What My Mom's Death Taught Me: 11 Life Lessons
It’s been eleven years since my mom, Sandy, died suddenly from breast cancer that returned unexpectedly.
That time feels like both a blink and an eternity. Sometimes I still think she’s on world’s longest vacation, cruising around the world with no cell signal. Sometimes I wonder if I dreamed her up—whether my 21 years with her were actually real or if they’re something I invented. Grief brain is weird like that.
But I know, through memories and pictures, that my time with her was real. And it was foundational to my becoming. Her presence, her influence, her voice, and her love resound like thrumming echoes through my life.
Now, on the eleven-year anniversary of her death, I’m reflecting not just on the void her death left, but on the enduring life lessons she taught me. These lessons have—in their own ways—both oriented me to the world without her and kept me tethered to her. They remind me that while our bodies certainly die, our spirits are carried forward by those who loved us most.
1. When someone gives you a gift, don't try to give it back. Smile and say a heartfelt, "Thank you!"
One year, when some relatives stayed in our house for Christmas, they left a $100 bill on the nightstand. As my sister and I were stripping sheets, we found it and rushed downstairs to my mom, shouting "It's too much! We should give it back!" My mom told us that gratitude is the next best step after a gift, not trying to return it. It makes both parties feel seen and loved.
2. Art is worth making time for.
My mom was the "craft mom" and we had drawers of art supplies all over our house. Whether she was teaching us watercolors, doing a classroom demo on milk carton gingerbread houses, or decorating Christmas cookies, she took the time she needed to get things "just right." Art is not an assembly line; it's an experience to be enjoyed and shared.
3. Take the picture.
As an avid scrapbooker—do you remember Creative Memories??—my mom was often the person behind our family photos as well as our dedicated historian. She believed it's better to have more photos than you need than it is to have no photos at all. Cull the duds and keep the gems. And write the story down while you can still remember it. You'll be grateful to have those memories one day.
4. To be a good person, you must serve others.
When we first entered the job market, my mom insisted both my sister and I spend six months minimum in foodservice. (She'd worked her whole childhood at her dad's speedway slinging concessions, cleaning bathrooms, and picking up trash under the stands.) She knew dealing with the public would expose us to every facet of humanity—from the generous to the callous. We learned how to deal with all kinds of personalities and show grace under pressure.
5. Don't buy the memorabilia; buy something special to YOU instead.
During high school, when catalogs for overpriced rings and jackets were going around, my mom discouraged me from getting them. Swept up in wanting to mark this milestone in my life, I was upset. My mom offered instead to buy me a one-of-a-kind birthstone ring from our local jeweler to represent the first 18 years of my life. While my classmates' rings are gathering dust in drawers, I still wear mine proudly.
6. See a penny, pick it up.
No amount of luck is too small or insignificant to step over. And that stuff about "Heads up only!" is superstitious nonsense. Every penny is a good penny, and sometimes, it's a message from loved ones.
7. Put yourself in the way of beauty.
Admittedly, this is phrasing I learned from Cheryl Strayed's mom Bobbi, in Cheryl's book, Tiny Beautiful Things, but I noticed my mom often put herself in the way of things she found beautiful. My favorite was a neighbor's lawn BURSTING with over 400 daffodils each spring. On our drive home, she'd take an extra two minutes to drive to the next block, stopping the car to admire the sea of happy, dancing yellow flowers.
8. Music makes a home.
As one of seven farm kids, my mom grieved not having more opportunities to learn how to play instruments growing up. She sang beautifully and could plunk out a few simple songs on the piano, but when my sister and I expressed a desire to learn guitar and piano respectively, she invested in us. Our house was always full of music, whether we were practicing scales, singing along with the radio, or putting on a "mini concert" for visiting friends. I think she intuitively knew that any instrument, with the right intention, is a hearth to gather around—a place for everyone's voice to be heard and appreciated.
9. Don't move the cat!
If the cat is comfortable, gosh darn it, let him be. Give him a pet on the head and tell him you love him, but don't you dare disturb his slumber!
10. Clean humor is universally funny.
My mom would hate me writing the word "fart" on the Internet; we were not allowed to say the word until age ten, using her preferred word "toot" as a substiTOOT. (Sorry, mom, I had to.) She knew you didn't have to swear, be dirty, or demean others to have a good time. Most of our laughs were rooted in silly puns or turns-of-phrase—or simply comedic timing delivered just right. One of my all-time favorites was how she referred to the largest size of Wendy's fries as "Biggie the Fry", as if the fries were a Very Official™️ rapper.
11. Tell them how you'd like to be remembered.
When she found out she was dying, my mom took the time to write down her wishes and tell us how she planned to appear to us from the afterlife. While her death was earth-shattering, it was comforting to see, hear, and feel signs from her right away—through birds, electric tea kettles, pennies, songs, and sunlight poking through clouds.
One Last Thought
Grief has taught me that love doesn’t end; it grows with us.
My mom may no longer be here physically, but her presence is folded into every aspect of my life, every choice I make, and every room in my heart.
These lessons are more than just memories—they are living reminders of who she was and who she helped me become. As I carry her wisdom forward, I hope these reflections prompt you to think about the lessons and love your own grief has revealed. Thank you for honoring her with me today. 💚
