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After my mother died, writing is what scooped me up from the underbelly of despair. I began writing about my feelings of pain and confusion of losing someone so close to me. The feeling of helplessness and loss was overwhelming at times. I felt alone in the world, despite family and friends. My large Italian family was a comfort and they were there for me, but I still felt so abandoned and alone. I still do sometimes.

You see my mom and I were very close. We could talk about anything. Her smile could make me shine inside. She cushioned each harsh blow and righted every injustice, just as moms are supposed to do. This was a torturous time for me. For all the support that I received, I am grateful, but nothing seemed to ease my pain and loss for awhile. Then one day, I got the urge to vent. You can only call your best friend or aunt just so many times, so I picked up a pen. Writing down my frustration and sadness was the one thing that helped me more than anything else did. The moment that I reached out a grabbed a pen, the floodgates of anguish and anger were released. Writing saved me from the depths of depression and despair.

My words were my dagger, stabbing the grief and loneliness with sharp blows. My words were my armor, and they were my comfort. Like a warm blanket on a blustery day, they warmed me down deep inside, where we all live, in that secret, special place. By releasing my fears and anger upon the page, I unburdened my soul of that weighty mire of self-pity and pain.

When we grieve, we must go through various stages of pain, loss, and yes, even anger. At first, I was in a thick fog. Days would float from one into the other. I had trouble sleeping, eating, and I couldn’t concentrate. This is pretty normal. I knew my mom was going to die, since she had a terminal stage-4 cancer, but yet, I was still somewhat unprepared. Losing your mom is like losing your lifeline.

My mom was only fifty-nine years old when she died. Only three and a half months after her diagnosis with cancer, she was gone. Poof! No more would her warm smile light up the room. No more will her big brown eyes dance with mischief. I won’t hear her robust, musical laughter. She is gone.

At the time that my mom was diagnosed, I was a full-time college student. I dropped all my classes to be her caregiver. During her illness we grew closer than we had ever been, and we bonded during this time more than we had since I was a child. This is the most precious time that I have ever spent. I treasure those days. The days that I was caring for her. Many times I write of these days, remembering her amazing physical presence, her strength and her incredible mental strength. Other times I write about things that I wish that I could have changed. No matter what I write, it helps me to deal with my feelings.

After she was gone, I was lost, so I wrote. I wrote about her. I wrote about the emotions that plagued me. I wrote about the anger that I felt. Much of what I wrote were some of the beautiful memories that I wanted to savor- things that would stay with me forever. Some of what I wrote centered on how unfair it was for a youthful woman to be struck down in her prime. I wrote poetry, articles about cancer, and articles of inspiration. I vented really.

This is one of the best things that anyone can do when faced with grief. Whether the person is a writer or not, writing down feelings and thoughts can be liberating. I always feel better after writing. I am more relaxed, centered, and happy. My soul can breathe free. One of my best outlets after my mom died was poetry. I wrote a lot of poetry probably because poetry should be emotional and deep. The writing that I am speaking of is for your eyes only; it does not have to be shared with anyone. That is, of course, your choice.

Keep a personal journal both when your loved one is sick and also after they have passed. This will help you immensely. I know that writing gave me the escape that I needed at a very hard time in my life. Not only did it keep me busy, but it also gave me an outlet for that muck of emotion that weights down our mind and soul after a loved one passes.

Bereavement is a time of pain, but it is always a time of discovery and faith. Embrace this time in your life. I know that this is very difficult right now, but until you see the beauty in your loved one’s death, before you see the need for them to be at peace, you will be unable to be at peace yourself. Imagine how painful it would have been for them to continue struggling. They were sick. They are better off now. I never knew the meaning of that phrase until my mom was on her deathbed. I never understood, but I do now. Even if the death was an accident, miscarriage, or other untimely death, we must come to accept the death. We must also come to understand that it was for the best. Would he or she have been functional and happy if they survived? Perhaps this is where faith comes into the equation.

We all know that it is best, but it is our own selfish needs that we cling to desperately. Even if it was an accident, we must ask ourselves if they would be happy and functional if they survived? I wanted her to be here to enjoy life, but I also wanted my mom to be here for me. The sooner we come to terms with the need for their passing, the sooner we will be able to move on with our lives. Writing about all of these different things is what helped me, and it has helped countless other people. Why do you think the most popular topic in all poetry is? Spanning the globe and centuries, the most popular topic of all poetry is death. (With the possible exception of some Eastern cultures that have very different views of death.) Writing about death helps us understand our humanity. Writing helps us to vent. This is great therapy for anyone dealing with a loss.

I wrote about my frustration and pain, and what I discovered was that this was what I was meant to do. That first day that I picked up a pen, I wrote a poem. All of my pain, acceptance, and love were in what I wrote that day. Yes, I had thought about writing before, but never seriously. Yes, I had been told that I had writing talent from my professors, but I wanted to change the world. I was thinking of a career in either Psychology or Sociology, and then I realized something. I realized that my words could touch people, inspiring them to action. This is the day that I knew I was meant to be a writer. I knew that this is how I could change the world- one letter at a time. Perhaps it was my mom guiding me that day.

Here is the poem. I wrote this while trying to comprehend what my mother went through when she passed from one place to another. When we die, I think we are probably missing or family and friends; we are scared; and we are hopeful. This is why I think an angel cries.