As I sit on my couch typing this, Mother’s Day is just a few days away. I thought for once, this year, it won’t creep up on me—the void, the pain, the overwhelming sadness that is grief. And again, for the 11th year in a row, I am wrong. Avoiding the pain doesn’t make it go away. And so here I sit, with tears rolling down my face thinking about everything, but specifically what happened just a few days ago.

My nonprofit was invited by New Economics for Women, the first Latina-led and operated economic development nonprofit to participate in their Mother’s Day celebration at Las Posada, one of their community buildings for single mothers and women. The day consisted of the women in the program having a full glam day, KC Beauty Academy was there providing free haircuts and manicures and the Baddies were there with free fits for the women. We got to spend the day with them and watch their transformations. It was really beautiful and it took everything in me to keep from crying. We watched as the women slowly appeared for their appointments, children in tow, as the organizers watched the kids and took care of them while the moms got pampered. We made friends with and helped the older señoras find clothes so they wouldn’t ruin their manis. I watched as the kids ran around, the NEW organizers taking turns holding babies, feeding them, rocking them to sleep, teaching them arts and crafts, and giving the moms a break. I wanted to reach out and offer my arms too but stranger danger, so instead, I stood by and watched everyone enjoying themselves. I thought about how this could have very easily been my life too had I stayed in my toxic relationship. I felt so grateful to be part of this special moment in time, and I thought, “When is it going to be my turn? Will I ever get to be a mother? Could I be a mother? Could I handle it? Could I be that selfless?” I’m not sure I can and that hurt to think about. Because a huge part of me wants it. I felt this tug, this fear, this gratitude.

It wasn’t until I took a break to check my phone and saw that a friend of mine posted the unexpected passing of their mother, this woman I’ve known since I was 18. She was such a lively, loving, fun, crazy woman and always, always everyone’s cheerleader, including mine. This can’t be real. I just saw her. I just spoke to her. She came to my swap recently and like a tornado, came in, yapped my ear off and took off just as quickly as she arrived—but not before praising me, and telling me how proud she was of me. That’s just how Christina was, crazy—but full of love and support for her people. My heart hurts for my friend and his brother, and most of all their grandma, Gran. Hearing this news brought back all the pain I felt when my mom passed away. It felt so close to home. It made it feel brand new again. Grief just works like that, shows up whenever it wants and kinda just fucks you up real good till it passes once again.

I did everything I could to keep it together for the remainder of the event. The last hour, we spent with the mothers and organizers having lunch in the playground next door. I saw and watched as the younger moms let the older women hold and carry their babies while they ate. It was so communal. It was a reminder to me what the power of community holds, how we aren’t supposed to live our lives alone, or grieve alone. Yet I couldn’t wait to get in my car to be just that, alone to cry and let all these confusing, overwhelming emotions out. I was bursting. I don’t know how many times I told the organizers at NEW, “THANK YOU, thank you for inviting us to be a part of this special day.” When what I really wanted to do was grab them and cry and let them know, how much this really meant to me. How sacred and powerful women are. How lucky I am to be here, how this probably means more to me than they could ever imagine. I felt saved—yet I don’t know how or why or what this all meant, but something inside me was aching.

I also got news that morning that I’d been once again rejected from another potential dream job—it was hard not to feel like maybe my place belongs here, or someplace similar, where I can make a difference.

I fear that this post is a bit jumbled and not well organized or written, but grief has got me fucked up. I’ve been stumbling through my days pretending everything is good—when in reality, I’m hiding from the grief and surprisingly, I wasn’t even aware of it. I feel like my day at NEW and the heartbreaking news of my friend passing has brought everything back to the forefront—good and bad. In a sense, it shook me. I’ve been going through these days in a fog—not realizing or appreciating my time. I hope to never forget this feeling, the precariousness of life.

In loving memory of Christina Olson.