Grief Fragments is a raw, ongoing diary about being by my mother’s side as she faces terminal cancer. It is an attempt to process—and survive—grief in real-time, to stay connected to life in the midst of death, to write the unspeakable, to bear the unbearable, and to record the final months, weeks, and days I have left with my mother. I am writing for my life.
My mother passed away on June 14th, 2025. What follows is a diary of the last days of her life.
June 2nd, 2025
I made the call to finally change hospice providers. I think any agency will be better than this one. They stole time. They stole my energy. They caused me horrible stress. I had heart palpitations when I had to interact with them. I hope I did the right thing.
I am so exhausted. I feel shaky, not solid. My body trembles. My heart races. I've never been this terrified in all my life. Watching her die will be the end of me. It's the end of the version of me that currently exists.
What will I live for? What is there to live for? I want love, joy, beauty, peace. That's all I've ever wanted, but life gave me all this suffering. All these stones.
When I am outside in the lush greenery of June, I think of Hildegard von Bingen's viriditas, which is "the greening power of God." I feel the electricity and pulsation of life. I want to collapse on the grass and merge with the earth. I want to feel the earth breathe under my body. I want my life to be enough. I want to be enough.
I am lifeless now. Not a spark inside me. Two darknesses—the one inside me and the one outside—touch and become the same.
June 3rd, 2025
Time is different now. Time is full of death. She is waiting to die. As time passes, the cancer spreads.
Nurse from the new hospice agency came out for the first visit. It went well. I think this agency will be better. I hope.
June 4th, 2025
I don't know how I am surviving this. I am in hell. This is hell. The torment is unspeakable.
I will not recover. I will not.
My parents each have a piece of my soul, and I have a piece of theirs. The love they gave me will always live inside me.
I have no god. I must be my own god, my own savior. I must find the strength inside myself.
In the rare moments when I receive a card or email, I feel briefly soothed. Some people do care. Some people still have humanity.
June 9th, 2025
I've never felt so strong in all my life. The body is automatic—it moves and breathes and works even as life disintegrates. I still laugh. I cook meals, wash dishes, sleep, dream, sob. The present suffuses me. My purpose is to stay alive so that I can hand her over to death, whole and loved.
"The first sign of life is a scream of pain. You know, when the air first enters the alveoli in the baby's lungs, it causes unspeakable suffering. The first sign of life is pain."
—Marguerite Duras, The Places of Marguerite Duras
We don't choose life in the womb. We are forced to live. It's later that we must make a choice. When the catastrophe happens, when everything is stolen, how do we choose life?
My reverence for life only came in my 30s.
I am alone. I am disillusioned by the world. Art is the only constant. Poems, songs, films. I fill my empty life with them.
She's struggling with unexplained nausea. Her stomach hurts. It's possible the cancer has spread.
June 10th, 2025
She can't stand. Things are getting worse.
Her nurse is concerned. He was honest that she might be near the end. There is no explanation for the grogginess, stomach pain, and low blood pressure. She is hardly eating or drinking. He wants a nurse to come out every day. He doesn't know if she will improve or get worse. I am reeling. This is happening more quickly than we expected. The doctors said she might have six to nine months left. It's only been one month since the diagnosis.
She is sleeping most of the time. The cancer is most likely spreading. We have no way of knowing for certain.
This evening, I stood by her side and held her hand. I said I loved her. She said she loved me. She stared into my eyes. I can't describe how intense it was. She looked at me like she will never see me again. I cried.
I thought she'd make it to summer, to my birthday.
I sat on the porch and violently sobbed. I watched birds fly above me, so unknowing. I can't believe this is happening.
June 13th, 2025
She is out of it. Hasn't eaten in over a week. She's already gone. She will never be herself again.
At least I know how strong I am.
I was able to get a video of her saying she loved me. She said I was the love of her life. I told her she was mine.
I am alive because of her love. It feels like a physical force inside my body. That must be why I am still standing.
This world didn't deserve her.
A moment comes every night when everything hits me. It is pure terror at being left alone in this cold and soulless world. All the memories rush over me. I am losing everything.
I can use this loss for either transformation or destruction. I must go toward life. If I plunge into the dark abyss—like I did after my father's death—I will never come out.
She is barely lucid. Doesn't speak much. Mainly sleeps. Her body is shutting down. She might go soon. She will not make it to the end of the month.
Saturday - June 14th, 2025
She's not lucid much at all. I wonder if she will survive the weekend. I have a bad feeling.
I can't access all my emotions right now. I have to make it through each moment.
I put on a YouTube playlist of 90s country music for her. It was a happy time in our lives. We would listen to the radio while driving in the car.
We'll never be together in a car. We'll never go to a restaurant again. I think of all the things we will never do.
I love her. I will always love her.
This is annihilating.
I still can't believe so few people cared or reached out. It's a wound that might never heal. I have to use the pain. At least I know who to trust.
Death came into my life too early, and it tainted me. Every moment was burdened with its eventual end. I knew too much too soon. I knew how fragile and fleeting everything is. Then, I had to survive in a world that desecrates and defiles life at every turn. I love life so deeply that I cannot let it go, I can't accept that it ends, I can't be careless with it.
Mama's breathing became more labored as the day wore on.
Briefly, she was lucid enough to tell me she loved me. I held her hand and said I loved her.
That night, I watched as she took her last breaths. The breathing just stopped. As the reality sunk in, I sobbed and moaned.
She is gone forever. I will never be the same.
My father died in May of 2006. She died in June of 2025. They passed 19 years apart.
I am 35 years old. The people I loved more than anything are now gone. My parents were my soul mates.
June 15th, 2025
My parents showed me what love is. I came into this world loved. I will love them forever. I will stay alive to carry on that love.
It was an honor to be their daughter. I am overwhelmed with gratitude.
She was there when I took my first breath, and I was with her when she took her last. It was a holy experience. She was at peace and surrounded by love.
The question is not how to live. The question is how to use my life.
I feel more peace about her death because I protected her, fought for her, was there for her, and did all I could to take care of her.
I didn't find a strength—a new strength was created in me because I witnessed her strength.
There was a rainbow this evening. It arched across the blue, cloud-studded sky. Glorious iridescence.
The house is empty and quiet. She once filled it with her spirit. I already miss her voice, her sparkling eyes, her laugh.
This is the country of after.
