Standing at my mother’s funeral, I felt as if the ground beneath me had crumbled. The breeze whispered through the trees, only amplifying the silence she left behind.

Mom was my closest friend, the one I turned to when life became heavy. Now, everything felt suffocatingly quiet.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Thea,” Aunt Claire said, gripping my hand. “Time will heal.” I nodded, unable to find words. Time doesn’t heal; it stretches the pain into unbearable threads.

Each passing second was a reminder she wouldn’t return. Worse, I couldn’t have children, making the future feel pointless.

What did I have left?

My family tried to fill the void with their voices, but they didn’t understand the hollow ache inside me. Every corner of our house was filled with her absence; her favorite blanket still draped over the armchair, her scent lingering in the air.

I stared at her old diary, the one she used to plan her dream journey to Crabtree Falls. She never finished it. Tracing its worn edges, I felt a strange pull.

Woman with an ash urn embarks on a solo trip through the woods | Source: Midjourney

I’m going to complete her journey.

I couldn’t give her life back, but I could walk the path she never finished.

The next day, I told my family. My brother shook his head, concern etched across his face.

“Thea, you can’t be serious. It’s dangerous.”

Aunt Claire added softly, “You should stay here. You don’t need to do this.”

But I did. I needed to connect with her beyond memories and empty rooms.

“She wanted to finish the journey, and now I will. For her.”

Their protests faded as I packed my bag, taking the diary with me. The last page remained empty, waiting for me to fill it.

The forest wasn’t just a challenge; it was a battle. Each step felt like a test, and I wasn’t sure I was strong enough.

“Come on, Thea,” I muttered, feeling the exhaustion pulling at me. My feet slipped in the mud, and I grabbed a branch to steady myself.

When I reached the river, I stopped, staring at the wild water. “Are you kidding me? How am I supposed to cross that?”

I stepped in, gasping at the cold. The current pushed against me, and soon my backpack slipped from my grasp, swept away by the rushing water.

“Oh no!” I shouted, frozen in horror as it disappeared downstream.

All I had left were the urn with her ashes and her journal, tucked safely in my jacket. Pressing them to my chest, I whispered, “At least I still have you.”

Pushing through the pain, I stumbled onward, but the path ahead stretched on forever. I fell, pain shooting through my body.

“Mom… are you here?” I whispered, exhaustion overwhelming me.

Suddenly, a memory surfaced.

“Do you know why we named you Thea?” Mom had asked when I was sick as a child. “You carry strength inside you.”

Her words echoed now. “You’re stronger than you think,” she seemed to say.

I opened my eyes, the sky above me shifting from gray to blue. Renewed determination surged within me. I pushed on, each step fueled by her memory.

Finally, I saw the cabin—a small piece of hope. “Mom, I’m here,” I whispered, reaching for the door.

Inside, the familiar ache crept into my body, mirroring what she had felt. I collapsed on the floor, too weak to move.

That night, I dreamed of her. “Dear, it’s time to let me go,” she said gently. “You have to walk this path alone.”

When I woke, the morning light streamed through the cracks. I took the urn outside. “Goodbye, Mom,” I whispered, scattering her ashes.

When I finally reached Crabtree Falls, I stood breathless as water cascaded down the rocks. I stripped off my clothes, letting the icy spray wash over me.

“This is for you, and for me,” I said. The water enveloped me, cleansing me of pain and fear.

When I emerged, something inside me shifted. The weight I had carried lifted. “I can move on.”

As I walked away, I waved down a passing car. The driver, an older woman, offered me a ride.

“I’ve decided to adopt,” I told her, newfound purpose filling me. My journey wasn’t over—it was just beginning.