5 Years Without Mom

Shortly after I lost my mom, I ran into a neighbor who told me her father had passed 8 years ago. She said she didn’t like acknowledging how long he’d been gone because it made her feel even farther away from him. I sense that now. I think we cling so tightly in the first few years to every piece of our person and without us realizing it, time slowly lifts our fingers off these captive memories and we begin to lose our grip.

The only child of mine my mom knew was 2 when she passed away. Skylar is now 7…I don’t know how I’ve survived five years of motherhood without my Jedi master of all things motherhood. I don’t think I’m a bad mom, but I know I’d be a better mom with my mom around. I really can’t even handle the reality that we’ve added two kids to our brood who will never know their Mimi, at least not in this lifetime. Even after 5 years (or maybe especially after 5 years?), when I think about all the seasons of mothering I have left to relish and weather, my stomach drops to think she will not be there to relish and weather them alongside me.

I’m sure of very little. I relied heavily upon my mom’s humble affirmations that I was making good decisions and doing a solid job. She would probably not want me to admit to that; or she would lovingly disagree. But she was one of those rare breeds who made you think you were the one with the brilliant ideas and the excellent problem-solving skills all while she was quietly working behind the scenes feeding encouraging one-liners and using all the positive non-verbals a human can to steer me in the way I should go. I sure miss those gentle cues.

I’ve been listening to C.S. Lewis’s “Mere Christianity” lately and I think my favorite chapter of any book ever written is his chapter on pride (Chapter 8 btw). In a world where the definition of humility can simply mean self-deprecation, Lewis provides an example of a truly humble person that reminded me a whole lot of my mom:

“Do not imagine that if you meet a really humble man [woman] he [she] will be what most people call ‘humble’ nowadays: he will not be a sort of greasy, smarmy person, who is always telling you that, of course, he is nobody.

Probably all you will think about him is that he seemed a cheerful, intelligent chap who took a real interest in what you said to him.

C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

A real interest. My mom always had a real interest. Perhaps one of the hardest truths to swallow after losing someone who takes real interest in your life and sees you as important is that without them you feel less interesting and less important. And by our worldly standards if someone who values you that way suddenly leaves, you actually do become less valuable. I know this isn’t spiritually true– “For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.” – Ephesians 2:10. (Thank you, Slugs & Bugs, for making beautiful music for kids that also help insecure moms get assuring verses like this get lodged in our heads for days at a time. Cannot recommend their music enough, especially if you have babies!). I know my life still has tremendous value and there are “good things” yet for me to do. But if you’ve lost someone who anchors you with their love, you know you can begin to drift off without their grounding.

I read in a grief book (Perhaps “Good Grief“?) that it’s not bad to allow someone to come in eventually to fill a bit of the hole in your life. I think that made me squeamish in the months following my mom’s death. And still now, I’m not sure my heart has softened enough to allow a mom sub in, but I am grateful for the extensive network of exemplary mothers who have influenced my own mothering. Many of them remind me of my mama in ways, and I’m grateful for those touches of familiarity. But there’s one person who’s certainly taken on a very different role in my life since mom’s departure. My dad said years ago regarding our suddenly much closer relationship: “you are the closest thing I have to your mother and I’m the closest thing you have.” My dad is no longer the background wave in a FaceTime call. He’s the whole screen and a constant source of encouragement in my life. I know my mama would love that.

We all miss you, mama! You raised my favorite people and imprinted deeply on my daddy (and innumerable others). Grateful we still get to see your fingerprints everywhere. Thank you, God, for the most magical mama.