In April of my 11th year, my mother lost her battle with Breast Cancer. It was dreary, it was cold, and I was suddenly thrust into the world, alone.
Today, I’m almost 30. It looms up on me, like I’ve imagined the Rockies would. I have two daughters, 2 and 4. In them I see myself, I see my childhood, I see my innocence. I see the little girl who could, and never did. I imagine myself a good mother, I believe that I am a good mother. But I don’t know. The stark terror of what to do next freezes me in my tracks some days. I stare at my daughters like feral animals, worried about what they might do next.
Welcome to motherhood without a map.
Because I lost my mother early, I cling to every moment with my girls. The brief hugs I hold for seconds longer than I should. The way I preserve, solid in my mind, the times we play and dance around each other. How I stare at them when I think they aren’t looking. I do these things because I want to taste every single second of their lives, just in case. I live in a state of perpetual “just in caseâ€. Because bad things happen to mommies, and I’m forever worried it will happen to me too.
Rationally I know it’s not true, but it’s just one of many worries a motherless mother holds. Will they remember me? If I died right now, if I didn’t come home, would we have built up enough memory to sustain them? Or would the love I feel so strongly right now be forgotten, my daughters growing up with only the rare photos of their mother to sustain them? Will they hurt like I hurt?
I don’t know how to be a mother - mine is gone. She didn’t have the time to teach me everything, yet somehow, I maintain her traditions. More and more, I hear my father mutter “You’re just like your mother.†It gives me hope. It helps me believe that no matter what, I would live on, somehow, in some way. My oldest would likely keep my facial expressions, my youngest, my moods and sweetness.
In all likelihood, I won’t die for many, many years. But this doesn’t stop me from chronicling their lives, doesn’t keep me from vividly explaining death, and dying, and sickness.
Nor does it keep me from loving every single minute with them.
[tags]parents, grandparents, kids, loss, coping, love, motherhood[/tags]
Photo graciously provided by _marmota, some rights reserved
11 responses so far ↓
Slouching Mom // Apr 10, 2007 at 4:03 pm
So poignant.
I’m not sure there is a map to the state of Motherhood. My mother is alive, but I don’t feel like I have a map even so. I wish I did. I hope that makes you feel just a tiny bit better.
Megan Bayliss // Apr 11, 2007 at 5:17 am
A beautifully moving post that I am sure will resonate with many mothers and women who have lost their mothers.
You have the map in your heart. Follow it and your destination will be unforgettable.
Thank you for your lovely post.
Amy Bailey // Apr 11, 2007 at 6:15 am
I love that your mother’s map is in you. That’s a beautiful thought. When I had my son I suddenly was very conscious of the fact that I *could not* die. I never feared for my life before, until I had a child to take care of. These fears validate the incredibly powerful force that is a mother’s love.
heidi // Apr 11, 2007 at 9:46 am
This is so eloquent and rings so true to me. Part of the sudden, overwhelming need to be a mother came from losing my mom right as I was starting to get the hang of woman-not-girl. I try to remember her essence everyday in my mothering- how she was accused of being over-protective but always felt like she balanced that urge perfectly with her groovy laid-back attitude. I think all the time of how much my life right now would be different if she were here. I laugh thinking of how she’d think I was weird for things like extended nursing and feel proud thinking how she’d praise me for winning the “cosleeping battle” she lost with my dad.
Gods, holding the hugs for seconds too long- that just reverberates through me. I hold my baby so tightly, and promise her over and over I’ll never leave her, even in death I’ll hang out watching. I do promise to not say those creepy things when she can understand me, but I hope the connection I feel to her leaves a lasting feeling of warmth and security.
My challenge is to not cling too tightly. Fearing losing her or her losing me will make me a too-controlling mom if I let it, and without the absence of my mother, I don’t think I’d tend to do that.
Thanks so much for such a thoughtful post. Sorry I ran on so:)
thordora // Apr 11, 2007 at 10:10 am
I work daily to fight the “cling”-Vivian is just about to realize what I’m doing-she asks about people who “die” on TV, and this morning while talking to my father I mentioned when Mom died and she said “Your mommy died?” and I said yes, and she said, “You were sad.”
And I said yes. Nothing terrifies me more than the thought of leaving her early, but worse is knowing she’s now old enough to imagine it.
And everyone is right-many women don’t have the map, and their mother IS alive. I have friends who deal with this daily, who I once envied and now realize they had it harder. They HAD a mother who didn’t care enough, or couldn’t be bothered to mother them. To me that’s worse.
Jason Dufair // Apr 11, 2007 at 10:40 am
Thanks for this, Thor. I hope to help my daughters find some map somehow.
Cherylann // Apr 11, 2007 at 11:39 am
What a beautiful post. Thank You. I lost my mother when I was 22, and when I became pregnant 5 years later is was bittersweet. It’s very hard trying to mother when you don’t have the advice that is passed down from a mother to a daughter. Having a daughter has given me little gifts of glimpses into the way my mother loved me and all the joy I must have brought her. Thank you for this insight.
thordora // Apr 11, 2007 at 12:31 pm
Having a daughter has given me little gifts of glimpses into the way my mother loved me and all the joy I must have brought her.
SO true. They say that we unconciously duplicate how our mothers cuddled us, fed us, etc. I hold that close to me on the bad days, knowing she lives in a way through me.
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