Whenever I asked my mother which city she dreamed of visiting, her answer never changed: Paris. The City of Light held a permanent spot on her travel bucket list, a vision she carried with her for as long as I can remember. In 2022, after surviving a health scare that left me facing a rare tumor, two hospitalizations, and months of uncertainty, I told her that it was time. We needed to start living the dreams we had tucked away for “someday.” And so, with excitement in her voice, we began planning a trip to Paris for 2025 — the year she would turn 65.
But life, as it sometimes does, had other plans. My mother passed unexpectedly in 2023, never reaching that milestone birthday. Her absence left me gutted, my heart fractured in ways I still struggle to put into words. Grief doesn’t just take away the person you love — it steals the future you imagined with them. Dreams that once felt vibrant now seemed hollow, impossible to carry out without her.
And yet, amid the heaviness, I found myself clinging to one truth: the best way to honor her was to keep moving toward the life we had envisioned together.
Finding Purpose in Travel
The idea of traveling for grief — or grief-related travel — is something more and more people are embracing. According to Condé Nast Traveller’s 2024 wellness travel report, journeys centered on healing and remembrance are on the rise. When the daily grind feels unbearable, stepping away from routine can create space to process, reflect, and reconnect with the memory of those we’ve lost.
I drew inspiration from a close friend who had traveled to Egypt to celebrate his late mother’s birthday. His journey was a way of keeping her spirit alive, and I realized I wanted to do the same. So, on the second anniversary of my mother’s passing, I booked a ticket to Paris — the trip we had promised each other but never took together.
Carrying Her With Me
Planning the trip was bittersweet. Every museum, café, and garden I added to the itinerary came with a pang of sadness knowing she wouldn’t be by my side. But at the same time, weaving in her wishes gave me comfort. It felt like stitching her into the journey, allowing her presence to guide me.
My cousin joined me, offering the support I didn’t know I would need. Her companionship was a quiet reminder that grief doesn’t have to be carried alone. Together, we walked cobblestone streets, explored bustling markets, and soaked in Paris’s timeless charm — but in every corner, I found myself asking, “Would Mom have loved this?” The answer, often, was yes.
I visited places she had long dreamed of seeing: the Eiffel Tower glowing against the night sky, the delicate gardens of Versailles, the halls of the Louvre. But I also left space for discovery — little cafés tucked away on quiet streets, hidden bookshops, and spontaneous moments of joy. The balance reminded me that even as I honored her, I also had to honor myself.
Healing in the City of Light
What surprised me most about the trip was how grief softened in the presence of beauty. Watching the Seine shimmer at dusk or tasting a flaky croissant fresh from the oven didn’t erase the ache, but it gave me small pockets of peace. Paris, in its own way, taught me that joy and sorrow can coexist. You can miss someone so profoundly that it hurts — and still laugh, still savor, still live.
The experience was not about “moving on” from my mother’s death, but about moving forward with her memory intact. Each step through the city became an act of love: for her, for us, and for the life I am still learning to build without her.
A Journey That Continues
This trip to Paris was never meant to check off a bucket list item. It became something far more profound: a way to reclaim possibility in the face of loss. It reminded me that dreams don’t have to end when the people we love are no longer here to share them. They can evolve, take new shape, and carry us forward in ways we never expected.
Grief will always be a part of me. But so, too, will my mother’s love and her belief in living fully. Paris wasn’t just a tribute to her; it was a reminder to myself that life, even after loss, can still be expansive and beautiful.
So when I stood before the Eiffel Tower, looking up at its dazzling lights, I whispered a quiet thank you. For her. For the dream. For the chance to live it, even if in a different way than we had imagined.
Paris was for her. But it was also, finally, for me.
