Why I Hate Being a Member of the Dead Moms Club
I hate being a member of the Dead Moms Club.
I hate paying the lifetime membership dues.
I hate the grief.
I hate the heartache.
And I hate the loneliness.
I hate being a member of the Dead Moms Club.
I hate paying the lifetime membership dues.
I hate the grief.
I hate the heartache.
And I hate the loneliness.
I’m entering another new year without my mother beside me. Another new year without her love. Another new year without her support. And another new year without her encouragement.
If home is where my mom is, then my home is now in heaven. I never get to go home again. Not on Earth, anyways.
If your heart is broken this Christmas, I get it. I see you. And I’m giving you a pass.
My mother needed us to love her until the end of Alzheimer’s disease. My grandmother took this photo of my mother, my husband, and me over a decade ago. It was Thanksgiving Day, six months after my mother’s initial diagnosis with early onset Alzheimer’s disease. And it was seven years before the end of Alzheimer’s…