A parent’s death anniversary might be the hardest day of the year. Every year the feelings of raw grief can return as powerful as ever, even if it’s been a long time since your mom or dad died. How do we get through our parent’s death anniversary? Is it a day of complete sadness or is there a chance at some point that we might feel some gratitude or even joy?

Right now the idea of feeling joy is outrageous and impossible to me. My mother’s death anniversary is looming. This weekend marks 3 years without her. As it approaches I’m filled with dread. I know I’m going to be a complete grump to everyone around me and cry at random times. I want to remember my mother and to honor her in a way that feels good enough, but for the past two years I have ended up sad, spinning, and lost in the week leading up to her death anniversary.

Some people know exactly when their mother or father died. They may even have been there. My mother was found dead on the floor inside her home, on August 1st, 2018. The coroner’s report said that she died sometime within a 72-hour window, and so every year for me her death anniversary begins on July 29th and ends late in the evening on August 1st. I don’t know when exactly she died, and so to be thorough, I grieve and remember her on all of those four days. Every year I wonder on each of those days, had she fallen to the floor yet? Was it today that she took her last breath?

The Very First Year.

The first anniversary was easily the worst. I was in Florida with my kids, on the same vacation, staying at the same resort as the year before when my brother called and told me she was gone forever. I knew returning to the scene of such sadness on this anniversary wasn’t a good idea, but my children longed for the beach and to see their family who lived nearby. We swam until the salt water and sand crusted in our hair. All I kept thinking was damn these people whose mothers aren’t dead. How dare they swim and laugh and have sunsets. Their worlds had not crumbled. I felt like slapping the tropical drinks out of their hands as they debated ordering the hush puppies or the fish sandwich. I spent that first anniversary at the beach on the verge of tears, mostly unable to breathe.

A Better Plan.

For my mom’s second death anniversary I tried to come up with a list of better options. I wanted to remember her. I wanted to be with her. I wanted to feel like she was with me, and so I made a list of things to do during my four death anniversary days. If you have lost your mom or dad, maybe some of these ideas will help you, too. If you have more to add, I would love to know about them. Please feel free to reach out to me in the comments section below this post.

Visit The Final Resting Place.

I could blame the pandemic for keeping me from flying to New York to the cemetery where my mother is buried, but that would be a lie. I just can’t bring myself yet to visit a cemetery and see her name on a gravestone. I think it would crush me, driving down the familiar country roads toward her house, then passing it by and heading to the cemetery. Part of me longs to go home, and part of me knows it would break me to do so. But some people might find comfort and solace and visiting their parent’s final resting place. I imagine maybe there is some peace there, but I’m currently too scared to try. Instead I prefer to visit a location that was special to us. A happier place with happier memories. If you can’t or don’t want to visit your parent where they are buried, maybe there is another special place you can visit that will help you feel close to them. Where is that place?

Light A Candle.

It may sound cliche, but every year I light a candle for my mother. There’s something about looking into that one, small flame burning, as if it’s a piece of her soul reaching out. Or perhaps it’s really a piece of my soul, the sacred place where I still feel deeply connected to her. I light the candle in stillness and silence, thinking of her. In the space of that magical or sacred moment, I breathe deeply and hold space for her and her life, and for me and her death.

Do Something They Would Enjoy.

Around my mother’s second death anniversary, I took my daughter thrift store shopping followed by lunch at a Mexican restaurant. My mother and I used to love spending time like this together, hunting for bargains and imagining ourselves later on Antiques Roadshow with a rare find. At the restaurant while my daughter happily dug into chips and salsa, I had a distinct thought of I am the mother now. I will never be the child, out with my mom, doing something we love together ever again. It gutted me, and I cried at the table. I imagined my mother sitting there with us and how happy she would be, and that helped, a little. I’ve learned that I can’t avoid something just because it makes me cry with grief. Do something your parent would enjoy, even if it makes you cry.

Turn Up The Music.

This suggestion makes me smile and cry every time. Play your parent’s music. Play what they loved. Turn up the volume. Play songs that remind you of them, The ones that make you smile and the ones that make you hurt. Go ahead and cry. Play that song again. Sing. Belt it out. Or simply close your eyes and listen. This is powerful magic.

Look At The Memories Left Behind.

After my mom died, I went through my digital photos and printed physical copies of almost every picture I had of her. Every year now I flip through this album again by myself and also with my children, retelling them all the silly, happy, crazy fun stories of her life. I also have a few voicemails from her still saved on my phone. I listen to them over and over. In one of them she tells me she just got home and is about to have a cup of tea. She says she loves me and that she’ll talk to me soon. I wish I could hear her voice again. I play that message several times. You could also read through emails that you saved from your mom or dad, or old letters or cards. I like to look at my mother’s handwriting. I feel fortunate to have some of these little, tangible memories.

Write It Down.

Maybe you don’t have letters or voicemails from your mom or dad who died. I would encourage you to pick up a notebook and a pen, and just start writing. Create your own tangible memories of your lost loved one. Write down what you remember. The little things can be the best memories ever. Add in the more routine or mundane habits your person had. How did they drink their coffee? What was their favorite dessert? Write it down. Jot down anything you remember that comes to mind and feels important. Every year add a little more.

Eat, Drink, And Remember.

I’m pretty sure my mom was paraphrasing Julia Child when she often said that butter makes everything better. While I am terrible at meal planning and grocery shopping and regular dinners in my house are a challenge, I enjoy making special food that reminds me of my mom and my family. Around the time of my mom’s death anniversary, I make my grandmother’s pierogi or one of my mom’s favorite dessert recipes. Mixing up a few loaves of my mother’s Polish coffee cake doesn’t make everything better, but it definitely helps.

If there isn’t a particular food you can cook, bake, or order for takeout, maybe try a special drink and offer a toast to your lost parent. My best friend’s father appreciated fine quality scotch, and every year on his death anniversary she drinks a glass of Glenlivet in his honor to remember him and keep him close.

Next Year It Will Happen Again.

This year marks only three years since I lost my mother. I wonder what death anniversaries will look like down the road, at 5 years after her death. 10 years. What does a 20 year death anniversary look like? I would guess that things don’t necessarily get easier. Perhaps they just get different.

You Are Not Alone, Dear Friend.

Whether you are years ahead of me on this journey or whether your grief is fresh, raw, and new, please consider commenting below to let me and other readers know about how you get through grief anniversaries and what they look like for you.