Holidays can bring both happiness and deep sadness. They remind us of the joy of being with loved ones, but also make us feel the pain of those who are gone. Some people have time to prepare for holidays without someone special, while others face that loss right in the middle of the season. My heart aches for my ex-husband, his family, and my children as we grieve the loss of my "ex-mother-in-law", who passed away just days before Christmas.
Carolyn was a truly remarkable woman. One of my favorite memories is a long, 14-hour drive we took together, just the two of us. As we drove, we talked about life, family, love, and what matters most. During that quiet time, I promised her I would never stop loving her son, Scott, and that I would always be there for him, no matter what happened. She told me how much that meant to her, and I felt the importance of that moment. I meant that promise when Scott and I said our wedding vows 40 years ago. I meant it when our marriage ended. And I still mean it today, because love that deep does not just disappear.
Our family has changed, but the love has stayed strong. Scott and I have stayed close friends, even after being divorced for 13 years. I remarried, and from the start, my husband understood that my children and their father would always be important to me. That understanding made my love for Lance even stronger. He knew we came as a package. What we have now is a family that may be different, but it is built on respect, compassion, and commitment. It works for us, and in its own way, it is a win for everyone.
Carolyn may not have fully understood our family situation, but she accepted it, and that meant a lot. She never held my new marriage against me. Instead, she welcomed my husband, Lance, into the family, which he still finds hard to believe. His own family did not accept me, and I am estranged from my own family, so Lance and I were left without the mothers we needed. But my ex-mother-in-law showed us kindness instead of judgment. She kept loving me as a daughter, reminding me that family is not just about blood, but about the people who choose to stay.
Carolyn really was a remarkable woman, and loving her for more than forty years has been one of the greatest gifts of my life. She often showed me what grace looks like in everyday life, even without saying a word. She made people feel accepted, no matter their flaws or past, and she did it with a quiet strength that stayed with me. Our relationship was not perfect—no real relationship is. But even when we disagreed, she never stopped loving me, and that meant more than she knew.
She supported Scott and me in a way I had never known before: steady, respectful, and selfless. I know she had her own opinions about the changes I made in her family, but she always chose love over control. She accepted those changes without resistance or judgment. When she gave advice, it was because we asked for it, and when she stayed quiet, it was thoughtful and kind. That rare support shaped me as a mother. Because of Carolyn, I learned to stand beside my children, trust them, and love them without conditions.
I am so grateful for my wonderful adult children, and I know Carolyn was very proud to be their grandmother. Maybe she stayed close to me after Scott, and I divorced because she loved them deeply. Maybe she remembered the promise I made to always love her son and knew I meant it. Or maybe it was just who she was—a woman with a heart big enough for complexity, change, and forgiveness. She never explained her reasons, never wanted recognition, and never made me feel like I had to earn my place. Instead, she gave me love, respect, and a sense of belonging. I will always be grateful that she allowed me to remain part of the family, and I will carry her example with me for the rest of my life.
Her death is hard for everyone, but few people really know how hard it is for me. I feel like an orphan. My pain and grief for her are as real and deep as any daughter’s grief for her mother. Our relationship never fit a simple title. Ex-mother-in-law sounds distant and cold, which is nothing like what she was to me. Legally, I can’t call her Mom anymore, but in my heart, she has always been my mom. She was, and always will be, my mom.
Carolyn was a woman of strength—quiet strength. The kind that didn’t demand attention, but held everything together. She was a true matriarch, the backbone of the family. She worked hard her entire life and loved her family with that same fierce devotion. She was someone my children could look up to, but just as importantly, she was someone I looked up to—even though, by height alone, I stood above her.
She loved our children unconditionally and with pride. She was always there for them, always involved. She celebrated their successes as if they were her own. I know how proud she was when my daughter graduated from Purdue and when she made Carolyn a great-grandmother. I am so grateful that my children grew into responsible, loving, and giving adults, and I know that didn’t happen by accident. Their grandmother helped shape them into the adults they are today, people everyone is proud of.
My heart aches with the loss of my mom, who was not my flesh and blood, but was my mother in every way that mattered. Losing a mother is unlike any other loss. It goes deeper than words and touches places we didn’t know existed. Carolyn made me feel safe and understood, both in my proud moments and my flaws. With her gone, the world feels less steady, as if something important is missing. No matter how old we are, part of us will always long for our mother’s presence, her voice, and her reassurance. I still long for Carolyn’s.
Grief for a mother is not a straight path. It comes in waves, sometimes gentle and sometimes overwhelming. Ordinary moments can suddenly feel heavy: a holiday, a memory, or a simple question I wish I could ask her. Even when a relationship is complicated, the loss brings a special kind of pain. I grieve not only who she was, but also what she stood for: home, history, belonging, and unconditional love.
Even with this loss, her lasting influence remains. Her lessons, values, and love live on through us. We carry her in the way we love, care for, and support others. A mother may leave this world, but her presence never really goes away. She becomes part of who we are, quietly guiding and shaping us, even when she is gone.
Carolyn was that woman in my life.
My heart will always ache.
I love you, "Mom."
