One Year Without Momma

May 18, 2026

One year ago today, my world changed.

This was the day we learned that my mother had passed. It was also the last day I heard her voice—the last day I spoke to her, the last day I got to say, kuv hlub koj os.

What feels especially sacred to me is that in our final conversation, she asked me to pray for her. And I did.

At the time, I had no idea that would be our final conversation. I didn’t know those moments would become memories I would replay in my heart over and over again. But now, a year later, I realize what a gift that moment was—a final prayer, a final exchange of love, a final opportunity to hear her voice.

And oh, how I miss her.

I miss her laughter. I miss her smile. I miss her voice.

I miss the way she loved my children. Even with the language barrier between her and my kids, that never seemed to matter. Love translated what words could not. She and Dad found so much joy in simply seeing them—watching them, hearing them, being part of their little lives in whatever way they could.

She would call just to see them.

I find myself grieving not only what I have lost, but also what my children have lost. A grandmother’s love is special, and hers was no exception.

Today, I find myself holding both sorrow and gratitude in the same hands.

There is grief because I miss her deeply. There is gratitude because she is no longer suffering. Gratitude because I believe she is in a better place. Gratitude because God gave me 39 years with her.

Thirty-nine years of being her daughter. Thirty-nine years of hearing her voice. Thirty-nine years of receiving her love in all the ways she knew how to give it.

Not everyone gets that kind of gift.

And while one year without her has felt impossibly long, I know how blessed I am to have had her at all.

There are still so many things I wish I could say to her. So many moments I wish I could share. So many times I still instinctively think about calling her.

But today, more than anything, I simply feel thankful.

Thankful that I got to call her Momma.

Thankful for the memories.

Thankful for her sacrifices.

Thankful for her love.

And thankful that love like hers doesn’t disappear just because someone is gone. It lives on—in memory, in legacy, in family, and in the parts of me she helped shape.

One year later, I still miss you.

And I always will.