What my mother’s death taught me about love, strength, and living fully.

Something sudden and tragic recently happened to a client. Her dad unexpectedly passed away.

It's utterly heartbreaking and she sent me this message:

And I told her, that’s okay.​
In fact… it’s good.

When my mom passed, I felt the same way. I couldn't stop thinking about her...

Things I said.
Things I hadn't said.
Things she shared with me.
And just how we ended up here.

Even though it hurt like hell, part of me wanted to hold onto that pain. Because my pain was a connection to my mom.

Here are a few of the lessons I learned during that time, the same ones I recently shared with my client to help her get through her own loss.

Lesson 1: Lean Into The Pain

Most people try to avoid pain.

They distract themselves with work, Netflix, alcohol, or even work and working out.

But here’s the truth I learned the hard way:
Pain you avoid doesn’t disappear, it multiplies.

I could either face it now, head on... or I could face it in a few years in therapy after it blew up my life.

I tried the other path after my first engagement ended...

I dove into my work securing an early promotion but pushing down and avoiding all my feelings which came out in other, more destructive ways.

I drank way too much alcohol, smoked entirely too much weed, and went to an insane number of Dave Matthews Band concerts (67 to be exact).

I also took it out in many of the women I dated until I fell into a deep, dark depression.

When my mom died, I was older, more mature, and presumably more capable of handling and processing emotion.

So, I decided to do it differently...

I cried, I wrote, and I journaled. I even wrote her obituary myself. Not because I wanted to, but because I needed to.

It was an incredibly therapeutic process. And in that process I realized two powerful concepts about grief:

1. Writing turns grief into gratitude.
2. Gratitude turns grief into healing.

If you're struggling with something, write about it. It's the fastest, cheapest, and best therapy on the planet.

Lesson 2: Learn Through Others’ Stories

After my mom passed, and the funeral was over... I started reading everything I could about loss.

There was one moment on the plane home when I was reading The Dead Moms Club and I started sobbing uncontrollably.

My wife, who knew what book I was reading, looked at me concerned with tears running down my face and said, "Why do you do this to yourself?"

And I told her, “Because I have to.”
​If I don’t feel it now, it’ll come out later in worse ways.

But there’s comfort in shared pain.

Because when you see your own story in someone else’s words, it reminds you you’re not broken — you’re human.

We're all part of a larger shared human experience and I took a lot of comfort in that during those initial very difficult times.

That’s one reason I coach, post on social media, write these emails, and record my podcast. To give shape to the difficult stuff so maybe someone else out there doesn’t feel so alone in it.

There is plenty of wisdom in the world. Use it when you're going through a difficult time so you don't have to reinvent the wheel.

You'll get through things faster and better than you would on your own.

Lesson 3: Amor Fati — Love of Fate

There’s a Stoic idea that changed how I saw grief: Amor Fati or love of fate.

It doesn’t mean loving everything that happens, it means loving what those things ultimately give you.

Perspective. Purpose. Connection. Meaning.

When my mom went into hospice, we had two weeks together.

We talked. We laughed. We even had a pizza-and-beer wedding in the living room so she could be there when Anya and I said “I do.”

It wasn’t pretty or perfect, but it was ours. And that experience changed me forever and how I thought about the "bad" things that happen to me.

I realized I didn’t have to love losing her.
But I could love what that loss gave me.

It made me a better man, husband, and now, father.

Here's the Instagram post I made about it at the time.

Amor Fati isn’t about pretending tragedy is good, it’s about choosing to use it for good.

Lesson 4: Remember You Will Die

There’s another Stoic phrase: Memento Mori or remember you will die.

It’s not meant to depress you, it’s meant to wake you up.

Because nothing brings clarity faster than realizing how temporary everything really is.

The deadlines, the arguments, the “someday” plans... all of it gets quiet when you remember that none of us are guaranteed tomorrow.

Life is fragile.
Time is limited.
And none of us are getting out alive.

So stop waiting to tell people you love them. Stop assuming you’ll have time “later.” Because one day, later won’t come.

Even when my mom was in hospice, when we knew she didn't have long, I still thought I'd have more time than I actually did.

She seemed fine one day, then... all of a sudden she wasn't.

I thought I had more time, but I didn't.

Speak up.
Make the call.
Start the business.

And for the love of God, get in shape.

Most importantly, always hug and kiss your spouse before they walk out the door even if it's just to run to the grocery store.

(Or Chanel like my wife because I do all the grocery shopping.)

Because the truth is, you never know which hug will be your last. And the only way to die without regret… is to live like you already know that.

Lesson 5: Focus on What You Can Control

When my mom passed, I couldn’t control any of it — not the cancer, not the timing, not the pain. And that’s what nearly broke me.

I used to believe that if I just worked hard enough, I could fix anything. But some things can’t be fixed. They can only be faced.

Like my mom, all I could do was control how I carried this burden. How I showed up for my dad, how I spoke at her funeral, and how I chose to live afterward.

My mom faced cancer with such incredible strength, courage, and selflessness. I never once saw her cry and I never heard her complain.

I heard her complain about a lot of things: me not buying my wife enough presents, not visiting home enough, etc. But never about her situation.

Whether it's a matter of life and death like this, a problem in your marriage, finances, or your fitness.

You can’t control your genetics, your age, or the curveballs life throws at you when you least expect it. But you can control your effort, your consistency, and your attitude.

You can choose how you respond when things don’t go your way. You can choose whether you let pain break you or build you.

That’s where real strength begins. Not in the absence of hardship, but in your response to it.

Because control isn’t about changing what happens.

It’s about changing your response to it.

Final Thought

One of the last things my mom ever said to me was,

And I have.

I’ve learned that grief doesn’t go away, it just becomes part of your story. Like background music reminding you what matters most.

So if you’re walking through something heavy right now (loss, heartbreak, uncertainty) keep walking.

But walk with love in your heart.
Because the people we’ve lost… they don’t want us stuck in pain.

They want us living: fully, joyfully, purposefully.

That’s how I honor my mom.

And maybe, that’s how you can honor someone you’ve lost too.

🎧 Listen to Episode 11:​
​“Leaning Into Loss: What My Mother’s Death Taught Me About Love, Grief, and Growth.”

→ Listen on Spotify​
→ Listen on Apple Podcasts