When your fight or flight response is going, it can be easier to get things done. You can zero in on the next step or goal and your surging adrenaline propels you toward it. I would have never guessed that loss and grief could induce drive.

The first year after losing my mother, I was filled with shock and anxiety. But as time flowed on, that surging energy dissipated and left me in a fog of sadness and depression. I felt angry and irritable as well. I was hard on myself, angry that I was angry, sad because of my sadness. Sometimes I took those feelings out on people close to me, but I mostly took it out on myself. I was so emotionally exhausted that I began to look for ways to escape.

I watched a lot of television and movies, ate a lot of comfort food and drank a lot of wine, and looked for entertainment and distractions, avoiding my own pain.

I started writing and talking to friends about what I was going through. But grief is personal and not many can relate (especially people my age, who usually haven’t experienced a major loss). One of the most surprising reactions I got was: “At least you had a mom that loved you.”

Through sharing my story, I realized even more how lucky I am that I got to be Glenna’s daughter. But I also began to realize how many people missed out on the sense of purpose, place, and stability I grew up with. And that brought me back to sadness.

I began to worry for myself, because, why did it seem to be getting harder?

I went looking outside of my circle and found some answers in online grief support groups. After reading the stories of others I learned that it is actually common for the second year to feel harder than the first. The outpouring of support stops – other people go back to normal. But I can’t go back to “normal”. My normal will never be the same again. I have to build a new normal: a new support system, a new sense of purpose, a new life without her.

Another surprising challenge is letting go of the pain of grief. That pain can feel like a way to keep her in my life. Letting it go can feel like letting her slip away. But as I am learning and working and letting the anger and sadness go, I see the fog lifting, and she is still there. I am learning to embrace clarity and am seeing that she is always going to be a part of my life.

I don’t need to worry about forgetting her.