It's been almost two years now, and I'm still not over it. Grief has a fickle way of cloaking itself, pretending not to lurk over your shoulder until you're having a particularly bad day.

Those are the days I miss my stepmom the most, the days when I want to pick up my cell phone, call her and listen to her put my problems into perspective. Those are the days when the grief reminds me of its presence.

So it was with great sorrow that I learned last week of the passing of Erin Monfre's mother, Maureen. The pain of losing my stepmom, who I loved dearly, to cancer, was —is—crushing. I can only imagine how much that pain must be magnified for Erin.

After a long battle with cancer, Maureen passed away Jan. 25. The Marquette women's basketball team, on which Erin is a junior guard, spent the evening of Jan. 29 at Maureen's wake in Waukesha. The following morning, the team attended the funeral mass and burial.

Later that night, the Golden Eagles—Monfre included—took to the Al McGuire Center court and squared off against Georgetown. They won 60-55, but that was of little relative importance.

"This game really wasn't about winning or losing," said Marquette head coach Terri Mitchell following the game. "It was about our support and love of the Monfre family and everything they're going through. You can imagine we are a very drained and emotionally spent team."

Monfre played eight minutes and missed the only two shots she took, both from three-point range. But the stat line does not account for courage. It does not acknowledge the emotional burden players take out onto the court with them.

The fact Monfre suited up at all says enough about the type of person her mother raised, about the foundation of character her mother formed.

I never met Maureen Monfre in person, but I'm guessing I've been introduced to little bits of her every time I've spoken to Erin during interviews. Pleasant. Straight forward. Answers every question honestly and patiently. I won't pretend to know Erin that well, but she certainly appears to be a genuinely decent individual.

Saturday, the Golden Eagles lost 77-67 at St. John's. Erin played 20 minutes, scoring one of the only two three-pointers for the team. She also recorded three rebounds, an assist and a blocked shot.

But again, the points and passes and rebounds and blocks and wins and losses—they don't measure anything meaningful in the grand scheme of things. Erin is playing. She's playing because she thinks that is what her mother would have wanted.

And that is how you learn to cope with the gaping hole the death of a loved one often leaves. You do your best to live in a manner that would make that loved one proud.

You smile when you see traits of that loved one in other people. You breathe a sigh of relief when you learn from the mistakes that loved one made. You become steeled by the understanding that you're never alone.

Whether you're on a basketball court, in a classroom or bunkered in the basement of Johnston Hall typing up another article, you're followed by the presence of the person you miss the most.

The pain doesn't go away. It lessens, but it's always there. Eventually, you accept the realities you cannot change. You acknowledge the lives that inspired you to be the person you are—or are trying to become—by passing that inspiration on to others.

In that regard, Erin could miss every three-point attempt for the rest of her life. And simply by taking the court, she'd still be making her mother proud.