Have you ever experienced the passing of one of your parents? It is certainly one of the agonies of life, no matter how we wish to describe it. And one we can’t avoid. We are deeply affected by their absence in our lives.

I lost my mom some years ago. Upon her passing, I experienced an empty and hollow feeling within, like a part of me was missing. Sadness descended like an enormous weight, pulling me downward. I learned that when I was overcome with sorrow, allowing the tears to flow provided a great release. And it would happen oftentimes at such surprising moments, as it still does, triggered by a word or a scent or a song. With my mom the word is humble, for indeed she was. Whenever I see that word, she is there with me. The scent is of lilacs, one of the blooms that grew in our front yard. And the song is “Let It Be,” her favorite piece.

One day, soon after she had passed, I realized that she was not entirely gone from me. It was her blood, her cells and that of my fathers that commingled in the womb, creating me. I knew she would always be a part of me. And I knew I couldn’t deny that. I didn’t want to deny that. That realization brought me some consolation. But the real consolation came one day, a few weeks later, when I was taking a walk in the forest. I felt an uncanny presence and I knew, beyond a doubt, that Mom was near. There was unforgettable warmth that enveloped me and I knew I’d be okay. I began to feel closer to her after that, thinking of her more often than I ever had before. At the time, it was unreal that I would feel so, since we had not been that close in real life.

I didn’t deny that feeling I had sensed or ignore it or dismiss it entirely as a figment of my imagination which I could have. Instead, I began to embrace the sensation and as I did so, it became stronger and more comfortable. I found I could talk to her as I never could before.

That feeling became particularly evident to me when I had a difficult decision to make. And when it happened, I was always out walking in the forest. At these times, I did not hear her voice, but I felt a jolt of confidence and I knew she was helping me, not with words as she might do if she were still physically present. But with the boost she gave me. And it continues to this day. Not every walk or every day, but often. Mother Nature was and is a great panacea for me when I am struggling. When I’m surrounded by the beauty of a clear blue sky, a gentle wind and enchanting birdsong, the insight I get is amazing and clear as the azure sky overhead.

In time, I came to realize that my tears actually honored my mom — the love we had shared, the fond memories of the good times … My tears of sadness eventually transformed to tears of happiness and gratefulness for those good times and the mother I once knew. But that transformation didn’t happen overnight.

Transformation takes time and no specific amount of time. I sometimes caught myself thinking I should feel better by now. But no, I needed more time; my grieving needed more time. Isn’t it the human condition to want to speed things up, to get through it, to get over it? Gradually, I accepted the time I needed, allowing that time to pass without my judgement of it. And knowing that I might never be over it, entirely.

In coping with the lessening sadness, I realized I could help others by not only listening to them but hearing them, too. For we all grieve at some point. At times, I experienced some contrary feelings — regret for times now lost, moments not shared and which can never be again — a grandchild’s first steps, first word, special birthday. I realized the finality of it all and wished we’d had more time together. Maybe I was feeling guilty that I didn’t help out more or even angry at feeling abandoned by her.

When these feelings plagued me, I had to remind myself of what I was doing during those years. Was I working outside the home? Was I also running the household? Was I raising my family? I know Mom was glad that I had the children, her grandchildren, and had fond memories of those times and those she herself had, raising her own family. I couldn’t allow myself to dwell on those feelings of regret. I had to remember that it wasn’t her choice. It was her “time” — time to leave, time to pass on.

The past has passed. All I can do is to learn from that and take time now to spend with those I love. What matters is the love I feel for others and for my mom. And I can allow that love to radiate to all I come in contact with.

I have observed that when a parent passes, the children may either draw closer together in a more loving survival or pull farther apart as envy and jealousy erode the very foundation of family. I was fortunate that my three siblings and I grew closer together, discovering a deeper relationship than we had ever had with each other.

We need to remember that what always remains is the family and all the relationships within it. Differences among siblings need not become paramount at this time. We each grieve; we each suffer differently and that very thing can unite us even further as we become more present to and for each other. We need to focus on the positives happening around us to get us through our deep grieving time.

We honor the life-giving blood of our parents and all the ups and downs of living in a family. We are born. We live. We pass on. And hopefully, those we touch during our lifetime will continue on to touch others with a positive light. May that be our legacy … to our children, friends and relatives … to be a shining light in the lives of others — a spark to ignite the fire of love within each and every one.

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Debby Havas is an author living in Jay.