I still mother them….

The Version of Me I Had to Become

If you knew me before I lost my children, you probably knew a different version of me.

And the truth is… sometimes I miss her too.

Grief changes you. Not in the cute little “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” kind of way people like to post on coffee mugs. It changes you in ways you don’t even realize at first. Quietly. Slowly. Completely.

There are parts of me that disappeared the day Vincent died. And then, somehow, after surviving what I thought was the worst thing imaginable, I had to bury Gabriella too. Losing one child shattered me. Losing two rearranged every piece that was left.

People sometimes expect you to bounce back. To become some polished version of resilience. To heal neatly. To return to the person you once were.

But grief doesn’t work like that.

You spend years trying to gather the shattered pieces of yourself. You glue together what you can. You learn to breathe again. You laugh sometimes and then feel guilty for it. You survive birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, random Tuesdays that hurt for absolutely no reason at all.

And just when you think maybe you’ve figured out how to carry it, life pokes at those fragile places again.

I think one of the hardest parts is realizing that people who knew you before don’t always understand who you are now. The woman who used to say yes to everything. The one who trusted easier. The one who didn’t overthink every goodbye or panic when someone doesn’t answer the phone.

That woman carries scars now.

Not bitterness. Not anger. Just… scars.

I protect my heart differently these days. My circle is smaller. My energy is guarded. I no longer chase people, beg for understanding, or exhaust myself trying to explain grief to people who have never sat in its heavy silence.

Because when you’ve experienced the kind of heartbreak that rewrites your entire life, you learn pretty quickly what deserves your time and what doesn’t.

But here’s what I also know:

Grief didn’t just take pieces of me. It revealed pieces too.

It showed me strength I never wanted to have. It deepened my compassion. It introduced me to people who speak the language of loss without needing long explanations. It taught me that surviving impossible things does not make you unbreakable, but it does make you softer in some places and fiercer in others.

Am I the same person I was before my children died?

No.

Not even close.

But I am still here.

Still loving them. Still mothering them. Still carrying them into every room I walk into. Still finding purpose in helping others survive the unbearable.

And maybe that’s what grief really is.

Not moving on.

But learning how to carry love and heartbreak in the very same hands. 💜