On February 12th, my mother would have been 71 years young. Wow. Just thinking about it makes my heart swell with love and longing. I miss her big, beautiful, bright smile, her warm hugs, and her assertive yet gentle wisdom. She had a way of offering counsel that was both firm and full of love—a rare gift that left a lasting impact on everyone who knew her.
She was the epitome of FOFO (if you know, you know). Quiet yet powerful, kind yet commanding, brilliant yet humble. She had a heart that gave endlessly and a spirit that spoke volumes, even in silence. She mostly kept to herself, but when the music started? Oh, she loved to dance! No doubt, that’s where I get my love for movement. She carried an energy that made you take notice, and even now, 25 years after her transition, I feel that energy guiding me.
This week, I took some time off from work because, honestly, grief has no roadmap. I never know exactly how I’ll feel on her birthday or other special days. Some years, I reflect with a full heart and a smile. Other years, the weight of missing her feels heavier. And that’s okay. Grief isn’t something we “get over.” We just learn how to carry it differently.
Though I’ve written books, essays, and stories about my journey with grief, there’s no way to predict how any of us will respond to loss—or for how long. We never forget our loved ones; we simply learn how to live without their physical presence. And in doing so, we find our own ways to honor them.
For me, it’s writing. It’s pausing to reflect. It’s choosing love, over and over again. And most of all, it’s living a life filled with joy, because I know my mother would want that.
If you’re navigating grief, whether fresh or decades old, know that your journey is your own. Honor your loved ones in a way that feels right for you. Maybe it’s through writing, creating, storytelling, dancing, or simply sitting with their memory. Whatever it is, let it be your way, in your time.
And if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s this: every time I look in the mirror, I see my mother. I see my ancestors. And I am warmed by the knowledge that I am their wildest dream come true.
How do you honor your loved ones? Let’s keep their memory alive together.
With love, gratitude, and warm reflection,
Stacie J. Whitaker-Harris
Daughter of Barbara Ann DeLoatch-Whitaker-Jones and Edward L. Whitaker
PS: "I'll always love my Momma, she's my favorite girl" by The Intruders
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