I expected to feel loss. I was not prepared for the persistent ache and anguish of absence. In the early stages of my grief, there would be no reconciling the lack of her presence. Everything about her was unforgettable: that angelic face; the sparkle in her eyes; her infectious smile and soft, warm, gentle touch. The aroma of sautéed garlic meant she was at the stove; the crinkling of a paper candy liner meant she was opening another chocolate instead of napping as she had promised. The sound of the telephone keypad signaled another call to someone special. Her snoring guaranteed a deep sleep, while the rustling of bed sheets meant we were in for a long night. I was left with a sobering reality. My mother wasn’t unforgettable; it was the way she lived and loved that made the memory of her unforgettable. She is forever engraved in the minds and hearts of those she loved.

Caregiving Was My Identity; Now I’m Starting Over

With my beloved mother’s passing also went the purpose that had defined me since I was a child. I cared for this remarkable woman for over 50 years. I recalled hoping to get my driver’s license just so I could drive her to her many doctor’s appointments. I thought about how often I followed the ambulance to the local hospital. She weathered heart attacks, strokes, and chronic disease. We called her “Indestructible Helene.” Now, as I drove home from her funeral, I wondered, “What do I do now that she’s gone?” More importantly, “Who am I without her?”

No one told me that I would go from sitting next to her at the kitchen table, flowing with our abundant Italian offerings and lively conversation, to standing at the sink, silent and alone, eating crackers. No one told me of the many attempts I would make to restore her presence by wearing her colorful jacket and mittens so I could slide my hand in and somehow hold hers again. No one told me that I would not have the emotional capacity to change the date on her block calendar, which still displayed October 21, the day of her passing. That date was frozen in time, and admittedly, so was I.

From Loss to Living: Accepting Help and Finding Purpose

People tried to tell me how to manage my grief. “Take some time for yourself,” they said. What does that even mean? Caregiving is not something you do; it’s something you become. When service to others is in your DNA, there’s no “off” switch. Granted, it’s not a healthy perspective—and there’s the riddle. Why is it so hard for caregivers to provide self-care or accept care from others?

I learned to graciously accept help when Mom’s health took a more serious turn, and companies such as Careforth were able to provide support services and additional resources. After she passed, help came in a different form. Hospice continued its compassionate outreach with a quarterly newsletter. An article said, “Remembering without pain is possible. Death ends a life but not a relationship. The new relationship continuously reshapes itself to bring comfort to the living.” They were the first words that resonated with me and gave me hope. I realized that my relationship with my mother was not over. It was evolving, and every lesson and expression of love that ever flowed from her was still with me.

Letting Go of Grief, Holding On to Love

More progress came when our family fulfilled my mother’s final wish and released her ashes into the glistening waters of Narragansett Bay, off the coast of the former Olivo’s Beach in Rhode Island. As my sister and I lowered the seagrass basket with her cremated remains into the water, an indescribable teal glow rose from beneath the surface. Her ashes, like her personality, rose to the top and sparkled on the water. The outline of our shadows against this beautiful backdrop made for the final picture we would take with her. 

I felt the grief lift as we fulfilled this final measure of devotion. Everyone told me it would. I was finally ready to listen and let go of it. With that, I was also able to answer my own questions, “What do I do now that she’s gone?” Everything she wished for me. “Who am I without her?” Always and forever, her proud daughter.

Life After Caregiving Advice

If you’re a caregiver who has suffered loss, I want to tell you a few things:

• If you’re searching for yourself, you don’t have to look far. You’re still you, and while a chapter of life may have closed, this is not the end of your story.
• Feel what you feel and don’t apologize for it. Your grief reflects the love you shared. I still sleep with her nightgown and wear her favorite Chanel No. 5 perfume.
• Accept that grief will do what it wants, when it wants. It has no timeline. It gives no notice of its arrival or departure. 
• Resilience shows up exactly when it’s needed. It protects you like human Scotchgard while you build back from the inside. Emerging from loss comes with the gifts of renewed strength, growth, perspective, and clarity.
• It is in service to others that we find our greatest purpose. Caregivers are always in demand, and our experience will be of great value to someone or something else. 
• What did you sacrifice while caring for a loved one or client? Maybe you had a favorite hobby—gardening, painting, music, spending time with family and friends—go back and nurture that. Find what makes you happy and go out and share that joy.

Mom used to say, “Put your shine out in the world… And if anyone needs a bit, give them some of yours.”

About the author:

Linda Colangelo was the primary caregiver for her beloved mother, Helene. Following her mother’s passing, Linda began her new chapter as the Director of Operations for Botta Medical Aesthetics & Wellness in Putnam, CT, where she continues to care for others, and her mother’s presence is still known and felt. Linda and Helene joined Careforth’s Adult Family Living service in Connecticut in 2021. Read more about their caregiving journey here.