This morning started like any other.
At least, that’s what I thought.
I got up, started getting ready, and planned to go out dashing with my daughter for a bit before starting my classes. Just a normal Tuesday morning.
And then it happened.
She walked into the room holding a shirt.
Garet’s shirt.
She knew it was one of her brothers’ shirts.
She just wasn’t sure which brother.
But I knew.
And just like that — boom — the memories came flooding back.
I could hear my own voice laughing and talking about the day he got that shirt. I remembered why he bought it, the conversation we had about it, and the warning I gave him about what would probably happen if he got it.
A few days later, this mama was proven right. 😁
This morning, for just a moment, it felt like time folded in on itself.
I could almost smell him.
I could almost feel him nearby.
For a split second, it felt like he was still here.
And then, just as quickly, reality came crashing back.
It always does.
No matter how many good days I have.
No matter how many days I can’t get out of bed.
No matter how many times panic grips my chest and I can still hear my own cries echoing from that nightmare morning.
Reality waits.
It reminds me that he’s gone.
And no matter how much I wish I could push that truth away, I can’t.
As a bereaved parent, I have learned that I really only have two choices when those waves come.
I can let them pull me under.
Or I can remember to be patient with myself.
To stop expecting perfection.
To breathe and ride the wave of grief when it comes.
Because grief doesn’t ask permission.
Sometimes it arrives quietly.
Sometimes it crashes in without warning.
This is the life of a bereaved parent.
After the wave hit this morning, I had to settle the anxiety in my chest. I had to breathe through the sadness, the frustration, and the overwhelming weight of it all.
And honestly?
Sometimes grief is not only heartbreaking.
Sometimes it’s exhausting.
Sometimes it’s frustrating.
Sometimes it’s even… annoying.
Not because I don’t love my son.
But because I miss him so much that even a simple shirt can turn an ordinary morning upside down.
But here’s the thing.
I’m still here.
Still moving forward.
Still learning how to carry this grief gently.
Someone once said that grief is love with nowhere to go.
And maybe that’s true.
But I’m learning that love doesn’t disappear just because the person we gave it to is gone.
It finds other ways to exist.
Sometimes in memories.
Sometimes in stories.
Sometimes in waves.
And sometimes in a shirt that reminds a mother that her son will always be part of her world.
Why Moments Like This Happen
Moments like this can feel confusing when they happen.
One minute you’re going about an ordinary morning, and the next minute you’re standing in the middle of a memory that feels incredibly real.
But if you’ve ever had a moment like this—where something small suddenly brings back a flood of memories—you’re not imagining it.
This is actually a very normal part of how grief works.
Our brains store memories alongside the sights, sounds, smells, and objects connected to the people we love. When someone dies, those memories don’t disappear. They stay in our nervous system, quietly waiting.
That’s why something as simple as a shirt, a song, a smell, or a favorite snack can suddenly unlock an entire moment from the past.
For a second, it can feel like time folds in on itself.
You hear their voice.
You remember exactly what was said.
You can almost feel them nearby.
Your brain is reconnecting with a memory that was built through years of love and experience.
And then reality returns.
That sudden shift—the warm memory followed by the sharp reminder that they’re gone—is one of the reasons grief can feel so intense, even years later.
But moments like this aren’t a sign that something is wrong.
They’re actually evidence of how deeply someone was woven into your life.
Your mind remembers because your heart remembers.
And while those waves can be painful, they also carry something important:
Proof that the love we shared didn’t disappear.
It simply found a new place to live—in memories, in stories, and sometimes in the quiet surprise of an ordinary morning.
And that’s the thing about grief.
It sneaks into the most ordinary moments.
A song.
A place.
A smell.
Or apparently… a random shirt discovered before Dashing.
One minute you’re just trying to start your day, and the next minute you’re having a full emotional reunion with someone who should still be here.
Grief does that.
But so does love.
So today I’ll take the memories, the wave, and even the annoying moments that knock the wind out of me.
Because every one of them means he mattered.
And honestly… if my son can still manage to completely derail my morning just by leaving a shirt behind?
That sounds exactly like something he would do! (Garet, we miss you. You are so loved….)
Love and light ~Mandy
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