It has to be a single leaf, floating through the sky by itself. Do you have a mom sign? By Kandace Chapple
We pull ornaments from boxes labeled in my mother’s loopy cursive, giving our tree the same homespun look hers always had. By Mary Janevic
I ignored her recipe for many years as a way to avoid the loss. By Marcia Kester Doyle
How exactly could I break this news to a kid who already went to bed every night scared of death to the point of tears? By Tanya Mozias Slavin
Losing my mother, especially at a young age, was like losing my compass. By Gina Luongo
My mom took off her scarf and revealed her bald head. We all braced ourselves, but the woman at the shop didn’t flinch. By Kandace Chapple
On carrying grief forward, not getting over it. A Motherwell interview with Nora McInerny.
So much of who we are has to do with how we think about our own parents and our own childhood.
I didn’t have my therapist hat on when my son went through his grief—I was just his mom, muddling through it alongside him. By Lori Gottlieb
If my belly was round and full of baby, would I hate my body less? This body that betrayed me. By Brittany Wren
It had been a long time since I’d heard her laugh. It felt like clouds parting. By Stewart Lewis
Time heals so much of what goes wrong in life, but the memory of what happened to Mum on that day still makes my body react. By Clover Stroud
You will be in your slippers, making waffles, and suddenly remember that your mother is dead. By Brianne DeRosa
After we gave it all to Goodwill, I lived in fear every day that I would see somebody else wearing my mom’s clothes. By Kandace Chapple
Fourteen teenagers and three teachers are dead who were not dead a few of weeks ago, and my house is falling apart, and my children are at school. By Brianne DeRosa
Nobody will send flowers. You don’t even have a face to conjure when you think of this child. By Maggie Downs
For what seems like a single frame of the video, I see my child silhouetted in the lights of the oncoming car. By Ian Smith
I can’t imagine spreading my legs and letting doctors make quick work of this loss.
By Nicole Piasecki
I’m postpartum. Without a newborn. At 20 weeks of pregnancy, my baby didn’t make it.
By Jenn Press Arata
Both my children hate being around me and water—I’m the parent whose urgent, borderline hysteria ruins all the fun.
By Christie Tate
What makes this an exceptional book is that it always steers its eye away from self-pity and toward a greater understanding of love and acceptance.
Abigail Rasminsky and Mira Ptacin
Would having another baby after 50 salve my grief over my children leaving home?
By Andrea Jarrell