'When she was alive, I spoke to my mother every day. But I've never visited her grave.'

My beloved Mum died two years ago and I have never visited her grave. The truth is, she doesn't have a grave yet.

We have her ashes, and we know her wishes for them. I've even thought of having a piece of jewellery made with some of her ashes, as I've seen beautiful examples of this.

The thing is though, I don't feel like I need a place to go to visit my Mum.

My relationship with my Mum was the strongest relationship of my life. She was the person I was closest to throughout my childhood, my teenage years and as an adult as well.

I spoke to Mum every single day. In person, on the phone, in written messages. Short conversations and long ones. Actually, it was more like one conversation that just kept going.

I grew up, moved out of home and had my own children and throughout it all I talked to my Mum. I talked to her about decisions big and small, about problems, about joys, about sadnesses, about my pets, about work, about friends, about my household appliances when they stopped working, about my worries, about the weather, about my children and also about nothing at all.

Watch: How to deal with the loss and grief over loved ones. Post continues after video.

The 'nothing at all' was everything as well; all the little things that don't seem important — and often aren't — but are a part of the fabric of life. It felt like there was no beginning to the conversation, and it also felt that it would just keep going.

Unfortunately, in cruel reality, there was an actual end. There were last words spoken and I'm grateful that they were loving ones.

I have said goodbye to people I love before. Pets too. My heart aches for the family members and pets that I feel so lucky to have had in my life that are no longer here.

And my heart aches for my Mum more than anyone.

Emma lost her mother two years ago. Image: Supplied.

It still doesn't feel real that I live in a world without her and I don't imagine it ever will. It does not make sense that the world keeps turning after someone you love dies, because your world has been ripped off its axis and never really rights itself. Especially when they are taken before their time.

That is one reality of grief, the bizarre and sometimes unsettling feeling that this is not the way the world is meant to be. That there is someone missing that is supposed to be here. That the sun comes up each day, the sky is still blue and the rain still falls, the seasons still change, the Queen dies and now there's a King, there are new songs on the radio, new clothes purchased, a new puppy in the house, a divorce, my children grow bigger, and I get older — it's all normal and at the same time it all feels wrong. 

These are all things that would have been woven through our conversation. Things I would have told her and asked her about and also things she would have shared with me.

Except she is not here now.

The harsh reality of my Mum's death is ever present in my mind. And yet, there is also the feeling that we are still connected. That she is still here, in some way. That she knows all the things I would have told her and the questions I want to ask.

It feels like the conversation continues.

I just don't get to call her on the phone or write her a message or, cruelly, to hear her voice. It has moved from a conversation with tangible parts to a feeling of connection and of presence. Not a presence in the way a psychic or medium may channel — although it could be that, and I lack the qualifications to tap into it, I can't say — but a feeling that she is still here. That she is there for us, for those that loved and needed her the most. That I carry her with me — not just in the brown eyes she gave me that I see when I look into the mirror — but in my heart and all around me.

Emma with her mum. Image: Supplied.

At Mum's funeral I read a poem which I wrote for her after she died; it spoke of all the things that would remind me of her and there were many.

Seeing or experiencing those things now increases that feeling that she is here, and I hold tightly to that. While I would give almost anything to have her back — and feeling well — I know that she is still here.

I know that I don't need a place to visit my Mum, or a monument erected. There will be a place when we are ready, but I know she won't be confined to that place as she will still be everywhere we are, wherever that may be.

There are 3.9 million women across Australia whose Mums have died and whose grief still lives quietly in the background of every day. Mother Loss Awareness Week is from 3 to 10 May 2025. For more information and support, head to the Motherless Daughters website https://www.motherlessdaughters.com.au/.

Emma Steggles is a counsellor by day and a writer by… well, whenever her three energetic kids and their tiny, playful lap dog let her. Based in Newcastle, NSW, she finds writing to be a cathartic way to reflect on life, family, and all the messy, beautiful bits in between. Follow her on Instagram at @emma.steggles.

Want to learn more about grief? Read these next:

• The one thing a grief expert says you should do.

• 'I had no space left.' The grief and heartbreak of losing two people at once.

• Anxiety, vanishing libido and 'grief face': Things nobody warns you about when a loved one dies.

Feature image: Supplied.