Beth Meyer

I’ve been worried about Mother’s Day since the day I lost my mom. I played a reel in my head of all the talks I would miss, the moments we would no longer have, the voice I would never hear again, and the hugs that would no longer wrap around me. It’s been a self-fulfilling prophecy in the worst way. My love for her, and hers for me, was something that filled my cup, especially throughout my adult life. I look for her everywhere and I’ve had a few moments where I’ve felt her presence. Maybe...

One of my most distinct childhood memories is of my mom reading Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day to me and my brother. As the title suggests, the story follows a young boy named Alexander whose day isn't going as planned. From his mom forgetting to pack dessert in his lunch, to discovering he has a cavity, to the shoe store not having the sneakers he wants, everything seems off. Add in things like lima beans at dinner, a bath that’s too hot, and his favorite...

It’s been two months since my mom died, and I’ve been waiting. Waiting to turn a corner. Waiting to feel settled. Waiting for her to show up in the ways people promise loved ones do. I thought by now something would have shifted — a glow on the horizon, a sign, a sense that I was moving out of this. Instead, I’m learning that grief doesn’t move on my timeline. It doesn’t respond to impatience or bargaining. It simply expects me to walk with it, and honestly, it feels like walking through tar....