Love is Stronger Than Death

A reflection one year after my mother’s passing

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”
— Gospel of Matthew 5:4

Today marks one year since my mother died after six years of battling cancer. During the final month of her life, I happened to be reading Love Is Stronger Than Death by Cynthia Bourgeault. Looking back, I believe it was the book God placed in my hands to carry me through those days.

I still remember the day she died vividly—the priest who helped us both, the exact moment her soul left her body, and the strength I felt. God was enfolding me in His arms.

My mother was a strong woman, always moving through life with determination and zest. We had our moments, and many times we acknowledged how different we were, but she was always there for me. Always. She showed up for the people she cared about relentlessly. I would go on a work trip and come back to a cleaned bedroom, folded laundry, and my favorite meal. She expressed her love for others through gestures and gifts.

I remember her last Christmas. By then she was in hospice, hardly mobile, but she found a way to engage with the activities coordinator and create a handmade gift for me. It was touching and beautiful. This woman could hardly walk sometimes, yet she would still make cakes for others. We tried to find humor in the small moments—like her making us a coffee cake with cayenne pepper, or burning the pots while making stew because she completely forgot she was cooking.

My mother was very feminine. She insisted on putting makeup on and dressing up every time she went out. Even though the cancer and treatments took much of her energy and mental lucidity away, she still tried. I remember during the last month of her life, I brought a very close friend to visit her. She quickly reprimanded me for not telling her ahead of time, so she could dress up and fix herself. By then she wasn’t leaving the bed unassisted and was mostly sleeping and very confused, but this spark for life kept her alive longer than anyone expected.

She loved her plants and flowers, tending to them with the same care she gave to people. Somehow, they thrived under her hands and seemed to bloom in gratitude, her love returned to her in every leaf and petal.

She also loved photographs. I was surprised that she would ask people to take photos of her even when she was already very sick. Somehow summoning the energy to dress up, go outside, and pose for a photo enlivened her tremendously.

My mother was a hardworking woman. She believed that we must earn our keep, and she was always moving and contributing. When she moved to the United States to be close to my family, she worked odd jobs and sometimes had to walk for miles to get there. She hardly mentioned it. When she came home, she would do even more around the house.

When that became nearly impossible, she struggled deeply but still came up with the idea to make macramé. It had been a hobby of hers when she was younger, so while sitting in her chair in the living room, she revived that creative practice. By then she was heavily medicated. Some days were clearer than others, so I doubted she would remember how to make the knots. But not only did she remember, she made many pieces in different sizes and colors. Then she gave them away to anyone who showed up or helped her in any way. One day, we even had to bring a whole box to the oncology nurses and staff.

That’s who she was.

Death takes our loved ones away, but the memories, lessons, inspirations, and energetic imprints remain.

In the cakes she baked for others.
In the macramé knots she patiently tied and gave away.
In the quiet acts of care that filled a home without asking for recognition.

Love continues through what we have received.

And in this way, again and again, love proves itself stronger than death.

Mother, rest in peace. I love you.