1.MOTHERLESS DAUGHTERS: THE LEGACY OF LOSS by Hope Edelman

This book had a major impact on me. I hadn’t heard of MOTHERLESS DAUGHTERS until I moved to the USA in my late twenties and discovered the Portland Motherless Daughters group through meetup. The book deeply examines all aspects of mother loss and in reading it, for the first time in my life felt my feelings were validated. Through the stories of other motherless daughters I learned that contrary to what I believed it’s natural for a daughter to continue grieving for her mother. This was a breakthrough. Missing my mother was not only natural but universal.

“When a mother dies, a daughter grieves. And then her life moves on. She does, thankfully, feel happiness again. But the missing her, the wanting her, the wishing she were still here – I will not lie to you, although you probably already know. That part never ends.” -Hope Edelman

I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Hope on a few occasions, at her Motherless Daughter’s retreats and writing workshops. Hope continues to write and speak about grief and I recommend you check out her website.

2.THE SECRET LIFE OF BEES by Sue Monk Kidd

It has been years since I read this gorgeous book but what moved me most about The Secret Life of Bees was its portrayal of Lily as a young motherless child attempting to come to grips with her loss and grief. The Secret Life Of Bees was the first fictional book I read, other than the stunning novel TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, to feature a young motherless girl as the protagonist. I loved Lily and I related to her deep musings about her dead mother.

“My mother died…but if I brought it up, people would suddenly get interested in their hangnails and cuticles.”

“The bag contained a pair of white cotton gloves stained the color of age. When I pulled them out I thought, Her very hands were inside here.”

At times this book pierced my heart. How was it that Lily could articulate some of my exact thoughts? But this is what books do best. They generate feelings, enhance our lives and give us words for what we already know deep down inside.

3.WILD by Cheryl Strayed

WILD is a beautifully written book by Portland author Cheryl Strayed. Cheryl’s memoir addresses the themes of mother loss and grief and the challenges the author faces as a result of her mother’s death. The book exposes us to the many ways in which grief can impact us & the individual ways people deal with loss. Cheryl’s expressions of sorrow deeply moved me & her descriptions of hiking the PCT were enthralling. This gorgeous, inspiring book drew me in with the first lines.

“My mother used to say something that drove me nuts. There is a sunrise and a sunset every day and you can choose to be there for it. You can put yourself in the way of beauty.” -Cheryl Strayed

WILD is filled with encouraging quotes, some of which now appear in her book Brave Enough.

4.THE LONG GOODBYE by Meghan O’Rourke

In this intensely personal memoir, spot on with the grief a mother’s death brings, the author examines her own relationships and reactions to death. Meghan has a beautiful way with words and although the book is a tough read due to the heavy subject matter I highly recommend it to motherless daughters. Meghan addresses America’s lack of traditions and rituals around death and I related deeply to her writing on societal expectations surrounding the grieving process.

“It is human to want our friends and family to recover from pain, to look for a silver lining – or so I reminded myself. But when people stop mentioning the dead person’s name to you, the silence can seem worse than the pain of hearing those familiar, beloved syllables.” -Meghan O’Rourke

This book is an important contribution to a culture struggling to confront death and deal with grief.

5.THE RULES OF INHERITANCE by Claire Bidwell Smith

A raw, brutal and touching memoir about Claire’s struggle with life following the death of her beloved mother. Both of the author’s parents were diagnosed with cancer when she was fourteen and Claire takes us on a heartbreaking journey of loss and grief. Powerful and emotional it was Claire’s recounting of the suffering and subsequent death of her father towards the book’s end that really got me. I sat sobbing quietly in a local coffee shop, the book held close to my face, unable to cease my flow of tears. Claire is a talented writer with a bounty of wisdom to share.

“In all my years of grief, and in my years as a bereavement counselor, the single most powerful healing mechanism I’ve found is simple presence. The opportunity for a person to feel seen and heard in the middle of one of the loneliest experiences in their life can have a profound effect.” -Claire Bidwell Smith

6.AFTER THIS: WHEN LIFE IS OVER WHERE DO WE GO? by Claire Bidwell Smith

Another one by Claire who has experienced several losses in her life, including the death of her mother, her father and several close friends. These losses coupled with her profession as a grief counselor set her on the path to exploring the afterlife. I had the pleasure of attending the first Motherless Daughter’s Retreat with Claire and Hope a few years ago and I took the opportunity to tell Claire how much I love this book. In it she works to understand grief and find ways to connect and stay connected with loved ones in the afterlife. Her exploratory journey is engrossing and thought-provoking and Claire’s findings were extremely comforting to me. AFTER THIS left me with a strong sense of peace.

“If there’s one message that comes through more than any other, it’s this one. They want you to know they’re still here, they’re still connected to you. They want you to go on, to live your life. ” -Claire Bidwell Smith

7.BLACKBIRD by Jennifer Lauck

This book drew me in from the very beginning. An engrossing memoir BLACKBIRD is about mother loss, grief, adoption, love and family. Jennifer uses the voice of the child to relate her story, as do I in my memoir-in-progress Briefly I Knew My Mother. Through little Jennifer’s thoughts I was able to relate to the author’s confusion, sorrow and acceptance of her mother’s illness.

“Without Momma, it’s like being lost without a reason, and inside my body is an empty space that can’t get filled up.” -Jennifer Lauck

Jennifer suffers tremendously as a young child and BLACKBIRD is a tough read for that reason. However, her story is a testimony to survival and one of the best memoirs I have read. A few years ago I took part in a weekend writing workshop here in Portland, with Jennifer and Hope at Jennifer’s writing studio. I highly recommend checking out her classes if you live locally.

8.LETTERS FROM MOTHERLESS DAUGHTERS: WORDS OF COURAGE, GRIEF AND HEALING by Hope Edelman

This book is composed of letters written by motherless daughters aged thirteen years through their seventies. Those of us who are motherless daughters will find ourselves in the lines of these letters and realize we’re not alone in our anger, sorrow and loneliness. Also included are insightful offerings from Hope. Women continue to experience profound sorrow and an enormous sense of loss following the death of their mother and I found the letters shared in this book to be deeply comforting.

9.THE MERCY PAPERS: A MEMOIR OF THREE WEEKS by Robin Romm

I’m currently reading Robin’s heart-wrenching book after learning about it on a Dear Sugar podcast. At about three quarters of the way in I’m completely taken with Robin’s story of love and loss. Bravely this loving daughter shares her experience of three agonizing weeks leading to her mother’s death. Robin tells it as it is; it’s tough and scary to witness one’s mother’s failing health. Sprinkled with humor THE MERCY PAPERS is thoroughly absorbing. Robin is a brilliant writer.

“We could get a cup of coffee. But who wants coffee? Who wants to see anyone in the outside world? The outside world has gotten increasingly foreign. People smile for no reason, purchase sugary snacks, worry over leaky roofs out loud to strangers. Who needs this?” -Robin Romm

10. THE KIDS ARE ALL RIGHT by The Welch family

Okay, this one is a little different. A compelling memoir told from the perspectives of four Welch children, orphaned in their youth after their wealthy father dies in a mysterious car accident, and their loving mother loses her battle with cancer. The children in this story lose both parents and it is gut-wrenching to witness such sorrow. The Kids Are All Right is an authentic, heartbreaking story of family, loss and grief.

“If his scent was still alive, how could he be dead?” -THE KIDS ARE ALL RIGHT

Other books on the topic of mother loss exist and there are, of course, several on the subject of grief. In the future I will post a blog about these (click here for this) but for now please feel free to share your favorites in the comments section below. Books mean different things to different people and it is not easy to write and share such personal stories. I have the utmost respect for each of the authors above. (Check out my Goodreads list of books I’ve read and rated here.) My goal is to publish BRIEFLY I KNEW MY MOTHER, my personal story of mother loss, in the near future. Sharing our heart stories is not easy, but it is important. We can lift each other up with our words and generate healing and connection by finding ourselves in the pages of someone else’s story.

Much love,

Carmel X

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.

“We read to know we’re not alone.”
― William Nicholson, Shadowlands

Carmel Breathnach is a writer and former school teacher born in Ireland and living in Portland, Oregon. She holds a B.A. degree in English literature and Irish language studies from NUI Maynooth, and a Graduate Diploma in Education with honors from St. Patrick’s College, Dublin. Her writing centers on childhood grief and the long-term impacts of early mother loss. Carmel’s work has appeared in the New York Times, The Irish Times, Huffington Post, Upworthy, Scary Mommy, Voice Catcher, Modern Loss, Pendemic.ie, The Good Men Project, the anthology Hidden Lights: A Collection of Truths Not Often Told and on the National Alliance for Children’s Grief (NACG) website. She is currently querying her memoir titled Briefly I Knew My Mother.

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Mother’s Day Without My Mother

A spiritual healer once gave me this advice: “Close your eyes and visualize yourself as a young child when you were feeling anxious.You didn’t even realize you were scared. Now hold that child close to you and whisper to her that she will be okay. Tell her that she is not alone. Hold her. Let her rest against you. Visualize it. She’ll hear you.”

I performed the visualization. I hope it helped little me. It helps now just to imagine that I am holding my five year old self tight, hugging me close, running my fingers through my soft, shampooed hair.

Love is really the only thing that counts, isn’t it? We all crave it. Everybody wants to be loved. And if we are fortunate enough to have love in our lives, we do everything we can to hold on to it. When somebody we love loves us back, wants to hold us, hear what we have to say and spend time with us, it is a gift like no other. When we lose that somebody, the grief we experience feels unbearable.

But grief is love that is stored inside of us with no place to go. We grieve because we have loved. And to love is a beautiful thing.

This past week I read a very sad story. I read that a beautiful family has been ripped apart suddenly and tragically, a young nursing mother left to raise her newborn baby in the wake of losing her four year old daughter. The young woman’s husband sustained serious brain injuries and is fighting for his life. This story choked me up. There is so much sadness and tragedy in our world. I find it hard to take sometimes. I’m a highly sensitive person which according to Susan Cain, author of ‘Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking‘ means that I ‘feel exceptionally strong emotions-sometimes acute bouts of joy, but also sorrow, melancholy, and fear.’ I also believe that I have a deeper empathy and compassion for those suffering as a result of the years I spent watching my mother battle cancer. I know what it feels like to be afraid of losing someone you love, to feel helpless as you watch them suffer, to lose that person and never see them again. It’s a pain so cutting and deep that it can take your breath away.

This Sunday, March 26, is Mother’s Day in Ireland where I grew up. It is Mother’s Day in the UK and in other parts of the world. I’ve already planned an escape for our USA Mother’s Day in May. Everyone will celebrate their mothers, as they should, but it’s really, really hard for those of us who have lost ours. We are forced to remember exactly what we live without.

I’m reading a book called ‘The Happiness Project‘ at the moment. It’s a great book by Gretchen Rubin about finding happiness in everyday places and things. I’m generally a happy person. I’m full of gratitude for many aspects of my life but I wanted to see what I could learn from this happiness project of hers. Only a few pages in the author needs advice so she calls her mother for a ‘pep talk.’ Then she casually mentions that throughout her life her mother made her feel ‘that nothing was insurmountable.’ There it is! That jolt of awareness! That sadness in my chest because I didn’t have that. There were no phone calls to my mother for pep talks. She wasn’t there after my eleventh year.

Mother’s Day during my school years were the worst. Teachers encouraged us all to create cards or dedicate art projects to our mothers. None of my teachers ever addressed the fact that I no longer had a mother. I felt awkward, different, sad, bewildered. I probably doodled on a page or drew a picture for Dad. I don’t remember exactly what I did, but I remember the pain in my heart on those occasions and just feeling so left out.

This coming Mother’s Day I want to visualize eleven year old me. I want to hold her close and whisper that she is loved and that she will be okay. I got this. I am strong. My mother is with me always. I am part of her and she is part of me. Blessed to still have my dad, I carry his love with me everyday, and I carry the strength of my ancestors who have gone before us.

I know that there are people around the world suffering great sadness and injustices as I write. Their pain is my pain. Their joy is my joy. For those people fortunate enough to still have their mothers and to be mothers, I wish them all a day filled with love and happiness. And for those of us who have loved and lost, I hear you and I see you. We understand each other’s sorrow. Let’s lift each other up in whatever ways we can. Let’s honor the mothers in all of us, every day. The world needs more mothering and more love.

Much love,

Carmel X

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.

Still My Mother’s Birthday

My mother was born on February 18th. She’s not alive anymore but that special date, February 18th, whispers to me like a soft little hum in my ear all year round until February lands and I anticipate her birthday in all of its painful glory. In my lifetime I celebrated very few birthdays with my mother, who was sick for several of them, and she died when I was 11.

I asked Mam once what her favorite number was and she told me it was 18. So I know one of her favorite things. I don’t know her favorite color although I suspect it may have been a shade of purple, like lavender perhaps. I don’t know what her favorite food was or her favorite drink. I never asked her if she had a favorite book or a favorite friend. She had so many friends and was such a sweet person that I don’t think she would have admitted to having a favorite, but I’d like to hear her responses.

This time of year weighs on me emotionally. I was born in January, Mam’s birthday is in February and my dad’s birthday is in March. Three consecutive months of family birthdays beginning with mine at the very start of each new year. And we’ve been without Mam now since I was 11 years old. Mam died in March, just three days before my dad’s birthday, and followed quickly by the hullabaloo of Mother’s Day which in Ireland, where I was born and raised, is celebrated a mere few weeks after the date she died.

Mam’s birthday and the anniversary of her death are quietly remembered by those who were closest to my mother. Dad and I call each other on those dates and some family members call my father on March 2nd which we appreciate. It’s a nice thing to do. But in the years since Mam died rarely does anybody else mention her to me on these significant occasions. People forget dates, I get it and some don’t want to bring it up, don’t want to upset me. But, guess what? I know what date it is. I haven’t forgotten and it’s always nice to know that someone is thinking of you, to know that the person who meant the world to you is being thought of, that their death did not cancel out their memory. One of the greatest, most meaningful gifts you can give a close friend is a call or a text on one of those significant, often emotional, days.

Today, as always on Mam’s birthday, I’ll speak silently to her. I’ll wish her a happy birthday wherever she may be, and I’ll tell her I miss her and wish she hadn’t been taken from us so soon. I am working on a book written in her honor and it is almost ready to be sent out into the world. Briefly I Knew My Mother is a story of mother loss. It is Mam’s story and my story, and it explores the universal experience of love, grief and mother loss and the lasting impacts of early grief. I’ve poured my heart into the memoir and I’m determined to create a true and beautiful telling of our story.

Happy Birthday, Mam! You were born on this day many, many years ago and it remains a special, wonderful, magical day. I’ll light a candle in your honor and browse photographs of us while sipping a cup of hot tea. Come sit with me while I browse? Stay for a while. I have a feeling you will.

Much love,

Carmel X

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.

“No one is actually dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away…”

― Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man

 

Carmel Breathnach is a writer and former school teacher born in Ireland and living in Portland, Oregon. She holds a B.A. degree in English literature and Irish language studies from NUI Maynooth, and a Graduate Diploma in Education with honors from St. Patrick’s College, Dublin. Her writing centers on childhood grief and the long-term impacts of early mother loss. Carmel’s work has appeared in the New York Times, The Irish Times, Huffington Post, Upworthy, Scary Mommy, Voice Catcher, Modern Loss, Pendemic.ie, The Good Men Project, the anthology Hidden Lights: A Collection of Truths Not Often Told and on the National Alliance for Children’s Grief (NACG) website. She is currently querying her memoir titled Briefly I Knew My Mother.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CarmelBreathnachAuthor/

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Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorCarmelB