Isn't it funny—not haha funny, but smack-you-in-the-face funny—how grief grabs you by the soul and rips the scab of pain right back off?

My mom passed away recently.

We never had a “normal” relationship. She didn't raise me, except for a short time, and I really only began to know my mom as an adult.

There were things said to me as a little girl that hurt. Some were said simply to be cruel. Some contained pieces of truth that I wasn't old enough to understand.

I thought I had made peace with much of it.

Then grief came.

A spoken word.

A passage in a letter.

A song.

A particular lyric.

And suddenly, it hits.

Not like the gentle lapping waves of a lake.

Like a tsunami.

It comes without warning, takes your breath away, and sometimes brings you straight to your knees.

I called my mom on Christmas.

Even then, I could already tell that something in her was gone. I hung up the phone and cried.

Mother's Day came around, and I was already having a difficult day. I didn't want to upset her, so I decided I wouldn't call.

I'd call her on her birthday.

August 19th.

July 29th, she passed away.

I never got to say goodbye.

I never got to say “I love you” one more time.

And that's something I'll have to carry for the rest of my life.

But grief has taught me something I don't want anyone else to have to learn the hard way.

Sometimes we think there will always be another phone call.

Another birthday.

Another holiday.

Another chance.

And sometimes there isn't.

So hold your loved ones a little closer.

Hug them a little tighter.

Say goodbye.

Don't leave angry if you can help it.

And please—

always say “I love you.”

Because sometimes the words you think you'll have another chance to say become the words you wish you could say forever.

While I was mourning my mom, I created her something.

A bright, sunny farmhouse truck tea-cup gnome.

Something cheerful.

Something handmade.

Something to carry a little light.

Something to light her way.

Maybe that's what I do when I don't know what else to do with the love and grief inside me.

I create.

I can't change what happened.

I can't go back to Christmas.

I can't make that phone call.

But I can put love into something with my own two hands.

And maybe, somehow, that's another way of saying goodbye.

I love you, Mom.

Until next time,

JK