A Facebook Post that Made Me Feel More Alive

Becoming a happiness coach, turning 40, and becoming a mom of three, I find myself intrigued by death — but only a certain kind. Last week was one of those moments.

As I scrolled through my Facebook page, I came across a post about a friend’s grandma who had recently passed away at 105. Over a hundred years of life, condensed into just about 15 lines of words, lingered in my thoughts for days. “Fairy Godmother”, as my friend called her, gave birth to ten children, only to bury five. No words could ever capture the depth of that pain. With her husband away for work, she single-handedly kept her household afloat while mothering the five who remained.

As if this hardship and grief weren’t enough, history dealt her an even heavier hand — she endured famine and survived two wars. I haven’t known wars firsthand, I have glimpsed its horrors through novels like The Mountain Sings, The Nightingale and Pachinko. Destruction. Loss. Separation. Hunger. Torture. Suffering. Humiliation. This is war in my mind, and I know in real life, it’s far worse.

Yet, here is this woman — small and fragile in frame — had not only survived the tragedies of her personal life and the brutal turns of history, but had also raised her children, and later, poured her love into her grandchildren and great grandchildren. And somehow, through it all, she lived a long, healthy life.

A great author once said that one is only truly gone when no one speaks of them anymore. By that measure, my grandmother lives on — in the memories her dozens of grandchildren and great-grandchildren continue to share with one another, my friend concluded. In those words, she defined her grandmother’s legacy and success, she measured her life — not in achievements, wealth, or status, but in love and remembrance.

As I lingered on the photo of her grandmother attached to the post — her eyes sparkling with contentment, her smile radiated endless love and optimism, I wondered, “As a mom, how do I measure my own life? How do I define my success?”

After all, it’s love that each of us was born with. It’s meaning that carries us through any suffering. And it’s love, meaning, and the stories they weave that we’re remembered for — long after our breath becomes air.

For this reminder, I hold my moments with my family closer. I cherish the fleeting childhood of my growing children, who will one soon day leave our nest and carve their own lives. I lean into the relationships that are mutual nurturing and uplifting. And each day at work, as I strive to unearth my potential, I also ask “why” more often — behind every pursuit of success, every achievement of a goal, every “yes” to “it just takes 15 minutes of your time” — so I may dedicate my limited time on earth for what truly matters and offer my energy to those who truly deserve it.

As the answers began to sink in, my gaze drifted towards the quince flowers in the right corner of the living room, glowing in the golden light of the late afternoon, as if they were whispering, “Because of death — and the story we wish to leave behind — we’re given the best guidance on how to live, and truly live on. And being a mom, we can best model living an authentically happy and aligned life for our very own children.”

“Thank you,” I whispered back to the pink petals, which were living their finest moments before fading in just a few days.