What to Do When I'm Gone: A Mother's Wisdom to Her Daughter

by Suzy Hopkins

The earth would continue to spin, and I’d be left in a world without her. My map would be gone. The ground beneath my feet would be gone.

Who could I call to ask how to cook a potato? Who would listen to me talk about my work for more than five minutes? Who would tell me everything? Who would forgive me for everything? How could I possibly navigate this world without the person who brought me into it?

It’s time to put your home in order. Give everything a place. Make it make sense. Make your room the exact opposite of the randomness of existence, the mercilessness of mortality.

Or share what happened, how it feels to lose me. Tell her what I said that made you laugh, what I did that drove you crazy.

I don’t think of cemeteries as depressing places, but as fascinating repositories of family history.

Your job today is not to think. Just be.

That’s OK. You had no way of knowing it was the last time we’d talk. Feel bad, feel sad, roll on.

Go ahead, rewrite my ending. I’m not attached to it anymore. Here are a few alternatives if you need help.

My story could have ended in a million ways. It doesn’t matter which one. If you asked a bunch of dead people if they were happy with how they died, I’m guessing most would want to rewrite their endings, too. However it happened, dead is dead.

think. But the forever nature of the loss is beginning to sink in. This is the new normal. You won’t get over it but in time you’ll get through it.

Look for a person who lights up at the mere mention of homemade brownies.

You make a really good point. Life isn’t fair.

Why go on if we all just die in the end? There’s a great reason. If you knew you were going to live forever, imagine how much time you’d waste. Amazing things can happen when there’s a deadline looming.

Expressing gratitude forces you to focus on living people who care about you rather than on the enormity of your loss.

Your thoughts are just that: thoughts, not reality, and honestly, you can’t always trust them.

This is the first year that I’m not there and it will feel different. Don’t try to do the things we’ve always done and watch a gaping hole appear in each one. Come up with something new to do each year, and think, offhandedly, that you wish I was there.

This is going to be a hard day for you, but don’t forget—I’m the victim here. You should be feeling sorry for ME on your birthday, not yourself. This just sucks. I wish I could be there.

Now that I’m not there to spoil you, it’s time to start spoiling yourself.

pain. If I could do one thing from the grave, it would be to help ease your sense of loss.

What we carry of other people, even when they’re alive, is simply our perception of them, an idea. That means I’m here as long as you remember me. And since I’m here, I suggest you get busy living, seeking out happiness, moving forward.

If you lose someone important to you, you should try to replace that person. Because if you live your life losing and not replacing, you’ll end up at zero. I’m not saying you can replace your mother, and it won’t necessarily be an even trade, but I’d like you to try.

reminding yourself that you are also tough and will survive this emotional meltdown.

Listen to a great song with the volume turned up to drown out that infernal internal screaming. If someone you care about is nearby, consider using headphones.

But you can.

This bad patch will pass, just like the bad patches in the past and the ones that lie ahead. Passing clouds, all.

How much love and effort you put into marriage is a fair indicator of its success or failure.

All I can say is, it’s worth it when you find someone who knows what you are going through and actually cares. Who knows your history and doesn’t mind at all. Who knows what you are really like first thing in the morning and loves you anyway. Yes, it’s risky, and yes, there are times when it’s a lot of work. Take that chance.

Even if I’m dead, I’d like to be a grandmother.

Even if you forget what was said or the specifics of the dream, try to hang on to this feeling of reconnection.

I hope my visit reminds you how much I will always love you.

Grief isn’t the only byproduct of a death. And death isn’t just subtraction. You’re left with a treasure of memories that can be triggered by sights, sounds, smells—a record of how my life enriched yours.

Hint: Caring for yourself should be near the top of the list.

I see happiness as contentment with what you’re doing right now. That may be nothing at all, or something ambitious, or something in between. It’s a sense of not wanting to be anywhere else.

Fear is useful when it causes you to avoid an oncoming train or motivates you to make positive changes. Otherwise it’s a life suck. When you’re terrified, ask yourself: Is this helping? If not, laugh in fear’s face.

Sitting and reading a good book, drinking tea, taking a walk with you. For me, those were life’s best moments. Better even than seeing the Taj Mahal or sailing the fjords or skiing in Switzerland. Sitting around just talking about . . . stuff. That’s what I really miss.

No matter your age, you deserve clean clothes and a hot meal and good company.

But why stop there? Spend some time thinking about how you’d really like to die.