Two years after my father died, I went back to my city to find peace and comfort. Instead, I found something shocking: my mother had put a tombstone with my name and picture next to my dad’s grave. This scary discovery helped me figure out a complicated web of grief, obsession, and forgiveness.
As I tried to understand my mother’s complicated feelings, I saw that her actions weren’t just a sign of her grief; they were also a desperate attempt to hold on to me. Her view of the world had changed, and she had made a shrine in our house with flowers, candles, and a picture of me.
I knew I had to step in to help my mom heal in a healthy way and save her from herself. I told her I understood and pushed her to get professional help and offered to be there for her every step of the way.
Along with her, we started taking down the shrine and the fake story she had made up. Taking down the plaque with my name on it was a sign of freedom and a fresh start for both of us.
As we try to put our lives back together, I am mindful that healing is a process, not a goal. We will always remember my dad, but the thought of him doesn’t hold us hostage anymore. As we grow, we learn to find power in our memories instead of sadness.
When I finally went back to my hometown and made the unexpected find, it helped me grow, forgive, and start over. I’m thankful for the chance to start over with our lives, and I’m sure we’ll be stronger, smarter, and more durable than ever.
