3/8/2016 Here’s a big deal, a really big deal. My mother died last March after suffering mercilessly from lung cancer. It was eight months of sickness and pain, as she tried and tried to beat it, be strong, and not think like a patient. But cancer is an asshole, and doesn’t care that it blindsides victims that don’t deserve the torture. She was the love of our lives, the light in our eyes, and we can’t have her anymore. My sadness is so heavy, but my role in my family is to always be strong and get things done. The burden is great, but I have to be a role model, like my mother was for me, for all of us. In a way, I feel that I have to follow in her footsteps, but I’m no match. If I hadn’t been going to grief counseling for the last year, I think I’d be in pieces.

My mother, who my girls called Nana, helped me raise my daughters. Without her, I would’ve failed miserably, and felt so alone and worthless as a mother. She loved me unconditionally, didn’t make me feel ashamed that I didn’t raise my kids in a traditional nuclear family, and treated my children as if she gave birth to them herself. She loved them possibly more than she loved me, which is ok in my book! My mother was seemingly put on this earth to be a grandmother; she embraced the role with such excitement and pizzazz, teaching them about loving yourself, finding joy even in the face of obstacles, and being in the moment. Nana was part of everything in their lives—having moved here from across the country when my older daughter was a baby—birthday parties, recitals, tea parties, school events, first steps, first periods, everything.

My girls were extraordinarily close with their nana, and she was therefore just as hurt and guilt ridden as I was when this daughter went off her path. Nana tried so hard to connect with her, but during the worst times, my daughter rejected her, stole from her, manipulated her, and used her. My mother still loved her granddaughter unconditionally, though she would tell me that she felt so sad and disappointed. I’m sure my mother tried to warn me about some things—she was pretty savvy—but I spent a lot of time in denial and didn’t want to hear it.

It’s almost a year now, and I’ve grieved daily. I’ve shared my feelings with my children (I want them to know it’s ok to be human) and even got them together recently to pay tribute to the most wonderful woman we’ve ever known. When she passed away, my sister and I had a tree planted in her honor, and my girls and I visited it and took some time to talk about our feelings. Well, my older daughter and I did the talking while her sister listened. I imagine she had a silent dialogue, and I’m sure she feels extraordinarily guilty about how terribly she treated her devoted grandmother for so long, and hasn’t come to terms with it. I’ve offered her grief counseling, but she doesn’t accept therapy of any kind.

This all said, I’m sure this is why my daughter is so depressed lately—more emotional than usual and more difficult to get along with. Her unspoken, but extraordinary, grief is probably to blame for her breakup. And it goes deeper: You see, as I’ve mentioned before, she’s a big animal lover, and over the course of the last year, her beloved cat (her favorite of all time) died suddenly under her watch, and she’s had to give away other sweet pets. The losses are surely overwhelming for her, coupled with her guilt and shame.

As her mother, I feel so sad for her. As her mother, I’m here every minute. I’d take a call in the middle of the night or the middle of a meeting if she needed me. I wish she would reach out. I wish I could help.