Letters To Sheila:

#1 April 3, 2026

Easter 2022 Sheila, AJ and partner, Easter 2022. ©2026 Nancy E Holroyd

Dear Sheila,

I thought of you today. Yes, today is Good Friday (and although it is not the date your Nana died, I always think about her on Good Friday, since that was the day, she died on in 2008).

Okay… really, hardly a day goes by I don’t think of you.

Dang, you caught me. All right, I DO think of you every day. After all, you are still part of the family.

It doesn’t really matter that you are rarely ‘seen’. I only catch brief glimpse of you now and then. I’m not sure if either of your sisters, or your father ever do.

That gave me a good laugh. I would bet good money your dad has never caught a glimpse of you, even if you were standing, (floating?) right next to him.

CJ? Probably not. AJ? Maybe, but I think she would have told me if she caught a glimpse of you hovering about.

You think this was all a diversion? You want to know why I was just thinking of you?

I can hear you right now… Muuummmm!

I baked a bunch of chocolate cake bunnies and used two of your “flower” birthday cake pans. Half of the bunnies will be placed on one of the flowers and given away.

The other half of the bunnies will be placed on the other flower cake for your dad and me. We will definitely be thinking about you as we eat our Easter cakes.

We are coming up to Easter and like the Easter Sundays between the Pandemic shut down and your death, we will be having our Easter dinner at the Japanese restaurant with your sister and partner.

While I was getting out the ingredients, beating the eggs, pouring the oil and water into the GF flour and sugar, I remembered how much fun we used to have baking together.

Memories of me trying to sneak into the kitchen alone. Oh, yes, sometimes you used to let me believe I was successful and then, all of a sudden, there you were.

“Don’t forget me, mum. I want to help!”

It sometimes still catches me right in the feels that you are not here to help me with baking. Some days I can bake without tears threatening. Other days? Well… I still shed a tear or two.

How much help were you when we were baking? Surprisingly, you were quite a lot of help. I know, I really shouldn’t be surprised, but there you have it. I am constantly surprised about how much help you were with baking.

Shapes need for creating the Bunny Cake. One for us and one to give away. (c)2026 Nancy E Holroyd

Dear Gentle Reader,

You may wonder why I’m sharing such mundane thoughts. But they are not really.

Often in our society, we forget that grief in of itself is not an emotion that will just go away.

Grief is a profound life-changing event. We who grieve are forever changed by our loss.

Grief does not manifest the same way for everyone. The impact will differ based on the so many other factors.

Those who grieve often feel supported in the first days, weeks, perhaps even in the first months, but at some point, life has gone on for everyone else but the one who mourns.

There is no set end point for grief. The pain of loss does not stay the same over time.

There is acute, gut-wrenching, horrific pain initially for some. Later it shifts into a chronic, intermittent, low-level part of who we are.

It no longer hits us in the head with a 2x4 to get our attention but is quietly just there existing alongside of us.

Losing a child… even when that child is an adult was the most profound loss I have faced. It is not the first time I have grieved.

Lost love, death of both parents came before the loss of Sheila. Loss of the “perfect” AKA “normal” AKA “typical baby also preceded Sheila’s death. Chronic grief is a real thing for parents of children with disabilities.

With each loss comes a shifting of everything within the person and when you come out of the period of mourning, you are a changed person. It is as if we are constantly being reinvented.

Another Easter has come and gone. We were seated at this exact same place yesterday. Sheila was not there, but I did not fall apart. ©2026 Nancy E Holroyd

Our third Easter without Sheila has come and gone. In some ways it was so much easier this year. At least the actual day, but then, this Monday morning post Easter, I woke up weepy.

Yesterday was filled with family and friend blessings and comforting routines. A call from a dear friend who has given me so much support since Sheila’s death was another added blessing.

The bumpy ride with many twists and turns of grief continue. Then I look out the window. The sun has just come out from behind a cloud and the beams of sunlight are highlighting little, tiny snowflakes drifting to the ground.

Sheila, you continue to be loved and missed; honored and blessed. Thank you for choosing me as your mother so many years ago.

Love, Mum

A human, not an AI text generator, wrote this essay.
I am not a doctor, neither do I play one on TV. This is an information only newsletter. For specific medical advice please see your primary care provider.

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