How Do You Grieve Someone Who Is Still Alive?
Grief, Motherhood, and Starting Over in Midlife
Hey you, it’s me! 💋
Well, here I am, supposed to be packing for Austin, and instead I’m sitting here writing to you. LOL. If you read my last note, Returning to Austin in Midlife: A Letter to Who I Used to Be, you already know this trip has me feeling all kinds of emotions. What I haven’t told you is that I almost didn’t go.
Tuesday afternoon, I was completely overwhelmed. Season five of the podcast is finally here, I’m working on my second book, and November 3rd is right around the corner, which means Silent to Spoken will be available as an eBook. Between deadlines, responsibilities, and trying to remember everything I need to get done before leaving, I had plenty of reasons to put off packing. At least that’s what I kept telling myself.
But sitting there looking at my suitcase, I knew there was something else going on. I was already feeling that familiar ache in my heart about going back to Austin. I knew I would be driving down streets, passing restaurants, and seeing places filled with memories of a life that looks so different today. And woven into so many of those memories is someone I miss every single day, my older daughter.
I think that’s what I was trying to avoid. The possibility of being somewhere that once felt so familiar and realizing just how much has changed. Because it’s one thing to look back at pictures and remember the good times, but it’s another to physically stand in the places where those memories were made. I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced that, but sometimes a familiar place can bring back feelings you thought you’d already worked through.
And goodness, have I been thinking about how much life has changed over these last few years.
The book I started writing while living in Austin is now out in the world. Can you believe that? Something that began as words on my computer, during a season when I was trying to make sense of my own life, is now sitting on bookshelves and being read by people I’ve never met. There are moments when I still have to remind myself that I actually did it. I wrote the book. I found the courage to share parts of my story that I spent years keeping quiet, and now those words have a life of their own.
I wish I could go back and tell the woman who started writing that book everything that’s happened since. I’d tell her about the adventures she’s going to take, the people she’ll meet, the places she’ll see, and all the moments that will make her laugh until her stomach hurts. I’d tell her she’s going to find parts of herself she didn’t even realize she’d lost. And I’d probably give her the biggest hug because I know there are some really hard days ahead, too.
Those years have held so much joy and laughter alongside sadness and tears. There have been beautiful memories, unexpected opportunities, new beginnings, and experiences I wouldn’t trade for anything. There have also been moments that have brought me to my knees, moments when I’ve questioned everything and wished I could change things that were completely out of my control.
And maybe that’s part of what makes getting older so emotional. You begin to see how much life can change in just a few years. Our children grow up, relationships shift, people come and go, and sometimes the life we thought we’d be living looks nothing like the one we’re standing in today.
Which brings me to something that’s been weighing on my heart.
How do you grieve someone who is still alive?
I’ve experienced the grief of losing my dad. I know what it’s like to wish for one more conversation, one more hug, or even one more ordinary day together. Losing someone you love changes you, and there are still moments when I wish I could pick up the phone and hear his voice.
But grieving someone who is still alive is something I’m still trying to understand. How do you make sense of missing someone who is out there living their life, making memories, celebrating birthdays, and experiencing things you no longer get to be part of? How do you stop wondering whether they’re happy, whether they’re doing okay, or whether they ever think about you, too?
I don’t have those answers.
Today, I’m just a mom who misses her daughter.
And as much as I can look around and see the beautiful life I’m living, there are still pieces of the life I once knew that I wish I could have back. I miss the ordinary things, the moments you don’t think twice about while they’re happening because you assume there will always be more of them.
With the holidays approaching, those feelings seem to get a little louder. We’re planning a family trip to Breckenridge, and I’m genuinely excited about it. I can’t wait to make new memories, laugh, explore, and enjoy being together. But somewhere in the middle of all that excitement, I find myself wondering what my daughter will be doing. What will her holidays look like? Is she happy? Is she surrounded by people who love her?
I think one of the hardest parts of motherhood is realizing that loving your children doesn’t mean you’ll always know what’s happening in their lives. And when there’s distance between you, whether it’s physical or emotional, that love doesn’t suddenly disappear. You still carry it around with you, even on the days when you’re laughing, traveling, working, or doing all the things that make life beautiful.
Estrangement is complicated, and I know there are different sides to every story. I also know there are parents and children carrying their own hurt, trying to figure out what healing looks like for them. I can only speak from where I’m standing, and some days that means admitting that I miss my daughter more than I know how to put into words.
I wonder how many of us are walking around carrying grief that other people can’t see. Maybe it’s a child you haven’t spoken to, a parent you wish you had a different relationship with, a friendship that ended, or a marriage that didn’t turn out the way you imagined. Maybe you’re grieving a version of your own life that you thought would last forever.
It’s a strange feeling to be genuinely grateful for where life has taken you and still wish certain things had turned out differently. I’ve had some of the most incredible experiences of my life over these last few years, and I wouldn’t want to miss a single one of them. But there are people I wish could have been there to share those moments with me.
And that’s where I find myself as I get ready to return to Austin.
I think part of me is grieving the woman I used to be, the life I once knew, and the memories I made there. I’m also looking at everything that’s happened since I left and realizing how much I’ve grown. I have a published book that started in that very city, a podcast I’m incredibly proud of, new adventures ahead, and a life that continues to surprise me.
Maybe going back is something I need to do. Maybe I need to drive those familiar streets, let the memories come, shed a few tears if that’s what happens, and remind myself that those moments will always be part of my story.
I don’t want to spend so much time wishing I could change yesterday that I miss what’s happening today. There are still places I want to see, memories I want to make, people I want to love, and a whole lot of life I want to live.
And somewhere in all of that, I’ll keep hoping that some relationships find their way toward healing. I don’t know what that will look like or when it might happen, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with leaving room in your heart for hope.
So, my suitcase is getting packed, and I’m heading back to Austin. I may cry when I drive past certain places. I might laugh at memories I haven’t thought about in years. I may even surprise myself and realize that some things don’t hurt quite as much as I expected. Or maybe I’ll be an emotional mess. LOL. Honestly, at this point, your guess is as good as mine.
But I’m going, and I’m looking forward to enjoying the trip.
Maybe going back is part of moving forward.
Well, thanks for listening to me today. I know this was a little heavier than our usual chats, but sometimes I just need to get what’s on my heart out of my head and onto paper. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from writing Silent to Spoken, it’s that keeping everything bottled up doesn’t make those feelings go away.
Before I go, can I ask you something? Have you ever had to grieve someone who was still alive, or found yourself missing a chapter of your life even though you’re happy with where you are today? How did you work through those feelings? Did going back to familiar places help you, or did it bring up emotions you weren’t expecting?
I’d really love to hear your story. Come write me back in The Sweet Spot’s Pen Pal section. You know I love hearing from you, and sometimes I think we all just need a place where we can say what we’re feeling without having to explain every little detail.
Okay, enough tears for today. I’ve got a suitcase to pack, a trip to take, and apparently a whole lot of emotions coming along for the ride. I’ll let you know how Austin goes!
Until our next chat, just stay sweet!
I love you,
Jenn 💋
P.S. Silent to Spoken will be available as an eBook on November 3rd! It’s hard to believe the book I started writing in Austin is now out in the world. If you’ve ever felt like you lost your voice somewhere along the way, I hope you’ll find a little piece of yourself in its pages.