I lost my daughter three years ago.
And not a single day has passed where I haven’t thought of her.
She had just turned 29.
We had celebrated her birthday only a week before. There were candles, laughter, her children running around, and that beautiful smile of hers—the one that could light up any room.
If I close my eyes, I can still see it.
I can still hear her voice.
She was the sweetest person you could ever meet.
Kind in a way that wasn’t loud or showy—just gentle, natural, real.
She was the kind of person who checked on others before herself. The kind who carried so much, but still found a way to give love to everyone around her.
She was also a mother.
A beautiful, devoted mother to four children who adored her.
She loved them with everything she had.
But behind that love… there was pain.
After her last baby, something changed.
She struggled in a way I couldn’t fully see at first.
Postpartum depression.
A silent weight that doesn’t always show itself clearly.
She did everything she was supposed to do.
She asked for help.
She spoke to doctors.
She tried to fight it.
And I truly believed… she was going to be okay.
That’s the part that stays with me.
The belief.
The hope.
Because the truth is… sometimes the pain is stronger than the help.
And that’s something no one ever prepares you for.
The day we lost her…
is a day I will never forget.
She was found at a walking trail park.
Her husband… and her in-laws… were the ones who found her.
Even writing those words feels unreal.
Like something that shouldn’t belong to my life.
That day didn’t just break my heart.
It shattered it.
I am a mother to five daughters.
Five beautiful girls.
Now… four are here with me.
And one…
has gone on ahead.
People say time heals.
But grief like this doesn’t go away.
It just changes shape.
Some days it’s quiet.
Some days it’s overwhelming.
And some days… like anniversaries… it feels like it just happened yesterday.
I still think about the things I wish I had said.
The signs I wish I had seen.
The moments I wish I could go back to.
But more than anything…
I think about her.
Who she was.
Not just how we lost her.
She was love.
She was light.
She was my daughter.
And she still is.
Now I try to live in a way that honors her.
To be there for her children.
To keep her memory alive.
To speak her name.
Because she mattered.
She still matters.
And she always will.
My heart is broken.
It may always be.
But it’s broken because it loved her so deeply.
And that love…
will never leave. 💔
