Half My Life

In November of 2001, my mom took her last breath. Finding her that Thanksgiving morning altered the whole course of my life. Life would never be the same and a piece of my heart would forever be missing. I am now 32 years old, yet there are frequent moments that I feel like that terrified sixteen year old. Half my life I have lived on this Earth without a mother. Here are some thoughts:


When my mom first died, it was so excruciatingly painful because I could remember every detail of our life and time together. It's like I could feel her. She was just with me. Everything hurt because of how close she felt to me. I could remember our last car ride conversation (our best talks were always in the car), the color of her painted nails, the last song we blasted on the radio, and the last argument we had. It was all so fresh in my mind, which was so. damn. painful. Fast forward sixteen years, I yearn for those details to flood over me. Now I feel pain because most details of her are dimming. And I want more than anything to feel like she was just with me. But memories are fading. Details are blurry. I can barely even remember what her voice even sounded like. And in a way, that causes me more pain than the initial loss.


For much of my life, I put my mom on a pedestal that I realize, in hindsight, probably wasn't healthy. When your mother dies, people come forward with countless stories of how her kindness and love touched their lives. It's inspiring and heartwarming. But much of my life I found myself overwhelmed at trying to fill my mom's shoes. I found (and still find) myself wishing I could be as good and decent and compassionate as my mom. She was funny and laid-back and passionate and kind. She would give anyone in need the shirt off her back. But you know what? It is important, and healthy, for me to remember her not-so-good qualities, too. Because she wasn't perfect, despite what people tell me. She was a horrible cook, spent too much energy worrying about work, enabled me a little too much, and had demons she faced, too. She wasn't perfect. And she wouldn't (and didn't) expect me to be perfect, either. I wish I could tell all that to my sixteen year old self...


I recently discovered a podcast called Terrible, Thanks for Asking. And I love it. It's all about grief and loss and other tough issues. In the first episode, two widows discuss how they want to create an environment so that their sons can feel their dads. That even though they are gone, through memories and memorabilia, their sons can feel like they know their deceased fathers. I have struggled with this a lot since having Bennett. Oh, how I wish he could know his maternal grandma. She would have been amazing with him, because she just had a way of making people feel so special. We talk a lot about Grandma Twila. Her name comes up almost daily. There is no sweeter sound than when Bennett says her name. He knows that she loved the Green Bay Packers, the color purple, sunflowers, and Vince Gill. But that's not enough. Not nearly enough. I wish more than anything in the world that he could know her. Really know her. He'd be a better person for it. I will continue to try to make her as much a part of the family as a dead woman can be...


I have abandonment issues that are deep. My father left before I was born and my mom died in the throws of adolescent turmoil. And those two losses have shaped me in painful ways. Add on abuse, family alcoholism, and a slew of other things and it starts explaining why I'm a pretty big ol' mess ;). I don't trust most people. And if I do find myself trusting them, I try and push them away before I can get hurt. A counselor once told me that sometimes when trauma happens to a person, they "freeze" at the age of the traumatic event(s). And I think there is a lot of truth in that. Even though I am a thirty-two year old mother, I often feel myself handling things like a teenager. I don't think I have truly healed from the painful events in my life, but you can't change what you don't acknowledge, right?


I have more to write later, but reality is calling and nap time is over. Until next time....