Motherless? Not Quite: Redefining My Identity After Losing My Mom
I have to admit, the word "motherless" has never sat right with me. After my mom died, I found myself grappling with this new identity thrust upon me by well-meaning people and society’s labels. “How does it feel to be motherless?” they’d ask, as if it were a badge I was now forced to wear. But every time I heard that word—motherless—I felt like I was being stripped of something more than just my mom. I was losing her presence, her legacy, and her role in my life, reduced to a single, hollow adjective: less.
It’s funny how people love to label grief, as if giving it a name makes it any easier to carry. But let's be honest—calling me motherless didn't feel like acknowledgment; it felt like an erasure. So, I spent some time reflecting on what it really means to lose someone who meant everything to me.
I wrote a fictional horror book titled “Motherless” because, at that time, it felt true. It felt like the perfect word to capture the weight of my loss. But as time passed, my heart evolved, and so did my perspective. I came to the conclusion that I am not, in fact, motherless. Not even close. My mother’s transition to the spiritual realm didn’t negate her existence or her impact on my life. She didn’t disappear; she transformed. She’s still here—just in a different way.
This realization didn’t come overnight. Grief is a sneaky little creature; it morphs and shifts, demanding that you look at it from every unflattering angle. But here’s the kicker—I realized that if my mom is now in spirit form, watching over me, guiding me, then how can I possibly be motherless? She’s more than a memory; she’s a presence. A force. My mother’s essence is woven into the fabric of who I am. Her laughter echoes in my own, her wisdom guides my choices, and her love wraps itself around me, especially on days when the world feels cold.
Let’s get one thing straight: I’m not trying to convince you that my way of thinking is the only way. We all have our own journeys through grief, and we all make sense of it however we can. But this mindset shift has made the unbearable a little more bearable. It’s given me permission to honor my mom in a way that feels authentic to me.
Because here’s the thing: calling myself motherless would mean discounting everything my mom was and still is. And let’s be real, I’ve never seen anyone walking around calling themselves “grandmother-less” after their grandma’s passed, or “cat-less” because Mr. Whiskers went to the big litter box in the sky. I get it—language helps us cope. But it also has the power to cage us in or set us free.
If you’ve lost your mom, I see you. I feel you. And if you resonate with being motherless, that’s okay too. But for me, the word just doesn’t fit. It feels like a sweater two sizes too small, suffocating and incomplete. So, I’m taking it off. I refuse to be confined by a label that makes my mother feel like a thing of the past.
Instead, I choose to recognize her presence in every sunset, every song, and every quiet moment when I need her the most. This shift doesn’t erase the pain; it just gives it a different shape. It’s my way of reclaiming a part of her that death can never take away.
If nothing else, I hope sharing my journey encourages you to look at your own loss a little differently. And if it doesn’t, that’s okay too. Grief is personal. It’s messy. It’s whatever we need it to be in the moment. But remember: you get to decide what your story looks like now. And for me, being my mother’s daughter is a title that transcends all things—even death.
Reflective Questions:
How do you define your relationship with your loved one now that they are no longer physically present?
Are there labels you’ve accepted that no longer feel right for you? How can you redefine them?
What rituals, thoughts, or beliefs help you feel connected to your loved one?
So, no, I’m not motherless. My mother’s spirit lives on in me, guiding me every step of the way. And every time I think of her, I remind myself: I am anything but less.
And when you’re ready, The Heart of Miss Bee is here with resources, support, and a community that understands. Let’s honor our mothers—whatever form they may be in—together.
Kinyatta E. Gray is a Certified Master Coach, Grief Educator, Author, and Founder of The Heart of Miss Bee, Inc. Gray writes about grief and loss for women grieving the loss of their mothers. The Heart of Miss Bee, Inc. exists to honor the memory of the late Beverly E. Carroll, Kinyatta's Mother.