In 2022, I experienced the loss of two maternal figures in my life within months of each other.  Their transitions led me down a spiral deep into my grief journey.

In December 2021, my mother was rushed to the hospital because she could barely breathe.  She had struggled with asthma, COPD, and emphysema for several years and had recently caught a cold.  Before I could make it to my hometown to see her, she was put on life support. 

When I arrived to my hometown, I went to the hospital to see my mother.  The hospital personnel would not let me visit her because I had my young daughter with me and at that time, children were not allowed in the hospital.  I panicked.  I called my aunt and she drove to the hospital to watch my daughter outside.

There was a noticeable difference in my mother's appearance.  She looked frail as tubes and wires were connected to her body.  The nurse arrived at the room to give me updates on her progress (or lack thereof).  She shared the options for her care and encouraged me to take her purse and other belongings with me for safe keeping.  I stayed in the room and spoke with my mother, who was unresponsive since she was intubated.  She would make subtle movements as I spoke to acknowledge my presence.  I knew this was the end.

Things began to move fast, and I had to make decisions with the plan we discussed just one month prior to this moment.  I decided to move her to hospice care at home.  My aunt and I made sure the space was cleaned and ready for her arrival.

When she arrived home, they took the tubes out and the hospice nurse told me that she had about 3 hours left of life.  She told me and my aunt how to care for her during the remaining hours. I suctioned mucus from her mouth and my aunt administered medication.

Our family was able to express our gratitude for her life and contributions, as well as have a beautiful goodbye.  As my mother was transitioning, I played her favorite music, I spoke to her, my daughter sang their favorite songs, and I played scriptures for her.  She transitioned at about 3 hours after her arrival home.

A few months after my mother transitioned, her sister (my Aunt Ava) died by gun violence at home one evening.  

On June 10, 2022, I woke up at 3 am after dreaming about a white owl flying right above my head as I was running through a field of tall grass.  The experience jolted me out of my sleep. When I woke up I saw that I had a missed call from my cousin, but no message.  I looked up what the dream meant and it read, "death".  I planned to call my aunt later in the day to check in.

A few hours later, while I was cooking French toast, I received a phone call from my uncle.  The only words I remember him saying are, "your aunt Ava was killed last night."

After we hung up, I had to tell myself to breathe and turn off the stove.  Once I caught my breath, tears poured from my eyes.  I couldn't believe it.  After that, phone calls started flowing in with people sending me their condolences and filling in the missing pieces to the story of her death.

I reflected on our last moments together.  She was there with me as my anchor as my mother was transitioning.  Easter was the last time I physically saw her when I went to visit to clear some of my mother's room and pick up her car.  We laughed, talked and she made one of my favorite meals, meatloaf and baked macaroni and cheese.  

I remember driving away and looking back to see her smiling and waving from the porch of our childhood home.  This would be the last time I saw her beautiful smile and tasted her amazing cooking.

The last time we spoke on the phone was for 12 minutes, approximately 6 days before her death.  We laughed, caught up, but we were both slightly distracted with what was occurring on our respective sides of the phone.

I was drowning in my grief by this time.  I lost the matriarchs of my family within months of each other.  My heart and mind could not catch up with each other. I knew what my reality was and yet, I could not believe it was true.  My life changed instantly.

Shortly after that, my uncles decided to sell the family home.  I understood the reasons why, but that added to my grief.

I bought myself a set of sound bowls to support me on my grief journey.  I would play and the vibrations supported my release, anchored me back into my body, and connected me deeper with my ancestors.

When I play my sound bowls, I hear them speak to me, guiding me to the tone that is needed next to provide the most support.  Vibrational sound healing has been the bridge between two worlds for me.

The first time that I played my sound bowls at a retreat, red birds flew by and a dragonfly landed right on my heart. It was sweet confirmation that this is a part of my medicine now.

Prior to my mother's death, I was enrolled in a self-paced Death Doula Certification course.  Navigating my own grief delayed my completion of the program.  In 2024, I had an opportunity to complete another Death Doula Certification Program in-person with Death Ed with Erin from The Deathwives.  I was awarded a scholarship to attend and received my certification.

I am still on my grief journey and will be on my grief journey for the rest of my life.  Along the way, I have gained some new skills and ways to support myself and others on their own unique grief journeys.  I’ve honored and intentionally made space to be present with my grief.  The essence of my grief offerings is to create space to honor and ritualize grief with community and not in isolation.