I was only 12 years old when my beloved father died suddenly. My mother was 52.
In one moment, she lost the man she deeply loved, the father of her daughters, her life partner, and the future she thought they would continue building together.
And then, only one month later, my mother lost her own mother, my grandmother.
My mother was extremely close to her. They shared a very special bond, and losing her only one month after losing my father was another devastating loss. I understand the depth of that bond in a very personal way because I was also very close to my mother. She was not only my beloved mother; she was my friend and my confident.
So today, when I look back at everything my mother experienced in such a short period of time, I often wonder:
How did she do it?
How did she get up every morning after losing the man she adored and, only one month later, losing her mother, with whom she shared such a close and loving bond?
How did she continue?
At 12 years old, I did not have the words to understand what I was witnessing. I knew my mother was grieving. I saw her sadness. I saw her cry. She wore black for three years.
My mother did not hide her grief from us.
But I also watched her get up every morning and continue living.
My father had a successful automobile/dealership business, and when he died suddenly, someone needed to take over the leadership of the company.
My mother had never worked in the company before.
This was the early 1970s in Managua, Nicaragua. Women were not commonly running automobile businesses. This was a world she did not know.
But suddenly, she was told that she needed to take over.
And she did.
My mother became the CEO of my father’s company.
Can you imagine? While carrying all that pain in her heart, she stepped into a role she had never had before.
But there was something she would say that I have never forgotten. Each morning as she was leaving the house, she would say:
“I am continuing your father’s legacy.”
That was her reason.
That was what gave meaning to what she was doing.
Of course, I did not understand any of this. I did not know about grief. I did not know about resilience. I did not know about finding meaning after loss.
I only knew that I was watching my mother while I was also grieving.
And what I saw stayed with me.
Many years later, when I studied thanatology and dedicated my life to understanding grief and loss, I finally understood what my mother had done.
She had found meaning.
Continuing my father’s legacy did not mean that she had stopped grieving. It did not mean that she had “moved on.”
She carried him with her.
She kept his name alive.
She talked about him.
She honored what he had built.
And she continued what he had built with so much effort. Her love for him became part of the reason she continued.
How powerful is that?
Sometimes we think that finding meaning after a loss has to be something extraordinary or something we deliberately go searching for.
But sometimes meaning is simply the answer to the question:
What can I carry forward because this person lived and because I loved them?
My mother carried forward my father’s legacy.
And without realizing it, she gave me a legacy too.
She taught me how to live after loss.
Not because she sat down with me and explained grief. She didn’t.
She taught me because I watched her.
I watched her cry.
I watched her miss my father.
I watched her honor him.
And I watched her continue.
This is something I often share with the people I accompany today, especially parents who are grieving.
Our children are watching us.
That does not mean we need to hide our tears.
Please, no.
Our children need to know that grief is part of love. They need to know that it is okay to cry, to miss, to hurt, and to speak the name of the person who died.
But they are also learning from us.
They are learning what it means to face loss.
They are learning that we can experience tremendous pain and still find a reason to get up in the morning.
They are learning that life can change forever and that, somehow, we can learn to live in that changed world.
I learned that from my mother.
Maybe that is why, all these years later, I have dedicated my life to helping others navigate grief and loss.
Maybe the seed was planted when I was that 12-year-old girl, watching a woman who had lost so much find a reason to continue.
I didn’t know then that one day I would become a thanatologist.
I didn’t know that I would create The 11 Principles of Transformation® being the concept of finding meaning so important to continue living with purpose.
I didn’t know that I would spend my life helping others find strength, meaning, and hope after loss.
But today, when I look at my life and my work, I can see the thread connecting it all.
My father left a legacy.
My mother continued his legacy.
And through the way she lived after losing him, she became part of mine.
Today, I continue carrying both of them with me.
Not only in my memories.
Not only in my heart.
But in the work I do.
Every time I sit with someone who is grieving…
Every time I remind someone that their pain and their love can coexist…
Every time I help someone discover that life can still have meaning…
There is a part of my story there too.
There is a 12-year-old girl who watched her mother grieve.
And there is a mother who, without knowing it, was teaching her daughter one of the most important lessons of her life:
We can grieve deeply and still continue living.
We can carry our loved ones with us.
We can honor their lives.
We can continue their legacy.
And sometimes, through the way we choose to live after loss, we create a legacy of our own.
Thank you, Mom.
I understand now what I could not understand as a child.
You taught me how to continue living after loss.
And I have carried that lesson with me all my life.
Ligia M. Houben
