From Rebecca: Reflecting on My Mom's 22nd Death Anniversary

I used to feel guilty that my mom’s death anniversary didn’t wreck me every year. My mom not being around is so integrated into my life that, honestly, July 31st is just another day. When you've lived most of your life without someone, those “griefy” days might not stand out as much. And that’s ok.

We acknowledge difficult days in our grief; birthdays and death anniversaries of our dead loved ones usually fall into that category. In many talks I give and posts we put up on Grieve Leave, I suggest that folks take the day off from work and school to give themselves some space to feel their feelings on those big, heavy days.

But, when it comes down to it, birthdays and death anniversaries for your person aren’t always heavy– and that doesn’t mean you’re doing this grief thing wrong.

For me, days I would identify as “griefy” actually range in difficulty. My dad’s birthday and death anniversary have knocked the wind out of me in the past 4+ years since he died. But my mom’s birthday, and her death anniversary? They don’t impact me, typically, in the same ways. This year marks the 22nd anniversary of my mom's death. For over two decades, this day has often passed with a quiet acknowledgment, maybe a twinge of sadness, but nothing earth-shattering. It's been part of the fabric of my life for so long that it's almost become... normal.

Yet, this year feels different for me, because of where I am. I'm spending the summer in Montreal, the city where my mom grew up. And because of that, I'm feeling a pull to be more intentional about how I spend her death anniversary.

Grief doesn't follow a rulebook. There's no "right" way to feel on a death anniversary, whether it's the first or the twenty-second. Some years, the pain might feel raw and overwhelming. Other years, it might be a gentle ache in the background of an otherwise ordinary day. All of that is valid and real.

This year, I’m giving myself the chance to lean into feelings that maybe I’ve never noticed before…or maybe they haven’t been there, who knows. I'm focusing on connection: connection with my mom's memory, with the places that shaped her, with the family members who share this loss.

And, in a way, I'm actually looking forward to my mom's death anniversary this year. Sorry if that’s a weird thing to say.

Here's how I’m planning to spend the days around her death anniversary:

• Walk by the houses where she grew up. There's something powerful about standing in the same spots where she once stood, seeing the views she once saw.
• Visit her high school and elementary school. These are probably the normal things you'd do with a parent as they tour you around their hometown. I never got that chance with my mom, so I'm creating that experience for myself now.
• Eat some Rocky Road ice cream - her favorite. This is a tradition I’ve been doing for years on her birthday and death anniversary, and I’m excited to hunt for some Canadian rocky road this time.
• Spend time with my brother. We haven't been together on her death anniversary in years. There's something special about sharing memories with someone who knew her too, especially in the city where she grew up.
• Look at old photos and find some more of her favorite spots in Montreal. Maybe I'll go visit a café she loved or a park where she used to play.

This intentional approach isn't easy. It means deliberately stepping into spaces that might bring up emotions I haven’t made space for before. It means acknowledging the enormity of what I never got to experience with my mom.

But it also feels motivating– exciting, even– because this year is an opportunity to get to know my mom in a new way, to understand the places and experiences that shaped her in this vibrant city.

If you're navigating a death anniversary, a birthday, or some other important day connected with your person - whether it's the first or the fifty-first - remember that there's no "right" way to do it. Your grief is yours. Honor it in whatever way feels authentic to you, even if that means eating ice cream and wandering around your loved one's old neighborhood.

And if you're supporting someone who's grieving, remember that showing up matters, even if it feels awkward or insufficient. A simple "I'm thinking of you today" can mean more than you know.

Next week, you’ll find me in Montreal, walking the streets my mom once walked, eating her favorite ice cream, and allowing myself to feel whatever comes up. Because that's what grief is - a mix of sadness and joy, nostalgia and hope, all wrapped up in love that continues long after someone is gone, especially when you're standing in the place they once called home.