Mother's Day

Mother's Day is Sunday. It will be my 37th Mother's Day as a "motherless daughter". Over the years, I have celebrated many milestones as a motherless daughter and as this Sunday approaches, I can't help but wonder what life would have been like to have had my mother by my side through them all.
When you become motherless, it is such a shock, a numbness envelops you and everything you see and experience is judged through the eyes of this loss. Your equilibrium is off, nothing looks the same. Prior to losing my mom, I thought like many little kids, that nothing bad could happen to my family. But after her death, I was scared for years that something bad would happen, I guess I was waiting for that " other shoe" to drop. Because I knew then- we had no immunity to loss, the safety net had been pulled.
Because I lost my mom at such an early age, for virtually most of my childhood and all of my adult life I have been in this constant state of being "motherless" and attempting to, at first- cover it up and then, later blaming it on my many short comings. But now, at my ripe old age, I understand the loss for all that it is and all that it is not. For many years my yearning to have my mother back was palpable. I would close my eyes at night and hug my pillow tight, trying to recapture her essence and remembering what her voice sounded like. I would cry myself to sleep asking her to come home and begging God to return her to me. I was just a kid, I'd tell Him, why would you do this to a kid, I'd ask? Right after my mom died I decided that I hated God, I was so angry at Him, and at my mom for leaving and bitter towards my dad for staying. Guess you could say I was one sad motherless kid.
I don't remember much of my childhood prior to losing my mom. It was almost like my mom died and there was this vacuum that came along and sucked dry my memories of her placing them in one of those old fashioned bags with the rubber gasket, you can't really get your hand into the bag, and you can only shake out "bits and pieces". But I do remember that I thought my mom was the most beautiful mom in the world. And I remember how safe she made me feel. Once when I was in third grade I slipped on the ice at school and had to go to the nurse’s station where she called my mom to pick me up. I never once cried until I saw my mom walking towards me and then I let loose a torrent of tears. Holding me close she asked me if my head hurt really bad and I told her, no, I was just so happy that she came for me, I couldn’t help balling like a baby.
The crying or really the sobbing continued on a regular basis after my mom died. I was so damn sad and felt so ripped off. I questioned why God had chosen to wreck our family. We used to have such a great family.
I have some memories of my mom being sick prior to her death. But really, I didn’t understand how sick she was. I wanted to host the end of the school year party at my house and my mom agreed. But then my dad told me that just wasn’t going to work out. I was furious. I’d already announced the party to all my friends. It was a tradition, one family would host the end of year party and I wanted that party at my house that year. I cried and screamed at my mom. I asked her why she had to be sick and I told her that I was angry with her for being sick. I was certain she didn’t love me and that was the real reason. I also told her that I didn't love her anymore, I wanted to hurt her, so I lashed out, like kids sometimes do. Really, I had no idea just what I was coming up against. For years after her death, I would feel so heart sick over the things I said that day. I tried granting myself forgiveness, as I was certain she had forgiven me long before she'd closed her eyes for that last time on that early June morning. That date, frozen on a calendar for myself and my six siblings became such a symbol of sadness and loss in my family.

When my mom died she was a mother, a wife, a sister and a daughter, all the things that I find familiar myself, as I write this. Whether I recognize it or not, the foot steps I take each day are identical as hers' 37 years ago. Today, I walk as a mother, a wife, a sister and proudly, my mother's daughter. This Sunday, I will remember my mom and be grateful that in the short time I had here with her she left with me her indelible mark of goodness and the gift to love and forgive, as only a mother can do. Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I love you!