The grief of losing a parent is indescribable. You end up mourning not just the person you lost, but the person you were when they were still alive. In many ways, it feels like a piece of you died with them and you’re forced to create a new life that may look the same as your old life, but feels very, very different. I lost my mom over a year ago, and I still continue to notice how much her absence impacts my daily life. Some changes were easy to predict: holidays, birthdays, Mother’s Day, trips to my parents’ house. But there was one thing to come out of my mom’s death that I didn’t expect, and that’s how it’s affected my relationship with my mother-in-law.
Despite what years of watching Everybody Loves Raymond have warned me about regarding the stereotypical meddling behavior of mothers-in-law, I’ve consistently gotten along with mine pretty well. Back when my husband and I first started dating, I never noticed any red flags about their relationship with one another and always felt very welcome anytime I came over to visit. Even after my son was born, she never overstepped in her opinions or tried to give unsolicited parenting advice — something that I am extremely grateful for.
All in all, it’s been a fairly positive experience. Sure, we’ve never been the type to text each other privately outside of the family group chat, nor do we ever talk on the phone or go out to do something that’s just the two of us. But we enjoy each other’s company, and that’s always been enough. Or, at least, it used to be.
In the wake of my mom’s passing, there’s been a noticeable shift in our dynamic.
While some people have been hesitant to talk about my mom in front of me — no doubt out of concern that it would make me sad to think about her (but spoiler alert: I’m always thinking about her) — my mother-in-law has made a point of bringing my mom up to me on multiple occasions.
Sometimes it’s just to ask how I’m feeling on that particular day or to check in and see if things are getting any easier. But other times she’s simply taken time to listen — giving me the space to share stories about my mom, which is quite honestly the nicest thing she could do for me. Because when you lose someone dear to you, pretty much all you want to do is sit around and talk about that person.
Before this, our conversations had always been mostly surface-level topics, so I’ve really appreciated the effort on her part to bring us closer. It’s made me feel more comfortable opening up about what I’ve been going through and — for the first time ever — given me the desire for us to be closer. I’d never felt the need for it until now. My mom was always the person I turned to with my problems, both big or small, so it’s been nice to have that again… at least on some small-scale level.
Now, of course, the love I have for my mom and the special relationship we shared together is irreplaceable. It’s a void that can never be filled, not by anyone or anything. Despite the sadness and pain that have come with losing her, I know deep down that I was the luckiest person to get to have her as a mom and experience what it was like to be loved by her on a daily basis. But when the giver of all that love is suddenly gone, you can’t help but look for at least a small semblance of that love in others.
However, grief is complicated and messy and highly unreasonable. So while I may feel a little closer to my MIL as a result of losing my mom, I’ve grappled with much uglier emotions as well that bubble to the surface from time to time.
Sometimes when we’re with my husband’s side of the family, I can’t help but feel jealous and resentful of his relationship with his mother — or rather the fact that he still gets to have a relationship with his mother and can talk to her whenever he wants, when I can’t. Simple, everyday things like hugging my mom or texting her or hearing her laugh exist for me only in memories now. So seeing others still get to do it can feel infuriating. For the record, I’m aware of how completely unfair that is, and logically, I understand it’s just misplaced anger that can come with facing an impossible loss.
On the positive side, feeling this way has also prompted me to make sure my husband makes the effort to appreciate his mom and show her how much he cares.
My mom always knew how much I loved her (we never hung up the phone without saying it), and while I understand that every mother-child relationship is different and special in its own way, my story is now somewhat of a cautionary tale for my husband — a reminder to treasure the time you have with your family because it won’t last forever.
I might feel a small, fleeting pang of sadness when my husband and MIL share a special moment together that I’ll never get to experience again with my own mom, but the bittersweet truth is that I want those moments to happen. Because I care about my MIL, perhaps now more than ever before.
I’ll never think of myself as her daughter or be the type of person who can call their MIL “Mom,” but I’ve discovered there’s a certain comfort that comes with feeling supported in a maternal way — whatever that may look like. It doesn’t fix the ache in my heart or make the grief of losing my mom go away, by any means, but it does make it all just the tiniest bit less difficult to bear.
Kelly Schremph is an entertainment and lifestyle writer with bylines at Us Weekly, Refinery29, Bustle, Romper, Scary Mommy, and more. She lives in California with her husband, their son, Chris, and their yellow lab, Luna, who still acts very much like a puppy. When Kelly isn’t watching TV (or writing about it), she’s usually chasing after one of them.
