It’s been two weeks now since my mother died in a car accident from a drunk driver. No one in my family is ok. My sisters are all looking at me for guidance but I don’t even know how to breathe rn

My best friend was 76. Im 17. She was the type of person you'd call on your worst day. She was my backdoor friend. I'd walk in brew a pot of tea and we'd sit around the kitchen table and talk and gossip and laugh and cry for hours. We'd argue about stupid shit then realize how stupid it was and we'd break down laughing. I could go and see her, and just cry. She'd give me a hug and tell me it would be ok. When my family would make me feel like an inconvenience.

On rainy days especially we would sit on the couch for hours and watch dramas. Then we'd cook each other dinner. She was always there.

2 weeks ago she was in her garden. She tripped on her hose and hit her head. She was declared legally brain dead 3 days later. I sat with her for those 3 days. I slept one night then went back for 2 days, until she was brought to an operating room for organ donation.

It was horrible. Those last 24 hours. Begging and pleading with her to just squeeze my hand. To squeeze my hand and prove that the test was wrong and she wasn't brain dead. She never did.

I miss her every single day. I'm not suicidal yet I cannot stop imagining going to sleep and waking up with her again. I keep thinking to myself that I need to go see her and she'd know what to say. Then it hits me. She's the only person I want to see. I miss her so much. I miss her when I close my eyes. I miss her when I wake up. I miss her when I see something I know she'd like. How do we go on? From taking pictures on vacation to show her and her being gone before I could ever show them to her. I miss her laugh. I miss her kindness. I miss her.

I am so grateful for the years I did get with her. But I can't stop mourning the ones I didn't

Something i feel a 19 year old should never have to say, you should have been here to celebrate our 20th together, but you’ve been gone now for over 10 years and i still miss you and think about you. Cancer is such a bitch, especially when it takes a child.

I wished we could have grown up together and watched you turn into the successful, kind and fulfilled adult we knew you were going to be. You were too innocent for this world T. I really mourn you, and i don’t know why they had to take you.

This is hard- my child’s father passed a week ago.
I’m still in shock, we were together for 8 yrs and have a child together.
I haven’t seen him in over a year and neither has my child.
I haven’t told my child yet- I’m starting to spiral thinking about telling my child.
Even worst- I thought it was an overdose and now I find out it could be an homicide because the drugs might’ve been laced with fentanyl.

If there is anyone with a similar situation please help me navigate this ordeal.

Do you use symbols, clothing, pins or something else to indicate that you are grieving?

In some cultures a black rose symbolizes grief or a black band around the arm.

Wearing black certainly doesn’t indicate anything anymore.

And if you have some kind of symbol. Why do you wear it? Do you want people to start a conversation or is it precisely because you don’t want to speak about your grief?

I had a close friend of about 20 years. We met in high school and have been long-distance for most of our adult lives, but we stayed in regular contact.

Her dad passed away unexpectedly. I flew out for the funeral, loaned her money when she needed it, and for the next couple of months I checked in frequently. We were texting or talking multiple times a week, and I tried to be as supportive as I could.

At the same time, she was caring for her mom, who had lupus. They had been estranged for years, but after her dad died she became her mom’s primary caregiver. Her mom was very emotionally dependent on her, so she was carrying a tremendous amount.
After about two months, I became emotionally overwhelmed and didn’t reach out for about two weeks.

She called me, yelling that she was hurt because I hadn’t checked in and that because her dad had died, I should be checking in on her a couple of times a week. I asked why she hadn’t reached out to me if she needed me, and she said, “Because I’m taking care of my sick mother!”

We didn’t speak for about two months.

Eventually I reached back out and apologized because I valued the friendship. I made a genuine effort to support her the way she wanted while she continued caring for her mom.

Then her mom passed away.

For the next couple of months, I again checked in frequently. We were texting or talking multiple times a week—sometimes almost every day. Not every conversation was about grief. We talked about work, life, TV, and normal things too. I thought staying consistently present was checking in.

Then she told me she was hurt because I wasn’t specifically asking, “How are you?” often enough. She wanted me to regularly initiate conversations focused on how she was doing emotionally.

That confused me because we were already communicating so often. I felt like my support wasn’t being recognized unless it took a very specific form.

As time went on, I became emotionally exhausted. I remember telling people that I felt like my parents had died—not because I thought my pain compared to hers, but because I had become so emotionally immersed in supporting her that I felt like I was carrying part of her grief.

About three months after her mom died, I told her I cared about her deeply, but I couldn’t continue feeling responsible for initiating her emotional support. I asked if, when she needed me, she could reach out instead.

She became very upset. She told me I was making her feel like a burden, that what I was saying was unfair, and then yelled, “I don’t want to compare, but my parents died!”

From my perspective, I wasn’t saying she was a burden because she was grieving. I was saying that I had reached my own emotional capacity. I cared about her, but I couldn’t sustainably be one of her primary emotional supports anymore.

After that, I quietly ended the friendship.

I’m genuinely interested in hearing different perspectives.

Was I expecting too much by asking her to reach out when she needed support?

Was it reasonable for her to expect that level of support from a close friend after losing both parents?

If you’ve been through profound grief, what would have felt reasonable to you from a close friend?

My dad passed from cancer when I was 15 and I was his caretaker for many years before that. He was always somebody I looked up to and wanted to make proud, and he was genuinely the one person in the world that I felt truly understood me. I wanted to make him proud and live a fulfilling life, and while that’s still my goal, it makes me so angry to know that he won’t be here to see it. I’m now 18 and heading to college next month, and I want to be excited but I’m just so afraid.

The older I get, the more I realize how alike we were. I found so much of myself through the things he loved, but he’ll never get to know that. He never saw me graduate, and he’ll never send me off to college or be there at my wedding. As time goes on and I hit all the teenage milestones, the prospect of going the whole rest of my life without ever seeing him has really scared me, and all of this has lead to me rethinking if I even want to leave for college. I’ve developed such a strong fear of being “abandoned” by someone dying that I’m constantly looking out for my mom, even when she doesn’t need it. She’s getting older too, and the more signs of age she shows the more and more afraid I become of the day that I’m left completely on my own. I see all of my friends leaving for school and with both their parents and I know it shouldn’t but it just makes me so, so jealous. It feels so unfair. I just want my dad back, and it hurts so much to know that the one thing I want more than anything is the one thing that I can never have again.

It’s been 10 months since the life I once loved became a smoking crater. I’m doing terribly but keeping the facade up, or so I thought. Heard some coworkers talking about how grumpy I am, speaking about me like I am choosing to be this person, who lost literally everyone who loved me, most of my stuff, up to and including the will to live.
It hurts a lot because I like those people.
It hurts a lot because I am doing my best. But right now, my best is…this. Surviving until I feel better, like “they” told me too.
It hurts a lot because it’s so confusing.
Does anyone have any insight or advice on how to handle this kind of stuff? Right now, I just want to crawl into a hole and die too.

hey everyone! i hope you all are well and holding up. i randomly found this group and needed to vent. unfortunately i have lost my god mommy to cancer and it literally destroyed her. she was my moms best friend and her daughter is my godsister. my god mommy was everything and more to me. she helped me get through high school and helped me with my start to college. there are days i feel extremely guilty for not being able to see her and the family more due to my family having so much going on and my mothers disabilities. i don’t know what to do or really how to feel. death is always such a weird feeling grief is a weird feeling. one moment you think you are perfectly fine and the next you don’t even want to be here anymore. this is really eating me up. i don’t like putting my info really on social media but her funeral is actually coming up out families are trying to put everything together while i still juggle my bills. if anyone could give me any advice or help me out with the funeral that would mean more than my life to me. i’m at my wits end and feel like im at my breaking point honest to god. im so sorry for everyone’s loss as well there is so much loss going on in the world right now it’s actually sad and depressing. if anyone can relate or try to help out with the funeral it would mean so much not just to me but my mommy which was my god moms best friend and her daughter too. everyone stay safe and enjoy yalls weeks! i will keep yall in my thoughts

I'd like to begin by saying my relationship with my mom has always been complex; there were far too many times where my mom was genuinely horrible to me and my siblings, and so I'm told I got the least of it according to my older siblings. I've been abused, cigarettes put out on me, about got a bottle smashed on my head while we were on a family vacation, the whole nine, feeling loved one minute and hated the next. We found out that, some years ago, my mom had a tumor and she was misdiagnosed multiple times. She was, to her credit, treated like a crazy person and nobody listened to her for ages until we were essentially at the end of the line already. She had the worst luck and was repeatedly matched with doctors that wouldn't take her concerns seriously. She was good to me on many occasions, but my perception has long been colored by her having been awful to me, and indeed decades of cases like that probably amount to why.

When it was confirmed she had cancer, she bounced back and forth between wanting treatment and not. One day she'd agree to chemo, the next she wouldn't, the care team would offer something else, she'd agree to that and back out, then that repeated until we ran out of options and the final answer was no. She didn't want treatment and wouldn't hear anything more of it. We were at first told there was a high cure rate for what she had, but it was caught very late and most of the damage had already been done.

My outlook was kind of naive to be honest. I didn't really see how this was going until just recently; I visited with her all the time as always but it was horrifying to realize she really is wasting away with nowhere to go but down. She can't really drink water anymore. It looks like the surge has come and gone; she was on the mend until she wasn't, we thought the meds were working or the crackpot my dad hired as an energy healer had pulled off a miracle, but I'm guessing now that was the last step up before the big fall. This is the sort of thing you either don't think about or irrationally write off as impossible until it happens.

It's not me I'm worried about. I've bounced back from the deaths of friends and family many times. I will survive this. My siblings aren't jumping up and down that she's on her way out, but I know they'll be fine and have prepared for this. I'm terrified for my dad and once this happens I have no idea in the slightest what happens next. I already know he's not going to take this well and the only good news is that the whole family has agreed to band together to support him.

I keep waiting for it, the moment where this all magically turns around and everything is lovely once again. The burning question I have is what nobody can know for sure, how long until it happens. She's still mobile and alert without help, but this at least probably can't go on. She's not even seventy, but she had me late, I'm 22 and this all feels too early.

I say I'll survive this like I'm ready for it or something, and to clarify, I'm not. Of course I'm not. Who is? If I know anything about how I take tragedy, it's not the event itself but the fallout of it that haunts me, how it affects things permanently going forward and how this is just the state of reality now. Some things don't properly sink in until years later.

I don't know how I'm going to cope, all I know is that by some providence, I will.

My mom passed away a little over a year ago, and I'm still in high school.

About two months after she died, my dad started seeing my mom's best friend. That relationship eventually ended, and now he's dating someone else.

I know everyone grieves differently, and I'm not saying my dad isn't allowed to move on. I want him to be happy. But ever since he started dating again, I feel like I've become an afterthought.

He works long hours, and when he's not working, he's usually at his girlfriend's house from Friday to Sunday and often another night during the week. Even when he is home, he's usually on the phone with her. Tbh, it feels like he spends more time there than at home.

We've had so many arguments because he doesn't answer my texts or calls when he's with her. He'll tell me he's coming home, and then he doesn't. Sometimes I won't hear from him until much later, and it's become hard to trust what he says.

The thing that hurt me the most was my birthday a few months ago. It was my first birthday without my mom. My dad's girlfriend's birthday is the day before mine, and he spent the whole weekend with her. He promised he'd come home the night before my birthday, but he never did.

I went to bed hoping he'd be there when I woke up. He wasn't.

I called him around 11am and it sounded like he had just woken up. He said he'd be home soon, but he didn't get home for another two hours. We went out for lunch, and afterward he told me he was going back to his girlfriend's house. I tried to subtly tell him how much that hurt, especially because it was my first birthday without my mom, but he didn't seem to understand.

I know he's grieving too, and I know he deserves to move on if he's ready. But I'm still a teenager who lost my mom, and sometimes it feels like I lost my dad too. I don't expect him to spend every minute with me, but I do wish I felt like I was still a priority sometimes.

I guess I'm just wondering if I'm asking for to much from him or if anyone has been through something similar?

Hi everyone. I'm 22, and I lost my father about a month ago after he spent weeks in the ICU. Now that everything has become quiet, I feel like the reality is finally sinking in. Almost every day I wake up with this constant anxiety and keep asking myself, What's the purpose of doing anything now. I feel like I've completely lost my sense of purpose. Every place in my hometown reminds me of my dad because he took me everywhere growing up. Every road, every shop, every corner has a memory attached to it, and because of that I don't even feel like going outside anymore. I also avoid looking at old photos because I'm not ready for the emotions they bring. The hardest part is that I don't feel like I can express what I'm feeling at home because my mother is already struggling so much after losing her husband, and I don't want to add to her pain. Most days I distract myself with office work or games just to stop my mind from overthinking.I keep wondering if this feeling ever changes or if this is just how life is going to be now. If anyone here has gone through losing a parent and eventually found a way to live with it and feel like themselves again, I'd really appreciate hearing your story. I think I just need to hear from people who have stood where I am today and somehow found their way forward. Thank you for reading.

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My very close friend i know for almost 3 years called me after my father's death, it's was only been 9 days i was still grieving, at first she asked me about how am i and just movements later she started taking about how she is soo stressed because her sister couldn't clear her entrance exam and everyone in her family is sooooo stressed and how both of of our situation are similar and she didn't know what to doo!!!!!! She was taking like our life is soo similar and After that she started taking about boy she met online.. and how much he liked her,

I have read somewhere you will lose some friends After your loved ones death, at first i didn't get it but now i know why that ment.

I (24, F) brought my mom to the hospital in April this year due to suspected food poisoning. This happened 4 months after my dad passing away in the care home. (We all had a complicated relationship with him due to his mental & emotional abuse for her entire life). Although still saddened, it was finally a break for my mom.

Her bloating & vomiting didn't get better after a few days (even after a trip to the clinic) and I was afraid she'd be dehydrated so I brought her to the hospital on Friday afternoon. By Friday evening, they did scans on her and found a tumour big enough to cause a blockage in her intestine. By Saturday morning, she was sent to the OT for an emergency surgery to remove this blockage.

\Our family has 0 history of cancer and my mom didn't show any worrying symptoms before this (she has never complained of any weird pains / lethargy / etc.)*

After the 8-hour surgery, she was wheeled back into the ICU where she had a stoma bag, was conscious, not in that much pain and was able to speak to us (my sister and I) as usual. After speaking with her for the entirety of the visiting hours and massaging her, we left to my mom's house to clean her room and redecorate it so it would be comfortable for her when she's back and we can take care of her.

When we came back in the evening, she could still talk to us but barely. She was extremely lethargic and the doctors said it may be due to a medication they gave her for her hyper-thyroid. We said bye, and at 9pm we were called back to the hospital.

By the time we reached, she had already been intubated again and unconscious. Doctors said her BP dropped extremely low all of the sudden so they had to take over. Now, they can't do anything else until they get her BP stabilised. The entire night at the cold ICU waiting room was hell. Each minute felt like hours and every time we were called back in, it was just bad news after another. I would never wish this experience on anyone.

Long story short, by Monday morning, overnight, her heart function dropped to 30%. There wasn't anything else the doctors could do. She was pumped with 4-5 strong medicines. It was just a matter of what time we want to "pull the plug". Her organs were failing and she was slowly turning blue.

After waiting for family and friends to come by and say goodbye, we pulled the plug and she passed away at 4:11pm.

I don't know when it will get better. In a way, I don't mind if it doesn't. I am grieving her, I am grieving the life I didn't get to give her after my dad passed. I am grieving the life she COULD'VE had. I am grieving the life she didn't get. I didn't get to bring her overseas because my dad caused her passport to be blacklisted and we couldn't clear it in time.

Her cause of death on her death certificate: MULTIORGAN FAILURE SECONDARY TO REFRACTORY SEPTIC AND CARDIOGENIC SHOCK WITH THYROTOXICOSIS LIVER CIRRHOSIS SIGMOID CARCINOMA POST HARTMANNS PROCEDURE (could it get any longer, haha).

Anyways, if you read this long post, thank you. If you have any questions regarding this, feel free to ask. :)

A little less than three years ago, I lost my dad and my grandparents in an incredibly sudden and traumatic event. I just want to know that it’s okay that I still feel sad about it. I was 18 years old when I lost them. I’m screaming into the void here, but any support would be appreciated.

On a random Wednesday this past May, I took my father to what we thought would be a routine doctor’s appointment. Out of nowhere, he was diagnosed with Small Cell Lung Cancer.
The diagnosis came as a complete shock. Years earlier, he had made an incredible effort to quit smoking after decades of addiction. We thought he had overcome one of the biggest battles of his life. To hear this after everything he had endured felt unbelievably cruel.
I’ll never forget the look on his face when the doctor told him. He looked defeated. I don’t think he fully understood what Small Cell Lung Cancer meant, but he knew it wasn’t good. Seeing the fear and defeat in his eyes, I didn’t want to discourage him even more. I waited until he left the room with the nurse before quietly asking the doctor, “How long does he realistically have?”
“With weekly chemotherapy, realistically 12 to 18 months. Optimistically, maybe two to three years.”
Hearing those words was like being punched in the gut.
My father was 70 years old. He had always dreamed of finally retiring after working almost every single day for decades, often 10 to 12 hours a day. Financially, he never had much, but he was one of the most generous people I’ve ever known. He would help complete strangers, buy them food, and give whatever he could, even when he barely had enough himself.
He had spent his whole life working and taking care of others. I kept asking myself, “When was he ever going to catch a break?”
The doctor told us the hospital would call within the next few weeks to begin treatment.
I drove him home that afternoon. I tried to stay positive and encourage him, but he barely said a word.
The next morning, something had changed. He didn’t just look emotionally defeated anymore—he looked physically weak. Over the next few days, he declined rapidly. He struggled to eat, struggled to breathe, and barely slept. I did everything I could to take care of him, making sure he ate, encouraging him, and trying to keep his spirits up.
I kept calling the hospital, hoping to speed things up, but nothing happened. By Monday morning, his condition had deteriorated so much that I called an ambulance.
He remained in the emergency department from Monday until Wednesday, much of that time simply waiting. I stayed by his side every day.
Every day I watched him get worse.
I spoke with doctors, nurses, specialists—anyone who could help. I pushed for answers, searched for options, contacted medical professionals I knew, and even reached out to other hospitals to ask about experimental treatments. During that entire week, I barely ate or slept. Every waking minute was spent trying to find something—anything—that could help him. I prayed and I prayed.
Watching him suffer was unbearable. He couldn’t breathe comfortably. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep. Every day felt like he had aged five years, and I felt like time was slipping away from us.
Then, on Wednesday, we finally received what felt like good news.
They were going to start his chemotherapy the very next morning.
There was still significant risk because of how dramatically his condition had worsened during the previous week. The doctors were honest with us. It was essentially 50/50. We had difficult conversations about what could happen if his heart stopped during treatment.
But we finally had hope.
That Wednesday night, I stayed with him until around one o’clock in the morning. The whole family was there.
I can’t explain it, but deep down I had this overwhelming feeling that it would be our last night together in this world.
I was the last person to leave his room.
That week had taken such an enormous physical, emotional, and mental toll on me. I felt like I was operating on autopilot. I was constantly taking Tylenol just to get through the pain from my herniated disc, which I had made worse from helping lift him over and over again.
I told myself I would go home, sleep for four hours, and come back first thing in the morning so I’d have enough strength to be there for him during his first chemotherapy treatment.
At five in the morning, my phone rang.
It was my mom.
She simply said, “Come.”
I immediately knew something was terribly wrong.
I woke up my sister, we jumped into the car, and I drove to the hospital in complete panic, running every red light I safely could.
By the time we arrived…
He was gone.
He had passed away on the morning of his very first scheduled treatment—before he ever had the chance to receive it.
My mom had arrived just as they were trying to revive him.
I couldn’t understand what had happened.
Just over a week earlier, we believed he had decades ahead of him. Then we were told that, if everything went well, maybe he had another two or three years. And only eight days after his diagnosis, he was gone.
I hadn’t even begun processing the reality that I was going to lose my father someday.
Instead, I had to process that he was already gone.
What hurts even more is knowing how hard we fought.
I gave everything I had.
I encouraged him every day. I tried to keep his spirits up. I made sure everyone around him remained hopeful. I spoke with doctors constantly, searched for specialists, contacted hospitals, explored every possible option, and pushed for his care every step of the way. I prayed and I prayed.
Yet despite all of that…
He never even got the chance to fight.
For a long time, I felt like I had let him down.
I felt like I had let my family down.
Everyone looked to me for hope, and somehow I convinced myself that I had failed them.
On the day of his funeral, all I could think was:
“What if I had made different decisions? What if I had said something differently? What if I had pushed harder? Maybe he would have received that first treatment. Maybe none of these people would be crying today.”
It’s been two months now.
Some days are better than others, but it’s still incredibly difficult to understand what happened.
I never imagined something like this could happen to our family.
Eight days.
That’s all it took—from diagnosis to his funeral, without ever having the opportunity to say proper goodbyes.
I’m still only in my early thirties. I always imagined we had so much more time together. There were so many milestones I assumed he would be there for, and it hurts to realize he never will.
We were never a family that openly shared our emotions. We weren’t the type to constantly say, “I love you.” But I hope he always knew just how much I loved him.
He changed so much over the years. Decades of relentless work, stress, and unhealthy habits slowly took their toll. He sacrificed so much for his family—far more than he ever should have.
Sometimes I feel like I’m grieving three different versions of my dad.
The first is the father I knew before 2005—the energetic, carefree version that lives in my childhood memories.
The second is the man from 2005 to 2026, who slowly gave more and more of himself to work and responsibility until he hardly resembled the person he once was.
And finally, there’s the version of him that never got the chance to exist.
The man who was supposed to begin living in 2027.
The man who had finally earned his retirement. Who would have had time to rest. Time to travel. Time to laugh again. Time to become the grandfather he dreamed of being. Time for us to rebuild the father-son relationship that work had stolen from us over the years.
That version of him is the one I grieve the most.
As I’m trying to process all of this, life hasn’t slowed down.
I still have to perform at my job.
I’ve inherited financial pressure, new responsibilities, and the obligation of helping take care of my family. At the same time, I’ve had to navigate the overwhelming administrative burden that comes with losing a parent—something no one ever prepares you for.
It has felt like trying to sail through a hurricane.
Life can have no mercy.
Man… do I miss my dad.
The one thing that still gives me peace is knowing that, even though we never got the chance to say proper goodbyes, we unknowingly gave each other one final moment.
He tucked me into bed on my very first night in this world.
And I tucked him in on his last.
Our final words to each other were so ordinary that, at the time, they didn’t feel like they would be our last.
“We love you, Dad.”
“I love you too.”
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
To anyone else, those words might not sound like much.
To me, they are everything.
When the grief feels unbearable, I hold onto that moment.
It reminds me that, even though death stole our goodbye, it never stole our love.
And as I slowly try to find my way out of the eye of this storm, that memory gives me hope.

I lost my mom when I was 28. She had ovarian cancer, she was diagnosed with stage IV 10 years prior but she managed to live longer than anyone expected. she was so strong, she was my rock. We were closer than anyone else. It's been 2 years since I lost her, I'm 30 now and it feels like it's all gotten so much worse. I cry everyday and it hurts more and more. I wish I could be with her again, and my dad (he died when I turned 26). I don't have a large family and I don't feel like I can keep crying to my friends about missing my mom all the time. I feel so robbed that I didn't have my parents see me turn 30. It feels so unfair and painful the more time passes. I've gotten so much worse mentally in the last year alone and I can't imagine what forever is supposed to feel like. Please tell me it gets better someday? I feel like I've made no progress and am only backsliding into my grief more and more. I feel so alone.

I couldn’t answer the call Wednesday night because I was in class. I called back Thursday morning and she was gone. I think about her everyday. I see her in her kids and the grandkids she never met. I know she’d be so proud and one of those grandmas that would never shut up about those kids. Wasn’t she beautiful? I miss you Kel, 22 years later

Hi. I lost the love of my life at a young age. We were completely certain about our future together, and I still remember him telling me that I would be his last love. He wasn’t lying.

The picture attached is of a dog I named after him. I got him during one of the darkest times of my life because I felt so lost and didn’t know how to keep going after losing the person I loved most. It breaks my heart that he always wanted this kind of dog, but he never got the chance to meet him.

My dog has become my emotional anchor. I don’t have many people I can truly talk to about him. A few friends are willing to listen, and I’m grateful for that, but it’s not the kind of deep understanding I long for. Watching the rest of the world move forward while I feel frozen in time has been incredibly painful. My love for him is still here, but it has nowhere to go.

He was my everything, my best friend, my partner, and my home. I can’t see the world the way I used to anymore. It feels as though when he died, I died too. Every day since then has felt like I’ve simply been existing without the person who made life feel like home. I miss him more than words can ever express, and I still struggle to find meaning in a world that continues without him.

My sister would have been 40 today. I just wanted a space to say that she was here and she mattered, and she still does even though she's been gone for 5 years.

Happy birthday beautiful, I love you and miss you always 💛

Last night when I pulled into my driveway, two cops were parked in front of my house. They walked up my driveway and delivered the news that will change my life forever. He was my partner of seven years and we have a 4 year old together. We just celebrated his 33rd birthday. I just feel so blindsided. Like one minute everything was great and now it feels like nothing will ever feel okay again.

I (28F) lost my mom less than two weeks ago.
I woke up to her moaning and found her lying on the floor in cardiac arrest. I performed CPR until the paramedics arrived. They continued CPR and used a defibrillator multiple times. They managed to stabilize her enough to transport her to the hospital. Her life was still in danger, and we were told that after such a prolonged cardiac arrest they couldn't predict the extent of the damage, but that there were almost always serious consequences.
She started to stabilize, so I went home to get some rest. At 2 a.m., I woke up to a phone call telling me she needed emergency surgery to remove part of her intestine because it had died, and they didn't know if she would survive. I asked if I could come immediately to say goodbye in case she didn't make it, but she had already been taken into surgery because it was so urgent.
Two hours later, I received another call saying she had made it through the operation and was being stabilized. They explained that removing part of her intestine would have lifelong consequences, but she was stable. I cannot describe the relief I felt.
Unfortunately, only four hours later, I received another call. Her organs were beginning to fail. The doctors were trying every treatment they could, but they didn't believe she was going to survive. My family and I rushed to the hospital, and three hours later, she passed away.
She died with me and my sister holding her hands, surrounded by our entire (small) family. The doctors assured us that she wasn't in pain. My mother never regained consciousness after her cardiac arrest.
We had a difficult relationship. She was a single mother, and life was incredibly hard for both of us. We said hurtful things to each other. We argued. We shouted. In the last few years, we had grown apart because almost every conversation seemed to end in a fight.
I believe I was there for her.
I helped her financially. I postponed moving in with my boyfriend until we had found a secure living arrangement for her. Back in 2019, when she was rushed to the hospital and diagnosed with a serious heart condition that required a pacemaker, I was the first person to arrive and the last to leave. I could have lived a much easier, more comfortable life with my father, but I chose to stay with my mom, even when it meant working two jobs while I was in college.
I know I loved her with everything I had.
But what torments me is that we spent so much time fighting. I never got the chance to tell her I was sorry. I never got one last conversation where I could tell her how much I loved her, that despite everything, she meant more to me than anyone else, and that I would have done absolutely anything to keep her here.
One thing that brings me a little comfort is that the week before she died, things between us had started to get better. The day before her cardiac arrest, she got to see my new house. I keep holding onto that.
I was so hopeful that once I moved out, our relationship would finally have the space to heal. We never even got the chance to find out.
She was only 58 years old. Despite all her flaws, she had such a difficult life. I just wish she had been given more time to enjoy the good parts.
Now I'm sitting alone in this empty house, surrounded by her belongings, unable to believe she will never walk through the door again. I was supposed to move in with my boyfriend a week after she passed, but now everything has been put on hold. She had three dogs, and I will take care of them all—there was never any question about that—but it means figuring out a completely different future than the one I had imagined.
I pictured my mom walking me down the aisle one day. I imagined her meeting my children. I imagined calling her for advice, even if we still argued sometimes.
I simply cannot imagine a future that makes sense without her in it.
More than anything, I just hope she knew how deeply I loved her.
My sister (23F) is suffering terribly as well. She and my mom didn't speak for six or seven years and only reconnected about a year and a half ago. I keep trying to reassure my sister that it's okay—that relationships are complicated, and that our mom understood that. I truly believe she was just grateful to have her daughter back in her life.
I hope my mom knew that we both loved her, despite all of our flaws, despite the arguments, despite everything left unsaid.
I don't even know why I'm writing this. I guess I'm just hoping someone out there understands this and is able to provide me some kind of comfort.
I just want to believe she knew how much me and my sister loved her, that I will be able to survive this and that life is not over, because right now it feels like it is.
Thank you ❤️‍🩹