Lynn J. Broderick

Lynn J. Broderick Navy Mom. Former ad exec. One time podcast sidekick. Lifelong over-thinker. Certified health nut. Nature junkie. Substack writer.

Sailor Mom, truth seeker, nut, worrier & warrior, Producer & Co-Host of The Green Divas, lover of , , & .

Reflex to call Mom.Then I remember.She died.Read my latest. Link to this piece can be found in comments. Subscribe so yo...
05/02/2026

Reflex to call Mom.
Then I remember.
She died.

Read my latest. Link to this piece can be found in comments. Subscribe so you don’t miss a thing!

One day, Mom’s here walking around,And now? What’s left is in this container.The rest of her will remain a mystery. Unti...
05/01/2026

One day, Mom’s here walking around,

And now? What’s left is in this container.

The rest of her will remain a mystery. Until, of course, she informs me what happens after we die. She promised to tell me.

Stay tuned…

Bracing against waves of grief can knock you on your ass.Maybe I’m not supposed to fight it.Maybe I’m supposed to give i...
04/30/2026

Bracing against waves of grief can knock you on your ass.

Maybe I’m not supposed to fight it.

Maybe I’m supposed to give in and lie down

and let the waves take me under—

trusting they’ll eventually carry me back to shore.

___

P.S. I didn’t anticipate this grief to be so cavernous—losing Mom a few weeks ago, layered with losing Dad last April, and the reality that they’re both just… gone.

As I start to crawl out of it, I’ll go back to writing lighter (hopefully) stories from my life. Promise.

For now, I’m a bit stuck.

Thank you for hanging in there with me. And an extra thank you to those who’ve sent hugs and love my way.

Meanwhile, please consider subscribing to my writing. 🔗 in comments.

Photo credit:

When Mom and I had matching Dorothy Hamill–inspired wedge haircuts. Farm-town edition. We thought we looked pretty good....
04/26/2026

When Mom and I had matching Dorothy Hamill–inspired wedge haircuts.

Farm-town edition.

We thought we looked pretty good.😂

Read my story about Mom. 🔗 in bio.

I’ve been in a debate with myself: Me: So what if grief finds its way in? That’s part of life. And that’s my life right ...
04/24/2026

I’ve been in a debate with myself:

Me: So what if grief finds its way in? That’s part of life. And that’s my life right now.

Also me: But I don’t want to be part of the grief algorithm. Or known as “The Grief Writer.”

The thing is… grief is apparently part of who I am now.

The good news is… my sense of humor remains intact.

Thanks, Mom, for that one.

And thanks to all of you who have encouraged me to lean into the grief. To write about it whenever I damn well feel like it.

Your kind, continued support means the world to me.

If you haven’t already, check out my writing (🔗 in bio). Even better, subscribe!

Wrote a poem about grief (below) then cleared some of the heaviness with a bike ride. 🌞Walking through molassesWithout t...
04/23/2026

Wrote a poem about grief (below) then cleared some of the heaviness with a bike ride. 🌞

Walking through molasses

Without the sweetness.

Everything feels like work,

the day itself pushing back.

Thoughts bump into each other, 

dull and cranky,

disappearing into the fog 

before you can grab one.

Time slogs forward,

Leaving you behind

with your backpack of boulders.

And the smallest task

Suddenly feels like it requires

a full crew.

Then 5pm hits—

cavernous yawns,

your legs lead-heavy, like they climbed mountains,

And still… not much to show for the day.

Grief does that.

✨ Would love if you’d subscribe to my writing! 🔗 in bio.

____

Photo: Nathan Anderson | Upsplash

Today’s Dad’s one year death-a-versary.And, geez… Mom just died last Friday. It wasn’t my plan to write about dying and ...
04/16/2026

Today’s Dad’s one year death-a-versary.

And, geez… Mom just died last Friday.

It wasn’t my plan to write about dying and grief, but it’s been hard to avoid under the circumstances.

And hell, if I kept these current truths to myself, anything else might feel less authentic—to you, and to me.

So I wrote the post below (🔗 in bio).

And there will be a Mom post next week.

After that…. back to “normal,” whatever that is.

04/16/2026

Breathtaking cloud show from my friend’s porch, the setting sun behind us.

Clouds pressing forward. Messengers of more storms on the way.

After a turbulent week… storm symbolism makes sense.

Please subscribe to my writing. Link in bio. Thank you.

Special Thanks to for sharing your view with me.

Yesterday, I cleaned the lamp that had been beside Mom’s bed. It took ten Q-tips to clear decades of dust, which made sp...
04/13/2026

Yesterday, I cleaned the lamp that had been beside Mom’s bed.

It took ten Q-tips to clear decades of dust, which made space for this…

✨✨✨

This bedside lamp was mine as a child.

It became Mom’s when I left for college.

Only one side glowed as she lay fading in the hospital bed they’d wheeled into her assisted living room for those last two days.

One side glued together, the space around the socket that gathered decades of dust—like memories.

A little worn, but still working.

Still holding light.

This lamp is mine again.

Nothing like carryout sushi on the night you have to clear out Mom’s apartment.She left this world early yesterday after...
04/11/2026

Nothing like carryout sushi on the night you have to clear out Mom’s apartment.

She left this world early yesterday after breaking her neck. But don’t worry—she was on her way with stage 4 cancer anyway. No pain! Just hard to see her struggle with all the falls.

Love you, Mom. 🫶
#

Mom was looking for her suitcase, determined to leave. Ready to go home.“I tried calling Dad, but he’s not answering.”He...
04/08/2026

Mom was looking for her suitcase, determined to leave.

Ready to go home.

“I tried calling Dad, but he’s not answering.”

He’s been gone since last April. Dead gone.

The assisted living nurse got on the phone. “She slipped into the third person, thinking she was your dad. Saying he needed to find his wife. She’s very agitated. Very unhappy.”

Mom didn’t know where she was or why she was there. And she wanted out. To sleep in her own bed. To go home.

She had no recollection of our scenic drive earlier that day. Or her fall the day before that left the side of her face and skull in shades of black, blue, and purple.

“Is Dad gone?” she kept asking.

“Yes.”

“That’s what I thought.”

She began losing her bearings suddenly late last week and has been getting progressively worse.

Her cancer must be catching up with her. It’s in her lungs, lymph nodes… brain.

They said we’re likely in the last quarter. Added a motion sensor so they’ll know if she tries to wander.

And then… she fell. ER for stitches, scan so they could evaluate and come up with a plan. Fractured neck, brain swelling from cancer (likely causing the accelerated confusion and falls). No treatment. Just a neck brace that she kept trying to remove. One false move and the unstable fracture could be what kills her.

She kept saying she just wants to go to sleep and never wake up.

Asking why Dad’s been so quiet.

That was yesterday.

Today, she’s worse. They started morphine and anti-anxiety every two hours. More, if needed.

Now it’s just a matter of time. She’s a stubborn one, so it could drag out.

In a recent dream, my dad came to drive my mom away. I hope he’s on his way. Or maybe he’s already here. Waiting.

True story, told in real time. For more of my memoir-driven writing, go to the 🔗 in my bio.


___

Photo: From their travels.

04/05/2026

A moment of much-needed zen along today’s walk along the lake.

Address

Barrington, IL
60047

Website

https://www.instagram.com/lynnjbroderick/

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