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Sying that final good-bye to your mother is one of the hardest things you'll ever do.

All grief is good grief.

Grief is inevitable; allow yourself the depth of experience it requires.

Whatever the nature of the relationship, you can find a place of acceptance and gratitude.

I've done a lot of work around people's relationships with their mothers, and one of the most difficult challenges clients face is the death—either imminent or fait accompli—of their mother. Let's face it: This is not (usually) an uncomplicated relationship, and saying good-bye to your mother is one of the hardest things you'll ever do.

But here's the thing: As a therapist, this is my most fulfilling work!

Some mothers are able to provide the emotional support children need growing up; if this is your situation, you're losing someone you turned to throughout your life for support, love, and friendship. Losing her may feel like losing your moorings, your sense of security in the world. Even the happiest of relationships, however, includes conflicts, and it might be difficult for you to work through them as your grieve.

It took decades for your relationship with your mother to develop; so don't expect everything to be healed overnight. A friend of mine told me that she had unrealistic expectations of the process: "We had three months between her diagnosis and her death, and I thought in those months we could resolve our issues and tie everything up with a pretty ribbon. Of course that didn't happen, and I felt bereft, not only of her presence in my life but also in our inability to make everything okay."

We all have different ideas of what "making everything okay" looks like, and you may or may not be able to arrive at a comforting resolution. The role of therapy in the process can be crucial: It will help you be realistic in your expectations of the process and navigate through your grief.

Some years ago I realized there was little to no literature around the relationship between a gay man and his mother, and since a great deal of my practice is with gay men, this struck me as odd. So I set about doing my own research, and the result was a nonprofit organization, Gay Sons & Mothers, which documents and educates around this important relationship. I went on to do a TEDx talk about what I called The Mother Factor, and I was overwhelmed by its reception: Everybody in the room could identify.

I've learned and continue to learn through such opportunities to think about the importance in our lives of a mother's acceptance and support. And I've also learned that, in general, our mothers did the best they could in whatever their situation was. Their best might not have been good enough, but it was still their best.

In an ideal world, you'd be able to seize the opportunity to recognize that she's a real person born into a system with its own flaws. Your mother wasn't perfect, but you can learn to recognize her imperfections and still feel grateful for what she did give you.

Not everyone gets to experience such a realization; some people are relieved when their mother dies, thinking they won't be bothered by the conflict. However, unresolved relationships are often more difficult to move beyond and let go of.

Why Relationships Matter

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Jim is a gay man who grew up in a religious household. His mother didn't protect him from his father's abuse—Jim always sensed she understood him, but she chose not to defend him in order to keep herself safe. He left home and had no contact with her, always waiting for her to apologize.

When she died, he felt split: One part of him felt relieved that the waiting and wondering was no longer part of him; the other part wished he had pushed himself a little harder to be in contact with her.

Such ambivalence isn't unique to gay men, but I see it in them possibly more than in other parts of the population. There's a certain amount of trauma in being "different" in a world that strives to be homogenous, and that trauma is exacerbated when families can't—or won't—accept the differences in their children. Men tend to feel angered and threatened by a gay son and will often lash out, as Jim's father did. That's when the role of the mother becomes essential in giving her son a sense of well-being even in the midst of conflict.

It's hard for children and adolescents think of their mothers as anything but a mother: She has few personal needs, desires, opinions, and so on; we don't really think of our mothers as people, people who—like us—have a backstory and joys and traumas and fears.

But just as we stop and ask ourselves which thoughts and behaviors from our pasts are animating the way we deal with the present, it's helpful to ask yourself (or your mother, if she is still alive) what thoughts and behaviors from her past have influenced the ways she relates to you.

Taking you by surprise

Hank spent years in therapy joking about his mother, rolling his eyes as he described what he saw as her narcissism. When she died , to his shock, he felt a piece of him had been ripped out. He realized the relationship was better than he'd allowed himself to accept, and he regretted having taken her for granted over the last couple decades of her life, wishing now that he could talk to her about feeling gratitude.

Some people are clear: They hate their mother, they adore their mother, it was all good or all bad, and, while this isn't a healthy stance, it can work for a short time when a person is grieving.

The people who've interested me the most are the rest of us, sons and daughters who experienced their relationship with their mother as sometimes good, sometimes bad, sometimes intimate, sometimes infuriating. What I've observed is that this is the group of people most likely to be shocked by the amount of gratitude they suddenly feel when their mother dies. "I had no idea we were so close!" one client told me. Their grief can be particularly profound.

As I said, therapy is your friend. If your mother hasn't yet passed on, now is your opportunity to finally find a civil and respectful place with her; it doesn't need to be perfect, it just needs to be done. I often do joint therapy sessions with men and their mothers, and everyone has found that to be helpful and healing.

If your mom has died, you can still find some peace and acceptance around your relationship. I encourage clients to write a letter to her. Tell her about your grief, find a way in your own words to say goodbye, tell her you love her and miss her and how you wish it might have been different. I've seen this process free clients to move along in their lives with mixed memories but less conflict.

And take the time to reflect on the positive things you've learned/absorbed through your mother. Ask yourself:

What has she taught me about life that I cherish the most?

What struggles might be opportunities for growth?

How can I accept my mother despite the challenges that presents?

Like everyone else in the world, your mom wasn't a demon or an angel, and, if you look, you'll find some commonalities with her. Finding a place of acceptance and gratitude no matter what your relationship was like will make your own life better, richer, and more compassionate.

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