My mom died

I don’t know how else to say it.

Six weeks have gone by and the words have yet to sound right in my head or on my tongue. The loss doesn’t feel real but it also feels extremely real, in the sense that I have been confronting each facet of grief as it arrives, unannounced and without apology. My mom died. And it’s a bad trip, babes. I wish there were more memes to explain it.

My mom, Diane, was a real force. She was a proper Gemini, everything everywhere all at once. She was playful, clever, quick with the mouth. She loved rollercoasters and Patti LaBelle and ordering the wildest dish on the menu. There wasn’t a hat on this planet that didn’t look good on her. She held strong opinions but always listened to both sides of a story. She enjoyed talking to strangers but hated people “all in her business.”

We had a complicated relationship. She battled an addiction to alcohol since I was seven years old, about the time we moved to California from the East Coast. I knew and have known this disease and its consequences would take her from me earlier than either of us deserved. All my life I’ve been stoically prepared for That Call; I rehearsed what I would say, memorized the questions I would ask and decided who I would tell first (my sister). I wondered where I would be and how I would feel — sad, obviously. Angry, maybe. A sense of relief? Definitely.

But the moment I knew she was gone, for real, my lingering feelings of resentment and disappointment were too. Forgiveness fluttered through me. Suddenly, the choices she made during my childhood didn’t hold the same weight, and her mistakes no longer mattered.

It’s over.

My mom didn’t have an easy life, and so much of mine has been spent worrying about her. I actually have no idea who I am without that constant hum of concern — and that concerns me. But I am comforted to know that she is finally safe and at peace, that she’s out of pain and in eternal rest and doesn’t have to pay her fucking cable bill anymore¹. By the way: nobody is talking about the depressing mundane postmortem tasks you have to get through, and I mean nobody! Imagine my sister and I, motherless, in line at an Xfinity store in Boston (!) to return a wifi router box or whatever it was. The guy was like, “What brings you in here today?” and I just lost it, full sob. What a great question, sir. I was made to be here. So, obviously I’m just like, wanting to get this over with and get on with my life. This is a big inconvenience for me.

To be fair, he was very sweet and helpful and understood that I needed to get the fuck out of the Xfinity store, but that doesn’t change the fact that these errands are annoying and ill-timed.

After all that I was able to go to San Francisco to breathe and reboot. It was good to hug my dad, be loved on by friends, run the Filbert Stairs and pay 18 American dollars for a stack of pancakes. The inflation was really inflationing, you guys — one morning I woke up in a cold sweat and had to mentally reorient myself, like yes your mom is dead and no that mimosa was not worth $11. How did we get here and how do we make it stop?

Now I’m back in London and taking things at my own pace — “baby steps,” as my mom would remind me. I am doing my best to process the waves of grief (there is always a wave analogy when it comes to grief!) even though my emotions are all over the map and my anxiety is on 11. I turn each terrifying thought and elaborately crafted storyline over in my palm, repeatedly, like the rose quartz I was told to carry for healing. And I can move my body and meditate and drink more water and prioritize rest, but the fact that my mom and I will never have another hour-long phone conversation (and spend an extra 20 minutes saying goodbye) is no easier for me to wrap my mind around. So I listen to old voicemails and let myself go to pieces.

Mostly, I think about where she is and what she’s doing and if it aligns with my personal fantasy of the afterlife. I want to believe that she is somewhere soft and beautifully lit, sitting cross-legged with my dog in her lap. She’s gossiping and laughing very loudly with loved ones, trading memories and recipes and ooooh let me tell yous. Maybe she's running on the beach (?) or relaxing with a book, or chatting shit with Princess Diana and chasing down Chadwick Boseman². I don't know how it works, I just know it makes me feel a little better.

Diane, my mom, taught me to always follow my gut and trust that I know what’s best for me. We did not make it easy for each other, at all, but I never had to worry about making her proud. She supported me unconditionally and only wanted me to be happy, feel loved, and do some things in life that she didn’t get to. It took me many hours of therapy and lots of boundary-setting but we were in a much better place over the last few years. I’m so thankful we got there. I miss her terribly. I wish we had more time. There is never, ever enough time.

The last thing I told my mom was I love you and the last thing she told me was You look great in that color.

It’s nothing but it’s everything. And I’ll have it forever.

Currently keeping me afloat:

• Big Red Boot discourse aside, I appreciate that fashion appears to be fun again and am very here for dopamine dressing this spring. I’m also living for the surrealism of it all; Schiaparelli’s hyper-feminine shapes, Louis Vuitton’s giant zippers and those Loewe deflated balloon pumps that I’ve already seen in like 12 editorials. I’m glad we’ve all agreed that the world is ending and we should wear whatever the fuck we want.

• New albums from Tennis, Paramore, and Lil Yachty.

• This (completely unhinged) season of Love Island UK. I watch live every night and trade voice notes with my friend Meg about each episode. I can’t explain my fascination with it, and frankly I shouldn’t have to! The important thing is that watching (and more importantly, complaining about) the show is doing wonders for my health and wellness.

• The Bella Freud 1970 candle, gifted by a friend.

• I’ve had Riches in my queue for months and finally binged in a jet lag k-hole. It’s on ITV in the UK and Amazon Prime in the States. The whole series revolves around the death of a parent, nonetheless I finished all six episodes in one sitting. There’s a family beauty business, expensive wigs, shady white people and a solid soundtrack. It’s soapy and messy, highly entertaining and I definitely felt like my mom watching her stories. It’s like a Black Succession (I don’t watch Succession).

• I finally bought the Black Sheep sweater from Warm & Wonderful (see aforementioned bit about having more fun with fashion). It looks like something my mom would have put me in on Picture Day 1989. I know Diana had the red one but I famously don’t look good in red, so it was baby pink for me. It was also the only color they put on sale for Valentine’s Day; devoted readers will recall that I’m an it’s a sign type of bitch and that felt like a sign.

• Beguiled by a bargain, I bought this set from Trip that came with a free trial membership to Calm, and I guess I’m a Calm girlie now³? The meditations have really been helping me, and I don’t want to brag but the Harry Styles sleep story knocks me out immediately. I still haven’t heard the whole thing and I hope I never do!

• Telling myself little jokes about how my mom would absolutely want me to have this sweater, or take that trip or buy those Beyoncé tickets. I am only a dutiful daughter carrying out her wishes for her firstborn!

• All the support and love from family and friends and colleagues and strangers. It is so deeply appreciated.

1. Why is cable such an expensive scam? She also shelled out for add-on channels like Lifetime Movie Network, which made me lol because it is peak Diane.

2. My mom weirdly loved the Fast & Furious franchise and once texted me “I miss Paul Walker” so I’m sure she’s on him, too.

3. Everyone I’ve told about using Calm has revealed that they’ve also been using Calm, and yet…I’ve never heard them mention it before! This leads me to believe that we’re all secretly going home at night and benefiting from the Calm app and not talking about it with each other, or at least not with me, which is chilling. If you’re benefiting from a Calm subscription and brave enough to speak out about it, please let me know in the comments.