No one really prepares you for how certain months will feel.
You go into them hoping that maybe this year will be easier than the last, that the dates will pass more quietly or that the heaviness will not settle in the same way it has before. But somehow it still does.
When we are younger we tend to believe grief belongs to a single moment, one before and one after, one day that changes everything and then life slowly finds its way forward again. But grief does not work that way. It does not stay locked inside a single memory or a single day. It moves through time. It settles quietly into the calendar and waits patiently in the background of our lives until a certain month arrives again.
There are months that feel light and ordinary. Months that pass as quickly as a gust of wind, the kind of months that blend together so easily you barely remember them once they are gone. And then there are months that feel different the moment they arrive. Months that carry a quiet weight in the air even when nothing dramatic is happening on the outside.
For me, March has always been one of those months.
March is my mom’s birthday month. Around this time of year the world begins shifting toward spring. The days stretch a little longer, the sun lingers later in the evening, and the air softens in a way that makes people start talking about new beginnings and everything that is about to bloom again. On the surface, the season feels hopeful and full of life. But underneath all of that brightness there is memory. The kind of memory that stays embedded inside you. The one you can’t shake.
It is strange how the body remembers before the mind does. Sometimes the feeling shows up quietly at first. You may notice that you are a little more reflective than usual, a little quieter, or that certain songs suddenly feel heavier when they come on. Memories surface more easily and tears come quicker than they did a few weeks ago. At first you may not even understand why you feel that shift. And then you glance at the calendar and it suddenly makes sense.
A birthday. A date. A reminder that time continues to move forward whether we feel ready for it or not.
Over time grief changes shape. It does not stay loud forever the way it was in the beginning. Instead it becomes layered and more subtle. It weaves itself into certain seasons of the year and shows up in quieter but still meaningful ways. You can be doing well in your life. You can be building something new, creating routines, finding peace in places you once struggled to stand. And yet there can still be a quiet ache sitting underneath it all when a certain month arrives. That ache is not weakness. It is memory.
Some months feel heavier not only because of loss but because life itself feels slower during them. Work might feel uncertain. Motivation might dip. You may find yourself reflecting more deeply on where you have been and where you are going. There is often a strange space that appears during times like this, a space where you are no longer who you used to be but you are not fully settled into who you are becoming either. That in between place can feel heavier than we often admit.
We live in a world that glorifies constant movement and constant growth. If a month feels emotional or slower, we assume something must be wrong. We try to distract ourselves, rush through it, or convince ourselves that we should be further along by now.
But life does not move in straight lines.
Some months are meant for expansion. Some months are meant for rebuilding. And some months are simply meant for carrying. Carrying memory, carrying change, and carrying love that still exists even though the person who gave it to us is no longer physically here.
March will always carry my mom in it. Her birthday, her presence, her laughter, and the quiet absence that still reminds me how deeply she shaped who I am. The truth is that someone we love never really leaves the story of our lives. They show up in the way we speak, the habits we picked up from them, the values they passed down, and the small ways we move through the world that we do not even realize came from them.
Instead of resisting months like this, I have started learning how to move through them more gently.
I’ve now began to celebrate the month of March.
I take roses to the beach on her birthday and let them wash away in the ocean. I sit with the memories instead of pushing them away. Other times it means doing something she loved, having her favorite glass of wine, calling family/friends, cooking something that reminds me of home, or simply allowing myself to slow down without guilt.
These small moments do not erase the ache, but they transform it into something meaningful.
If you are someone who also has months that feel heavier than others, you are not falling behind in life. You are not overly sensitive and you are not doing anything wrong. You are simply living a life that has been shaped by love, by loss, and by the people who left pieces of themselves inside you. One thing that can help during months like these is finding small ways to honor the person you miss rather than focusing only on their absence. Write about them. Share a story about them. Do something kind in their name.
Let their memory continue moving through the world in small ways.
Love does not disappear when someone leaves this world. It changes form. It settles into seasons, into memories, into the quiet moments when we feel them close even though we cannot see them.
A life shaped by love will always leave certain months feeling different, and that difference is not something to run from. It is simply another reminder that the love we shared with someone never truly leaves us.
xoxo, alli<3
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