Yesterday was June 27. The anniversary of my mother’s death.
It’s been eighteen years.
You would think a day that far back would have softened by now. It hasn’t. It always hits hard.
Every year I do the same things. I look through old photos. I rewatch the video tribute I made for her memorial all those years ago and I sit with her for a while.
Yesterday I did all of it again.
Three years ago was different. It was the fifteenth anniversary, and my four siblings and I gathered together to mark it.
I had been testing some new AI tools, and I used them to produce a memorial song for her. I wasn’t sure what to expect. It turned out better than I imagined.
We played it and we listened. More than a few tears were shed. For a few minutes she was in the room with us again.
Fifteen years after we said goodbye, we found a new way to honor her.
That is the part I want you to sit with.
It is never too late. Not because grief fades and you circle back when it is convenient. The opposite. It is never too late because the loss never goes away.
You accept it. You learn to carry it. But it does not leave.
It comes back loudest on the days that remind you. Anniversaries. Birthdays. Holidays. The empty chair at the table. The date on the calendar you feel coming before it arrives.
Funeral professionals understand this better than anyone. Many funeral homes hold a memorial event every Christmas for the families they have served. And every year, the same families come back.
Not because they are stuck. Because grief is not a problem that gets solved and closed. It is something you live alongside for the rest of your life. Those families return because someone, once a year, says out loud what the rest of the culture has gone quiet about. The person you lost still matters. So does your grief.
That is an opportunity, and it does not end at the funeral. The family you serve this week will still be grieving in ten years. They will still want their person remembered. A farewell is not the last thing you do for a family. It can be the first of many.
And for the families who feel they did too little, or who lost someone so long ago they assume the moment has passed, the door is still open. There is always another anniversary. There is always another way to honor a life. The need never expires, because the love never expires.
Yesterday I listened to the song. I looked at the photos. I remembered my mother and dipped a toe into the waters of grief.
It still hurts. It will always hurt. Grief is the price we pay for love.
Until next time,
John