Alice Valentine

I’m not sure how I’m not writing this blog from a mental institution, but we thank God for small mercies. I’ve always been one to look forward to the new year. Very rarely do I ever set resolutions, even though I usually have a few goals I’d like to accomplish. 2025 was no different, except, because 2024 was so chaotic for me, I was really looking forward to a fresh start.

I ended 2024 by moving back to Jamaica in what was supposed to be a temporary capacity. Canadian immigration is a mess and I needed a break from the anxiety and the waiting. So I made arrangements to head back home for a few months, spend some time with my husband and family, then figure it out and possibly head back.

As life would so have it, I’m yet to return to the Great North, because 2025 decided it had to one-up 2024. At the end of January, we found out that my husband needed spinal surgery. That was terrifying because… duh… but we had the best neurosurgeon in the country and he did a fantastic job. Hubby is fine and all is well.

In February we got the earth shattering news that my mom had cancer. I still remember feeling like the ground fell out from under me as I read her medical report. For a moment, the earth seemed to stop spinning and it felt like every sound became a very haunting echo. There’s no way, right? Not mommy. Not my angel. There must be some mix up with the lab because no way is this reality. She’s literally the best person I’ve ever known, and I’m not just saying that because she’s my mom. This is the sentiment echoed by all who know her. The most kind, warm, selfless, down-to-earth, there-when-you-need-her, will-listen-without-judgement, person I’ve ever met. There’s no way this is her story.

But it is, and it was. June 21 will never be the same for me. I watched as life left her body and there’s nothing more soul crushing. The level of helplessness and utter disbelief cannot be quantified.

Some of you may already know I lost my dad in 2011, so mommy was my only living parent, and she was my everything. I can’t even think or talk about her without tearing up, because I lost more than just my mom. I lost my friend, my confidant, my vault. I felt my world go dark in an instant and I wasn’t sure I would ever see the light again.

But then, I did.

At the beginning of July, just two weeks after mom passed, I found out I was pregnant. That was a shocker for several reasons, but more so because I found out while doing routine checks at the doctor’s office. For a few days I wasn’t sure how to process it. I was happy, yes, this is something we’d been wanting for a while, but it made me miss my mom even more. Especially when I found out my due date was exactly a week from her birthday. But somehow that gave me some level of peace. It felt like she was sending me a sign, and a new light. A new angel to walk through this life with.

We got through the first trimester – which was hard enough – and we were finally starting to settle into the pregnancy. I started showing, the baby started moving, I started dreaming of what life would be like with my little one.

Then at five months, I lost her. A healthy baby girl that we’d named Brielle. The whole ordeal was extremely traumatic. I literally almost died (sepsis), and I lost my new light. Having to deliver my baby knowing she wouldn’t survive was absolute torture. Holding her little body in my arms and looking at just how perfect she was, all her little fingers and toes, and feeling guilty that my body wasn’t able to do what it was supposed to do for her was …

I have no words for what that did to me. The kind of hurt that makes your belly quiver and your head spin. Quite literal nauseating kind of pain. I’d never wish any of this on my worst enemy.

So here I am, with a new set of traumatic events to process while life just…goes on. That’s the sad and blaring reality. Life doesn’t stop because yours falls apart. Your worst day is somebody’s best. Your most traumatic experience coexists with someone else’s favourite memory.

I have no real words of encouragement and I’m not sure what the next few months will bring. I’m trying to write again and find solitude in that, but it’s been difficult. The only thing I can say is, if you’ve had a tough year, you’re not alone. It probably won’t make you feel better, but it’s good to know that what’s happening in your life isn’t necessarily personal. No one is necessarily out to get you. Sometimes, life just sucks, and you’d be surprised how many people are facing battles they don’t talk about.

I titled this blog “The year that nearly broke me” and maybe that’s the silver lining. Against all odds, I’m still (shockingly) here and I haven’t (quite) lost my mind. And despite what life throws at you, neither will you.

I’ll never be the same. Grief and trauma literally rewires your brain. I’ve been changed in ways I can’t even begin to name, and the lens I view the world through are shattered and foggy. I didn’t just have a second trimester loss, I lost my first born, and no matter what she’ll always be that to me. That’s difficult for most to understand, and that’s okay. Doesn’t make it any less true.

But I’m still here…

One day at a time. Sometimes, that’s the best we can do. And sometimes, that’s enough.

Be kind, always.

-A