Wish You Were Here, Mom

Mother's Day, for those of us feeling...mixed emotions

My mom has been on my mind lately. Not that it is unusual for your mother to be on the top of your mind, but it’s been twenty-four years without her physical presence since we lost her. I was nine years old. The memories I have of her are scarce and jagged. A few full memories, a couple of flash images, and a lot of stories told by my family that keep her memory alive in my brain.

The largest thing I can remember isn’t necessarily a memory or flash image, but an overall feeling that lives inside of me. And maybe it is partly a memory - the way she made me feel in those nine years of loving me. Or maybe it’s genetics - her kindness and love etched into my DNA. I don’t know another way to describe it other than on a day-to-day basis, I feel her throughout me.

For this, I have immense gratitude. To be able to carry her personality and love, sharing it wherever I go, makes me incredibly proud. It has guided and shaped me into who I am today. I see her in my siblings; I see her in my nephews. For years, I dreamt of being able to continue her legacy through my own children. As though I knew, even from a young age, that we needed more of her in this world.

There are moments in your life where your heart aches for the presence of your mother. And even if you can’t have her for all the various reasons in life that may exist, the want doesn’t go away. Our mothers are typically the first source of life and safety. We look to our mothers for the universal human need for care and connection.

My moments of ache are woven throughout the twenty-four years without her:

Being bullied by girls in grade school. My first breakup. Moments after getting into a car crash at 16. Winning a track award in high school. Having a hard time away my first year of college. The excitement of meeting a boy that would later become my husband. Putting on my wedding dress.

In reality, this list just represents my desire to never have lost her, but those moments are the ones where my heart truly ached. And now, each moment from the words, “It’s cancer” seven months ago, I find the ache to be threaded into my day to day. For the first time in my life, I’ve begun to outwardly ask for her in the moments that feel incredibly tough. And a few times now, she’s answered. On my way home from the surgery where they told me I had cancer, I felt her wrapped around me in the front seat of the car. When the doctor told me children were off the table, she was with me as I cried myself to sleep. On the days I felt fear as I lay on the table for radiation treatments, I felt her next to me. And most recently, in a dream. One where she looked at me crying, and all I could feel was her helplessness.

For twenty-four years now, Mother’s Day has filled me with different emotions. The day usually feels like a wave I am riding. Moments of calm and moments of crashing. Generally, it’s better when I avoid social media. I’ve learned that at its best, it makes me feel happy for those who have what I desire, and at its worst, it fills my body with a jealousy that usually ends in tears. Some years, I treat it like any other day because that is all I have in me, and some years I find a way to honor her. But every year, no matter what I do, it floods me with all those aches. Pure and simple, it reminds me just how much I wish she were here.

Post miscarriages, the ache has grown. And in the very lowest moments of these last few months, my brain kept repeating a sentence that only the worst parts of trauma and ache could formulate:

You don’t get to have a mom, and you don’t get to be a mom.

In those dark moments of utter turmoil where all you can do is self-pity. Not a place to stay for long, but certainly one that exists in the middle of processing through extreme traumas. Because when I push myself past the ache and the self-pity, the reality is that I do have a mom. I have a mom that may no longer be here on Earth with me but lives deeply within who I am both physically and spiritually. I have a mom in my sister, who calls me five times a day to talk and love on me. I have a mom in my mother-in-law. I have a mom in each of my friends who continuously shape me.

And if I take a step back and really define the qualities of what it means to be a mother we all desire, it is often reflective of someone with emotional strength, unconditional love, selflessness, patience, protectiveness, empathy, forgiveness, and guidance. Qualities that I see all around me in the ones I love. And qualities that if someone described about me, I’d be so incredibly proud.

To all of you holding that ache today for whatever the reasons may be, know you are not alone in it. Hold tight to the ones around you who are able to step into that nurturing role. The ability to hold grief and gratitude is not always an easy task. Remind yourself of this and give yourself grace today.

To my beautiful mom: Thank you for bringing me into this world, for loving me, and for leaving parts of yourself with me, I miss you.

Happy Mother’s Day xx

my momma