When my mother died, I remember wanting to call her – to tell her that she had died. It was a weird feeling I could not describe. One that still brings tears to my eyes when I remember how I felt that day when I noticed I would never be able to call her again.

That one time feeling of wanting to call my mum to tell her that she had died was jarring enough – I did not get that urge again, however, I remember her everyday.

Many years after she was buried, I still hear her voice everyday – after I’ve done the dishes, I would hear her voice telling me to remove all the food debris from the sink. 

This was something she would always check me on when I was young and more than twenty years on, I still hear her voice every time I am at the sink doing the dishes.

I never thought that would be my everyday reminder of my mum – decades after she had been buried. 

This week, a reader reached out to me about how long grief lasts and how it shapes us in our everyday lives.  Her message transported me back to that moment when I wanted to phone my mother and tell her that she had died.

The message from this dear reader stayed with me as my day progressed. However, when I decided to write on what she had messaged me about, it was not the jarring experience on the night my mother died that came to my attention. It was her voice everyday at the sink that gave me these words.

Years ago, I was telling a friend that it was coming up to my mother’s tenth anniversary as well as a big milestone for me. Naturally, I was struggling with grief as I looked back on my journey through life without her. My friend asked me if it was not time to finish grieving and move forward with my life.

I had never thought there was an expiry date on grieving – my experience with grief is like learning to breathe under water. It is impossible to begin with – and it takes time to finally learn that you can come up for breath.

Losing a loved one changes you in ways many struggle to find words for. For years, I have had an immense fear of loved ones falling ill. I learnt that illness could take away the people I love – and so even a hospital stay, could trigger anxiety in me that is almost unbearable.

What losing my mother taught me was that you could not love someone enough to life – I have struggled to give love freely. There is this fear I cannot quite explain – because I have come to know that when people die, then that’s it. Finality and silence. Void. 

So when my friend asked me if I had not grieved long enough, he did not understand what the loss had cost me back then and what it still does.

A loved one was hospitalised a couple of years ago – the anxiety and overthinking about the possibility of them not coming back home made me physically sick.

Because when my mum left home for the hospital a week before Christmas, I was expecting her back home but she never returned.

Her not returning compounded my fear a couple of years ago when my loved one was hospitalised. The fear was so strong that it altered my relationship with this person. A phone call from them almost always sent me into panic.

Because what if they are ill again? Do they need to be in hospital? What will happen if they don’t come back home? What if I don’t get to see them, hear them, hug them or simply have them in my life again?

I kept checking their status on social media to see if they were still active  – then panic attacks when I did not see them active.

I could not concentrate at work – there were moments when I had to take time to breathe through the panic.

If I am being honest, loss has shaped how I relate to people and altered how I respond to loved ones falling ill. It’s almost like I have forgotten that people can recover.

So when this precious reader asked me about how long grief should last – I did not have an answer. Because after over two decades, many therapy sessions, countless books on grief – I still haven’t learnt to breathe under water.

Some days the currents are peaceful and gentle and I can simply float and let the currents carry me. Then there are days when I have to fight to come up for breath.

Her question made me remember how angry I was at my friend for questioning if I had not grieved enough already. I was angry at him for highlighting something I had been afraid to face. Why was I not over it?

Thinking back, I now know that my anger was simply because I had many unanswered questions – my mother was supposed to come home for Christmas and I had no answers why she did not return. Why didn’t she recover? Why was I not over it?

With time, I would come to know that I was not over it because I had experienced how unpredictable life could be and how painful losing a loved one is.

I was not over it because love no longer felt safe and depending on someone felt uncertain now.

I have come to accept that I will never be over it – I have made peace with that.

So whether at the kitchen sink or in a memory – however my mum comes to mind, I allow myself to feel whatever comes up. 

Somedays I am the teenage girl who just doesn’t get why it’s such a big deal that I left some food in the sink after doing the dishes. 

Other days, I am the woman who appreciates my mother’s guidance on taking care of my surroundings, including the kitchen sink.

Both these feelings are true and I no longer fight or suppress them. I sit with them.

Whenever I begin to question why I am not over it – I name what I am feeling and leave it at that. 

I don’t try to delve into the why – I simply acknowledge what I am feeling and leave it at that.

There is no expiration date on grief and the feelings of abandonment that comes with someone you love dying – I know this well, I have lived it.

So, if you have been wondering lately why you are not over it, why some days feel like you are drowning in anxiety; then the journaling prompts I created – When did I disappear – may have space for you. 

And when you feel like you can’t come up for breath, I encourage you to be kind, compassionate and patient with yourself as you navigate life after loss.