Grief Upon Grief: Losing My Mom, Ex-Husband Jason, and Beloved Pugbug

Grief isn’t something you can control, and it certainly doesn’t come with a manual. Two and a half years ago, my mother passed away, and I’m still struggling to come to terms with that loss. It’s been an emotional journey—one I’ve never quite felt prepared for. Then, just when I thought I was beginning to cope, life hit me again with more pain I never saw coming. My ex-husband passed away, adding another layer of grief that I wasn’t ready for. Just a month later, I had to say goodbye to my beloved pug, who had been with me for 14 years. The weight of all these losses feels unbearable at times, and I’m left wondering how much more my heart can take. Below is what I have been going through. Maybe my blog can help someone else who is going through grief.

Why I Haven’t Moved On From My Mom’s Death After Two and a Half Years Introduction: Two and a half years have passed since my mom passed away, yet it feels like her absence is still as fresh as it was the day I lost her. People often say time heals all wounds, but I’ve found that time doesn’t necessarily make grief go away—it just changes how it feels. While the initial shock may have faded, the ache of missing her hasn’t, and I’m learning that it’s okay to not have moved on. Grief Isn’t Linear, When my mom died, I expected there to be stages of grief that I would pass through, eventually reaching a place of acceptance. But grief is far messier than the neat stages we often hear about. It’s not something you “get over” in a set amount of time, and I’ve learned that, for me, there’s no endpoint to the pain of losing someone so central to my life. Some days, I feel almost okay. Other days, the grief hits me out of nowhere, triggered by something as simple as seeing her favorite flower or hearing a song she used to love. It’s in these moments that I realize just how deeply my mother’s presence is embedded in my everyday life—and how much I still miss her. The Pressure to “Move On”: One of the hardest things about grieving for this long is the subtle pressure from others to “move on” or “get over it.” I know they mean well, but the truth is, I don’t want to forget her, and the pain of her absence is a reminder of the love we shared. I’ve come to understand that “moving on” doesn’t mean forgetting—it means finding a way to live with the loss, even when it still hurts. But society often expects grief to have an expiration date. There’s this unspoken assumption that after a year or two, you should be able to pack up your grief, store it away, and return to normal life. For me, that’s impossible. My mother’s death changed me, and the grieving process is something that continues to evolve. Instead of trying to force myself to move past my mom’s death, I’ve started to embrace the idea that grief is now a part of my life. It doesn’t define me, but it’s a thread that runs through my experiences. I’ve had to learn to live with it, rather than trying to push it away or “get over it.” For a long time, I thought there was something wrong with me because I wasn’t “better” after two and a half years. But I’ve realized that grief is deeply personal, and there’s no right or wrong way to go through it. For some, it might fade more quickly, but for me, the hole left by my mom’s absence is one that will take much longer to heal—if it ever does. Part of my grieving process has been finding ways to keep my mom’s memory alive. I talk about her often, sharing stories with friends and family. And sometimes, I write her letters, telling her about the things happening in my life, as if she’s still here to listen. These small acts of remembrance help me feel like she’s still part of my life. They don’t erase the grief, but they do soften the edges of it, reminding me that she’s still with me in some way, even if it’s not in the way I wish. I’ve come to accept that I may never fully “get over” my mom’s death, and that’s okay. The pain of losing her is a reflection of the deep love and bond we shared. Grief, I’ve learned, isn’t something to be fixed or resolved; it’s something to be carried. In the two and a half years since she’s passed, I’ve changed, and so has my relationship with grief. I’ve learned to be gentler with myself, allowing the sadness to exist without trying to force it away. It’s a part of my life now, and I’m slowly learning to make peace with that. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from these past two and a half years, it’s that grief doesn’t follow a timetable. The loss of my mom is something I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life, and while the pain may never fully go away, I’m learning to live alongside it. It’s okay to not be over it yet. Grief is a journey, not a destination, and for me, that journey is ongoing. Grief isn’t something you can control, and it certainly doesn’t come with a manual. What I didn’t expect was for grief to be so exhausting. I thought that by now, it would start to get easier, but the truth is, I’m still struggling. I’ve learned that grief doesn’t follow a set timeline, and that’s okay. Then, just when I thought I was beginning to cope, life hit me again with more pain I never saw coming. My ex-husband, Jason, passed away, adding another layer of grief that I wasn’t ready for.

The Unexpected Loss of My Ex-Husband: When my ex-husband Jason passed away, it hit me in ways I couldn’t have imagined. We had moved on from our marriage, but his death stirred up so many emotions—grief I didn’t know I would feel, questions about what closure really looks like, and reflections on the life we once shared. His passing was a reminder that even though we had grown apart, he had still been a significant part of my life. I wasn’t prepared for the pain that followed his death. It felt like reopening old wounds, but this time, there was no chance for reconciliation or final conversations. It was over. Final. And the grief, though different from what I felt for my mom, was just as heavy. Grief is never something we can prepare for, no matter how inevitable it may seem. Losing someone you once loved, even an ex-husband, stirs up a mix of memories, emotions, and realizations that can be overwhelming. When we divorced, I never expected to grieve him the way I have. Our relationship had changed, but that doesn’t mean the bond was broken. Losing someone you’ve shared so much with, even if time and distance separated you, is like losing a part of yourself. I reflected on our good times and bad. I thought about how our lives had intertwined, and even after the divorce, we were forever connected by the memories we shared and the son we created. His death wasn’t just the end of a chapter; it felt like the closing of a book I wasn’t ready to put down. When I was just starting to come to terms with that loss, I faced another.

Losing My Beloved Pugbug: Just as I was trying to process these emotions, life dealt me another devastating blow. My 14-year-old pug (Pugbug), who had been my constant companion through all of life’s challenges, fell ill, and I had to make the heartbreaking decision to put him down. He had been there through everything—my mom’s passing, my ups and downs, and now, in the midst of this new wave of grief, he was gone too. The loss of a pet is often underestimated, but to me, it felt like losing a member of my family. He had been with me for 14 years, through the highs and lows, always offering unconditional love and comfort. His death left my home and heart feeling unbearably empty. I found myself mourning his loss in the quietest moments—coming home to an empty space, missing the little sounds of his presence like his walking, his little howls and barking at nothing, and feeling the weight of his absence in the routines we shared. I knew the time would come when I’d have to say goodbye, but nothing could prepare me for the actual moment. Losing a pet is a unique kind of grief. They are the silent witnesses to our lives—their unconditional love and loyalty remind us what true companionship is. My pug saw me at my worst and my best, never judging, just offering comfort. When he passed, I felt an emptiness my heart.

The hardest part of this experience has been trying to navigate all of these losses at once. Just as I was beginning to figure out how to live with my mom’s death, the grief of losing my ex-husband hit me, followed closely by the death of my pugbug. Each loss felt like a fresh wound, but together, they’ve been overwhelming, almost too much to bear. It’s hard to even describe what it feels like to be hit with so much pain in such a short time. It’s like being pulled under by a wave, just when you’ve managed to catch your breath. Grief upon grief has left me feeling exhausted, emotionally drained, and lost. The timing of these two losses was like an emotional tidal wave. Just as I began to process the death of my ex-husband, my pugbug was gone. It felt like the universe was asking me to carry too much at once. Grief is isolating, but experiencing two forms of grief simultaneously is disorienting. One is the loss of a person who was once central to your life, and the other, the loss of a creature who represented home, stability, and love. Coping with these compounded losses has been a slow, painful process. Some days, I don’t know how to make sense of it all, and the weight of grief feels crushing. Other days, I find small ways to honor the memories of my mom, my ex-husband , and my pugbug. I’ve learned that healing isn’t linear, and some days will be better than others. I’m allowing myself to feel each loss fully, even though it hurts. I’ve learned not to rush through my emotions or suppress the pain, because each loss deserves to be grieved in its own way. Writing about my experiences, talking to friends of mine and my ex-husband, and allowing myself time to sit with my grief have helped me survive the emotional storm I’m in.

Coping and Moving Forward: Healing from such significant losses doesn’t happen overnight. I’ve learned to let myself feel the emotions without trying to rush through them. I’ve leaned on friends, family, and therapy to help me navigate the complexities of mourning both a human and a pet. Writing has been a huge part of my healing process. Sharing my story not only helps me process my emotions but also allows me to connect with others who’ve experienced multiple losses. It’s a reminder that grief doesn’t follow a linear path and that sometimes, it's okay to not be okay. As I reflect on these losses, I’ve come to understand that grief is a testament to love. My ex-husband and my pug may be gone, but their presence in my life shaped me. I carry their memory with me, and in many ways, they live on in the lessons they’ve left behind. I carry the memory of my ex-husband Jason through our son Skylar. I see the great part of Jason in him. I’m learning to honor their memory, even as I slowly mend my heart.

Thank you to all who have been there for me through all of this. I send all my love to each and everyone of you.

Mickey