Opting Out of Mother's Day
Does grief ever end?
My Mom died one year ago today, two months before her 91st birthday, four days before Mother's Day. It should not have been a surprise. She had been in the hospital for over a month. But, getting that early morning call from my sister just a few minutes after her passing hit like a knife in the heart. I mean, my Mom was gone.
We celebrated her 90th birthday ten months before her death. The above picture was taken at her party. She was so happy, vibrant, and excited to see all her friends and family. How could she be gone such a short time later? Grief is such an all-consuming emotion. I will never be the same.
I had a long phone conversation with a friend I hadn't spoken to in almost ten years earlier this week. We didn't have a falling out; it was just one of those situations where we both were busy, lived in different states, and lost touch. She told me both of her parents passed within three years of each other. Her Mom first, then her Dad in 2020 during Covid times. We discussed the strange sensation of not having our moms to call and talk to whenever we wanted. We were both so lucky to be loved by women who loved us and our siblings more than anything.
My Mom loved being a Mom. It was her number one priority. She never cared about a career; her career was her family. She was the Mom who baked cookies and cakes to be available when we came home from school every day. She wanted to cook dinner most nights unless we went out as a family. She was the Blue Birds and Camp Fire Girls leader. She was a member of the PTA and volunteered at the library. She loved to plan activities and outings when we were on school breaks and summer vacations. If a friend came over for dinner, she delighted in setting the dining room table and cooking a special meal.
And can I tell you about family parties? We celebrated everything. Of course, all the holidays, but also the Superbowl, Valentine's Day, St. Patrick's Day (always corned beef and cabbage), everyone's birthday, and picnics in summer. There was at least one family party every month, usually more.
I have a story to explain my Mom. On the first day of school each year, all the neighborhood Moms would get together for brunch to celebrate getting their kids out of their hair. Mimosas and Bloody Marys would flow. This was true for all the moms except mine. She was the one sobbing in the corner because she missed us so much.
Even though I aspired to a completely different life, I have always been a career woman; she was unfailingly supportive and encouraging of my very different lifestyle. She never failed to tell me how proud she was of everything I attempted, success or not.
I could go on and on about my Mom. But this post is not a novel. So let me sum up by saying she wasn't perfect; who is? She could drive me crazy with her never-ending focus on family. She wanted her family around her all the time. We could get together for a huge family dinner, and she would be sad not to be getting together for brunch the next day. We used to tease her that she would have been happiest if we lived like the families in the old 80s nighttime soaps. The Dallas, and Dynasty shows where the whole family lived together in a mansion. Together all the time. But, looking back, it is very clear. No one will ever love me the way my Mom did. A Mother's love is like no other.
“Where are you this moment?
Only in my dreams.
You’re missing, but you’re always
A heartbeat from me.
I’m lost now without you,
I don’t know where you are.
I keep watching. I keep hoping,
But time keeps us apart.”
So, how do we survive after losing our parents? If we are very lucky, they will live for a long time. I had my Mom until she was 90. My Dad, thank God, is still here. He will be 95 later this month. But it still feels too soon. I have had my parents in my life for over sixty years. How does one survive without their parents?
Those of us in middle age and beyond will experience this loss unless we go first. I don't think it is something you can prepare for. I knew my Mom had health issues. But her loss was still a shock. The cliche response of "It's a part of life" may be true, but it doesn't make it any easier. Have you lost your parents? How did you cope?
For those of you who have a poor relationship with your Mom, my heart goes out to you. To those of you whose Moms are still here, I am envious. Please appreciate the time you have left. And, for those of you who are like me and are missing your Mom more than anything this weekend, I am sending love.
I have received many promotional emails advertising Mother's Day gifts in the past few weeks. Several have offered the option to "opt-out" of receiving these types of ads. What a kind gesture. I wish more companies were this thoughtful. Thank you!
Happy Mother's Day to my sister, DIL, cousins, niece, aunt, and all my friends and subscribers who are moms; I love you all. And, for all of us who are in the club that no one wants to belong to: the ones who have lost their moms, I am holding you in my heart. Please tell me about your Mom in the comments. I would love to hear her story.
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Have a good week,
Diane
Good morning, I lost both of my parents within three years of each other. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t miss and think of them. We had daily conversations and they were the glue for all family and holiday gatherings. Every year my husband and I go out to dinner on my dad and mom’s birthday. My husband orders their favorite meal. My dad’s favorite meal was surf and turf. Which he jokingly called sea and sod. Always a glass of red wine. My mom loved ribs or chili verde with a margarita. I miss our conversations. I miss our holidays together. I miss knowing they are not here on earth. There is no love like a parent’s love. I am an orphan.
From my memoir, Turning Centuries: Isolated in the rural countryside, Father was our constant role model of what it meant to be a man. From an age too early to recall, I knew Father carried the weight of all those 343 acres on his shoulders alone. And with nothing but those two strong hands, tilled the fields, cut the hay, filled the haymow, filled the silo, all the while milking 50 cows twice a day, getting up at 4 for the morning milking, not sliding the barn door shut until 6 at night after the evening milking. Seven days a week, all the year long, year after year. All four boys knew what would happen to the farm should he falter for as little as a day or two.
The boundaries of our sense of right and wrong were contained by his anger. I must have been seven or so, because I remember being old enough to carry pails of milk. So that would put me out in the barn during night milking. The night a cow pinned him underneath her. Because she had a reputation for being a kicker, Father wrapped the hock chain around both her rear legs. If she kicked, she would knock herself down. Father squatted and leaned his head into her flank while he attached the four suction cups to her teats. She kicked. And went down, her weight pinning him underneath.
One moment he was down, crushed under her belly; the next, as a boy would remember it, he seemed to lift her off him with those strong hands. The familiar rage distorted his face. “Ken, go to the wagonhouse and get the sledge hammer.”
I knew his sense of justice was swift and absolute. It was never open to question by little boys. If a quivering lip gave away our terror, we’d hear, “Keep that up and I’ll give you something to cry about.”
I was shuffling along, dreading what would happen once I brought the eight-pound sledge to him. By chance, Mother was bringing the pail up to the barn for the house milk and she saw me with my head down.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. And when I told her, she told me to put the sledge hammer back. I stood there watching her head for the barn. I knew that once again she would have to take the brunt of his anger until the storm had passed. How often after her passing do I wish to tell her my appreciation for a mother's indominable love.