It has been twenty-five years since I received the news that my mother was being admitted to the hospital due to a previously undiagnosed rare autoimmune disease that was wreaking havoc in her body.

Twenty-five years since I sat by her bedside and held her hand.

Twenty-five years since she looked into my husband’s eyes and asked him to please take good care of me.

Twenty-five years since I kissed her goodnight and told her that I loved her.

Twenty-five years since we were summoned to the hospital in the middle of the night and informed that there was nothing more that could be done.

Twenty-five years since I watched her take her last breath and step into eternity.

I was twenty-three when my mother died. The very same age that my oldest daughter is now. It felt like my heart had been ripped from my chest. How was I going to live without her? How would I raise children without her to help me? I mourned for all that she would miss and all that I would have to do without her.

A few years later I came to the realization that even though our time together was short, my mom had somehow managed to give me everything that I needed to live a happy and successful life. She taught me how to be kind, loving, compassionate, gracious, responsible, and honest. She showed me how to be a wonderful wife and mother, fiercely protective, always putting family first. She modeled strength and courage in the face of great adversity. She taught me to value education, work hard, and always pursue excellence. So many lessons learned and wisdom shared in our twenty-three years together.

I have lived more than half of my life without her. I haven’t audibly heard her voice in all this time. But I have come to appreciate that she is still the voice in my head.

Sometimes her voice is soft and kind as she gently reminds me of all that she taught me. Sometimes her voice is critical and judgmental as she comments on my choices. It is her voice that haunts my thoughts. And it is her voice that brings me comfort.

Her voice has guided me through so many situations, particularly in my journey through motherhood. She had the unique ability to connect with any child and know intuitively exactly what that child needed. A real child-whisperer. I have relied heavily on all that she taught me. I have come to appreciate the depth of her wisdom. Oh how I wish that we could sit together and share our stories. The successes, the failures, the pain, the exhaustion, the anxiety, and the sheer joy. She would have adored my daughters. I see so much of her in each of them.

Time has eased my grief a little, but I still miss her like crazy this time of year. My heart aches each time I set out the Christmas decorations from my childhood. The song “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” wrecks me every. single. time. As I make preparations, I can hear her say “Christmas is a time for family,” her holiday mantra. I am clinging to every happy memory I can muster as I deal with my own shattered heart this season. I know that she would relate to all of my pain.

Yes, she’s still the voice in my head, encouraging me to press forward, be brave, stand strong. I am who I am because I was loved by her.