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On Sunday morning, moments before loading up the car with a trunk full of Valentine’s Day presents and baby clothes, and driving out to Vermont to spend February vacation with our family, my mother died. Shockingly, unexpectedly, heartbreakingly, at the age of 63.

This beautiful woman, my mom, our Momar. She who loved boldly, unapologetically, excessively, like no other.

She was a force of nature and the thought of ever healing the massive void she leaves in my life and the lives of all who knew her is crippling.

I am living through my worst nightmare. Yet the light and love I have felt amidst such devastation is breathtaking in its depth and scope. And that is all a part of Momar’s legacy. She who made an impact wherever she went and lifted those around her. People are stepping up to do that for her children and grandchildren and beloved husband and best friend of over 40 years. And the juxtaposition of such love and loss takes my breath away. It’s primal. And indescribable.

All our focus is on celebrating the outrageous, wonderful, powerful woman she was, while preparing to welcome her third grandchild into the world. This is not something I could ever imagine doing without her, but I know that her fierce love for me and this baby will buoy me through those darkest, scariest moments.

Thank you to all those who knew her, and loved her, and are carrying her in your heart.

143, Mommy. Toujours.