Remembering a Love That Never Fades

Yesterday marked another year since we lost my mother-in-law. March 2020. A day forever etched in my heart. I still remember that morning so vividly—the phone ringing, the sinking feeling in my chest before I even answered. The world was already in chaos, everything shut down, life as we knew it flipped upside down. But that phone call… that was the moment everything truly changed for us.

She had been in the hospital for over two months, battling neurological issues that no one could explain. It was terrifying to watch. And then came the diagnosis—cervical cancer. Suddenly, the pieces fit together, but the reality was even more devastating. We threw everything at it—chemo, surgery, every possible treatment. But nothing worked. We watched helplessly as she slipped away, powerless to stop it.

She wasn’t just my mother-in-law. She was a force of nature—strong, sharp, and full of life. At 68, she could hold a crow pose for over a minute, proving just how determined and disciplined she was. She was multilingual, effortlessly switching between Ukrainian, Polish, Portuguese, English, and French. It was beautiful to witness, especially when she spoke sweet words to my daughter in Polish or Portuguese, little endearments that wrapped her in warmth and love.

And oh, how she loved being a grandmother. She wasn’t just present; she was all in. She was the kind of grandma who didn’t just play with her grandchild—she taught her things, meaningful things. Like how to properly use a knife at just two years old (which, made me more than a little nervous). But that was her—she saw children as capable, worthy of trust and independence. And she was always so patient, so gentle in the way she guided my daughter, making every lesson feel like an adventure.

But beyond all of that, she had the rarest, most beautiful quality—she made people feel loved, truly loved. And lucky for me, that extended to me, too. Most people joke about mother-in-laws taking their son’s side in everything, but not her. She always had my back. Even in the silly, everyday debates—like who should do the dishes—she would side with me instead of her son, flashing me a knowing smile, as if to say, I got you.

And if I had to pick just one memory to hold closest to my heart, it would be the moment we told her we were expecting. The way she literally jumped up and down for five straight minutes, unable to contain her joy. She was that kind of person—unapologetically expressive, overflowing with love and excitement. She didn’t just say she was happy; she showed it in every fiber of her being. I can still picture her, hands clutched together, eyes shining, feet bouncing off the floor as if the happiness was too big to stay inside her.

That’s who she was. A woman who loved fiercely, who gave endlessly, who left an imprint so deep that even now, years later, it still feels like she’s with us.

Grief is strange. It doesn’t fade, not really. It shifts, it changes shape, but it never truly goes away. Some days, I catch myself wanting to call her, to tell her a funny story or ask for her advice. Some days, I picture how she would have reacted to something my daughter did, how she would have laughed, how she would have wrapped her arms around her and whispered sweet words in Polish or Portuguese.

We miss you, Mom. Every single day. Every single moment. You were a gift to this world, to our family, to me. And no matter how much time passes, your love is still here. Always.

-Fabi