Penning a ‘Dear Mom’ letter to explain my life with PF
Years after her mother's death, a columnist is still working through grief
Having the support of a loved one is a crucial aspect of the journey with chronic illness. Not having that support can make one feel alone and vulnerable. Conversely, the presence of a supportive partner, family member, or friend can help a patient build the emotional strength that is needed to face the daunting challenges of chronic illness. Their understanding, patience, and encouragement makes a significant difference in how one copes and adapts.
On my journey with pulmonary fibrosis (PF), I’ve treasured the support of my loved ones. They offer a listening ear, a shoulder to lean on, and a constant reminder that I am not alone in this fight. Their unwavering support gives me the courage to face each day, no matter how tough it may be.
But when you lose a parent amid all of this, as I did, it can seem like the end of the world. Losing my mother, Natalia, to COVID-19 right when I was being diagnosed with PF was the most painful period of my life. I’d never faced this type of heartache before.
I thought I would grieve my PF diagnosis for months until I finally came to terms with it. But losing my mother is what’s left me grieving — for the past four years. I felt it was time to write a letter to her to let her know what my life with PF has been like without her. I hope this letter captures the spirit of longing and my struggle to adapt and find strength in her absence.
Following your example
A memorial for Ann Reynoso’s mom, Natalia Trejo, who passed away on July 27, 2020, due to complications from COVID-19. (Photo by Ann Reynoso)
Dear Mom,
This isn’t the first time I’ve written you a letter since you left our lives, but it is the first time I’m writing to you about my illness.
It’s been hard not having you here to talk to about all my concerns. I harbor some intense grief about losing you at such an unfortunate and emotional time. This hole in my heart makes it so difficult to deal with my PF. Just when I think I am handling it well and am being strong and powerful, my grief sets in again and makes me second guess my emotional progress.
I miss you, Mom.
I miss you so much that sometimes I want to give up on the everyday fight. You left right at the beginning of my diagnosis, so you never had the chance to see what I’ve been through. I try to feel you with me, but at times our connection gets lost. I imagine the love and support that you always gave me. I remember your hugs, and I always try to imagine them when I most need to.
I miss your voice so much that I listen to your old phone messages over and over. I listen to your voice the most when I’m having a hard day with PF.
I am blessed to have the continuous love and support from my husband and your granddaughter, but as anyone can relate to, it’s not the same as the care of a mother.
Ann Reynoso’s mom, Natalia Trejo, during her last visit with Ann and her family four years ago. (Photo by Ann Reynoso)
I miss you, Mom.
I have to fight this illness without you, and sometimes I don’t know how to keep being strong and fearless. At times, I feel scared and alone. I feel as if I am stranded on an island with no way of being rescued. Sometimes when my breathing feels shallow, I imagine the sound of your voice to calm me down. This is what this illness has been like for me.
Don’t worry, Mom. I remember everything you taught us three kids. I remember watching you as I was growing up. I remember thinking that you were superwoman. You worked hard to raise three kids. You never gave up, so I will try my hardest to follow your example.
I still miss you, Mom.
I know the grief may become tolerable, but it will never leave me. I just wish you could be here to fight this PF with me. I wish I could call you every day. I would love to tell you all about how my day is going. You always encouraged our daily talks. I wish that I could take you out for coffee and discuss the course of my PF and the different treatments that I am following today. I wish you could go to my doctor appointments with me because I know how much you loved to be involved. I wish I could hear you tell me to keep fighting for my life and for my loved ones.
You always knew how to keep me on the straight path of healing. Now, I must figure out how to heal myself.
But I miss you, Mom.
And until we meet again, I will hold on to your love, hugs, and inspiration to keep me going.
Note: Pulmonary Fibrosis News is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Pulmonary Fibrosis News or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to pulmonary fibrosis.
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Comments
Margaret Guzman
Than you Ann Reynoso
My mother is not with me.
I lost a son to Fentanyl
My other 3 children are busy with their families and my husband has dementia.
I am on my own thru this journey.
So exhausting at times but there are no “ choices”
Thank you for your encouragement 😘
Scottie Leasor
Your letter to mom touched me. I was blessed to have my mom until she was 94 but her absence is felt everyday. I miss our daily phone calls and her laugh. She was a nurse and would have advice for me with my IPF diagnosis but she passed before I was diagnosed. It would have broken her heart to know so … Moms’ passing will always leave a hole in our hearts.
Zoila
I understand how you feel
I was diagnosed with Pulmonary Fibrosis on October 2016
And is very sad don’t have closed families to get close when things don’t go good it is very difficult and only wait for better days to feel a little bettet
Ginger
Thank you for sharing your feelings and writing to your mother. As I know and you know, the loss of our mother is like nothing else. I like to think that there are times that I know she is close by, like when I find a penny because any she found, she put them in a little bank for me. My mother passed before my diagnosis and like you, I’ve wished many a time I could hug her one more time, hear her voice calling my name, let her know my fears and feel her loving care and affection. We are fortunate that we had such mothers because we know that is not always the case. As for the PF, the acceptance and adjustment has really been some journey. Thank God I have made some progress in that area and don’t beat myself up when I can’t do what I wanted to do( which I use to be able to do). It all comes down to acceptance, don’t have to like it and I don’t but it has helped me to be grateful for what I have had and for any blessings that are still coming my way. Peace be with you.
Kathleen Calvert
Thank you.
Mary K Sprinkle
I lost my Mom several years ago and I think that is one of the hardest things I have ever went through. I felt like part of me went with her. I was diagnosed in August of last year with PF. I wish I had my Mom to talk to. I have my husband but my children are never around. They are to busy with their own lives. The sad thing is they will never feel like you and I do about our Mothers because they are not that close to me. It is sad and it hurts but children just are not like they use to be when we were growing up. Praying for you and I request your prayers also.