A Mother’s Story: Love Beyond Loss

Here are my son and my daughter.
He died in 2015 from heart failure at just 26 years old.
She passed away in 2019 from sepsis after a long battle with cancer. She was only 27.
When she died, my whole world collapsed.

But this story — it’s really my daughter’s story.

One day, she called me from the hospital. Her voice was weak and confused. I left work immediately and rushed to be with her. When I arrived, she drifted in and out of consciousness. Before long, they moved her to intensive care. The hospital’s rules didn’t allow me to follow.

That evening, around 10 p.m., my phone rang — an unknown number. It was a nurse from intensive care. She said my daughter wanted to speak to me.

I woke up instantly.

My daughter’s voice was fragile, trembling. She told me she was worried — that the antibiotics weren’t working and she knew she was dying.
I tried to reassure her, to tell her to hold on, that the medicine would help soon.

She paused, then said softly, “I will love you forever.”
Those were her last words to me.

Before midnight, the hospital called again. They told us to come — she wasn’t going to make it. When I saw her, I knew her soul had already gone, that she was holding on only to see us one last time.

Two days before she passed, she had looked toward the door and whispered, “My brother is waiting for me.”

In that moment, after she was gone, I felt a strange peace — the first I had known since my son’s death. I knew they were together again, side by side, just as they had always been.

I miss them more than words can ever express. Some days, the pain is so heavy it steals my breath. But I carry them with me — in every sunrise, in every quiet night.

I have two grandchildren, ages nine and six. They miss their mother terribly. I’ve printed many photos of her for them, so her memory will never fade. I want them to remember her laughter, her warmth, her love.

That’s my story — a story of loss, yes, but also of love that never ends.
Because even when they’re gone, they are still here — watching, waiting, loving.