Don't misunderstand me. I am very much in favor of everybody celebrating their mothers and telling them how awesome they are for all they do. I think it is a great thing to appreciate having your mother and I think once a year is far too infrequent to let her know it. I support the concept of Mother's Day and the mass celebration of mothers that it is.
It is just a painful subject for me.
It is impossible as a child to fully mourn the loss of a parent. You can only do the parts of mourning that you are mature enough to comprehend. At five or six years old, I could not understand fully what it meant for my mother to be fatally ill or that the times she spent in the hospital were abnormal and that most kids didn't sit in hospital lobbies while the adults visited their mothers (and failed to understand that they, too, needed to visit). I understood that time with my mother was limited, that her being home with me was special and that getting to see her was precious. I loved her dearly in all of the ways that a five- or six- year old can love.
However, I could not mourn the difference between the innate, unconditional, supportive love of a mother and the obligatory very conditional fondness from a mother-substitute. I did not yet really comprehend the loss. I was not at a loss for mother-substitutes. There were many who gave all they could to try to be what I was missing and, honestly, my two amazing grandmothers did much to keep me from ever missing it during childhood and adolescence, God rest their souls. In fact, it was their deaths within less than five months if each other in 2004 that made me really get to the point where I began to see - and mourn - many of the things I was not able to comprehend fully at age seven when my mother finally died. Not to mention the man that is, without a doubt, the best father on earth.
Before recent years, before full adult recognition of that loss, Before that loss was also paired with the loss of the two women that stood in my mother's stead and before my father (awesome, but fallible) began insisting that I put my stepmother in my mother's place, Mother's Day was not half so painful. It was just another Father's Day - another day to recognize the man who was both mother and father to me. However, for all those reasons, it has now become a day of mourning, in addition to those other days that my mother's loss and my motherless childhood, adolescence and young adulthood become palpable.
So don't get me wrong. I want all of you to let your mothers know how precious they are. I appreciate all of the women who have tried their very best to give me what I am missing - including my stepmother. I want them all to know it. I honor every mother out there who does for her children those things that fate robbed my mother the opportunity to do...
...but I still mourn.
originally published on posterous.com
Monday, May 9, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
Watching Death
Today, I went to do my daily one mile run in the gym. When I arrived, there was a woman there with very, very short hair using the elliptical machine. I can't fully explain how I knew, but I immediately knew that she is either currently fighting or recently recovering from cancer. Of course, the hair is the most obvious clue, since the loss of hair is one of the most well known of the side-effects of chemotherapy.
That actually wasn't what stood out to me, though. She was wearing a baseball cap and what I first noticed, instead, was her labored movement. Movement that said "My body is not healthy and I have to use a lot of energy to do what healthy people do easily.". Movement that I recognized very well after nine-and-a-half years of being a stroke survivor. (If you haven't already been introduced to Catherine Miserandino's "The Spoon Theory", I suggest you read it.) This "spoonie" recognized a fellow "spoonie" immediately and only later did I recognize the signs of specifically which illness she battles.
After fighting the urge to cheer her on, I started thinking of my mother, who died almost 25 years ago and I began to remember things like my dad teaching me "Fuzzy Wuzzy Was a Bear" and having me proudly show off my new poem to my mother, who lay in bed weak and hairless from chemotherapy (my dad's twisted sense of humor is an entire topic of its own) and my mother so sick she had lost her hearing and didn't always recognize me any more.
Someone recently said that it had never occurred to them that when I say "My mom died when I was seven" that it means that I watched her get sicker and deteriorate for years before she actually died. They didn't grasp before things like being five or so and wanting to climb in the hospital bed with my mother but having well-meaning adults shoo me away or having my mother home from the hospital as a child being like a special guest visiting instead of just a normal day. They never realized that the traumatic part was the years before she actually left this earth.
Honestly, I never really thought of it that way either. In a lot of ways, that was my entire conception of having a mother. Most of the normal parts of having a mom happened when I was at an age before my memories start. I never really thought about the fact that almost every memory of my mother that I didn't get secondhand from someone else is an unusual and traumatic one.
I've always - or at least since the age of seven - had a bit of a barrier. I like people and enjoy being around them, but a select few are extremely close to me and permanently have my love and affection. My husband calls all these other people my "crushes" because I like them, but my adoration is fleeting. I have always thought this was a result if my mother's death. Today, for the first time, I realize that it is probably the long process of observing death that erected that barrier. Though that long process prepared me unbelievably well for my mother's actual death, it made it so much harder for me to let in people I didn't already love before her death.
I've always immensely admired every decision she made during those years (and her ability to laugh at the "Fuzzy Wuzzy Was a Bear thing), emulated her grace when I face my own trials and illness and thought I would imitate her if ever faced with preparing my own children for my death. Now, for the first time, I find myself questioning something she did. Though it helped me deal with death at seven, did it have permanent effects that I never fully realized?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
That actually wasn't what stood out to me, though. She was wearing a baseball cap and what I first noticed, instead, was her labored movement. Movement that said "My body is not healthy and I have to use a lot of energy to do what healthy people do easily.". Movement that I recognized very well after nine-and-a-half years of being a stroke survivor. (If you haven't already been introduced to Catherine Miserandino's "The Spoon Theory", I suggest you read it.) This "spoonie" recognized a fellow "spoonie" immediately and only later did I recognize the signs of specifically which illness she battles.
After fighting the urge to cheer her on, I started thinking of my mother, who died almost 25 years ago and I began to remember things like my dad teaching me "Fuzzy Wuzzy Was a Bear" and having me proudly show off my new poem to my mother, who lay in bed weak and hairless from chemotherapy (my dad's twisted sense of humor is an entire topic of its own) and my mother so sick she had lost her hearing and didn't always recognize me any more.
Someone recently said that it had never occurred to them that when I say "My mom died when I was seven" that it means that I watched her get sicker and deteriorate for years before she actually died. They didn't grasp before things like being five or so and wanting to climb in the hospital bed with my mother but having well-meaning adults shoo me away or having my mother home from the hospital as a child being like a special guest visiting instead of just a normal day. They never realized that the traumatic part was the years before she actually left this earth.
Honestly, I never really thought of it that way either. In a lot of ways, that was my entire conception of having a mother. Most of the normal parts of having a mom happened when I was at an age before my memories start. I never really thought about the fact that almost every memory of my mother that I didn't get secondhand from someone else is an unusual and traumatic one.
I've always - or at least since the age of seven - had a bit of a barrier. I like people and enjoy being around them, but a select few are extremely close to me and permanently have my love and affection. My husband calls all these other people my "crushes" because I like them, but my adoration is fleeting. I have always thought this was a result if my mother's death. Today, for the first time, I realize that it is probably the long process of observing death that erected that barrier. Though that long process prepared me unbelievably well for my mother's actual death, it made it so much harder for me to let in people I didn't already love before her death.
I've always immensely admired every decision she made during those years (and her ability to laugh at the "Fuzzy Wuzzy Was a Bear thing), emulated her grace when I face my own trials and illness and thought I would imitate her if ever faced with preparing my own children for my death. Now, for the first time, I find myself questioning something she did. Though it helped me deal with death at seven, did it have permanent effects that I never fully realized?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Colorado Springs, United States
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Mr. Mom
Yesterday, I had a conversation with my father. It was a really good one where, even though I was crying and pouring my heart out and being all mushy, he really was supportive and awesome!!! It was one if those rare times when, even though I was hurting and needing the comforting of a mother, I didn't feel the loss of mine. My father was my mother yesterday and it was absolutely amazing. Sometimes, that man is awesome!!!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Colorado Springs,United States
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Better Whatever We Are
The Dalai Lama once said, "Don't try to use what you learn from Buddhism to be a Buddhist; use it to be a better whatever-you-already-are." I am a Christian, a wife, a patient, a daughter... and I am motherless. Strangely, through last night's hard time, a Buddhist principle came to mind that actually helped me to be a better, well... a happier, motherless daughter.
Feeling the emotional and physical misery that accompanied what I now suspect was a fever, I was longing for a mother's comfort. That longing just added to the misery I was already feeling. One of you responded that you had been feeling this way recently as well and that the decision to care for a rescued dog lifted your spirits. My husband was having a miserable day and focusing on cheering him made me feel a bit better long before I realized that I likely had a fever and took some Advil. I remembered two jobs that I had that made me exuberant on a daily basis, both of them focused on giving social services to those in dire need of them. All of these things have in common putting the focus off ourselves and onto improving the lives of others. All of these things had the byproduct of improving our own lives in the process.
This line of thought reminded me of a TED talk given by Uma Thurman's father, Robert, the first American to be ordained a Tibetan Monk by the Dalai Lama. This talk, one of the talks focused on the Charter for Compassion, implores us to practice compassion beyond our inner circle of friends and family and discusses how that benefits ourselves as well as the rest of mankind. It occurred to me that, perhaps, this is one way that we can learn to be better, happier, motherless daughters. Perhaps this is one way that, though we don't have mothers to model or who can teach us how to deal with the difficult parts of raising girls into women, we can proactively decide to model the type of behavior that we want our daughters to emulate. It is probably not that perfect of a band-aid for everything, but every little bit helps.
So that you can listen for yourselves and see if any of it helps your situation even a little, I have included Robert Thurman's TED talk below.
Feeling the emotional and physical misery that accompanied what I now suspect was a fever, I was longing for a mother's comfort. That longing just added to the misery I was already feeling. One of you responded that you had been feeling this way recently as well and that the decision to care for a rescued dog lifted your spirits. My husband was having a miserable day and focusing on cheering him made me feel a bit better long before I realized that I likely had a fever and took some Advil. I remembered two jobs that I had that made me exuberant on a daily basis, both of them focused on giving social services to those in dire need of them. All of these things have in common putting the focus off ourselves and onto improving the lives of others. All of these things had the byproduct of improving our own lives in the process.
This line of thought reminded me of a TED talk given by Uma Thurman's father, Robert, the first American to be ordained a Tibetan Monk by the Dalai Lama. This talk, one of the talks focused on the Charter for Compassion, implores us to practice compassion beyond our inner circle of friends and family and discusses how that benefits ourselves as well as the rest of mankind. It occurred to me that, perhaps, this is one way that we can learn to be better, happier, motherless daughters. Perhaps this is one way that, though we don't have mothers to model or who can teach us how to deal with the difficult parts of raising girls into women, we can proactively decide to model the type of behavior that we want our daughters to emulate. It is probably not that perfect of a band-aid for everything, but every little bit helps.
So that you can listen for yourselves and see if any of it helps your situation even a little, I have included Robert Thurman's TED talk below.
Friday, October 29, 2010
I Want My Mommy
I've been feeling like crap all evening. I haven't been able to figure out what it is for hours. I took my medicine on time, so that's not it. I'm rarely lonely. The benefit of being an only child is being okay with being alone with yourself. But, there is something irritating me just under the surface and I can't figure out what it is. There are bad things in my life just like there are good - that's just how life is. However, I don't think it is the obvious bad things that are getting to me tonight. I'm so irritable and so... not-positive-feeling that I don't even feel like reading. It takes a lot to make me not want to read, so something is seriously wrong. It's not really an illness thing today. I actually feel fine right now, which for a chronically ill person like me should mean that it is a REALLY good day. It's not a good day, though - at least not the last couple of hours.
Part of me wants to text message my dad... but he's a DAD. He does that distinctly male thing where he fails to do the empathetic listening and just wants to solve the problem for me and move on to the next task at hand. Plus, he refuses to listen to me if there is even the remotest hint of whining or crying. 99% of the time I'm totally okay with that. Frankly, being raised by him has led to me being that type of person too. Tonight, I don't want that. I don't want a male. I don't want any of my favorite people: my husband, my father or my male cousin with whom I'm really close.
I have a couple of "mothers" I could turn to; but, one is my mother-in-law who has NOT been happy with me since Christmas Eve (and who now refers to me as "that American girl") and the other is my stepmother. Let's just say that I have a much better relationship with my mother-in-law. My stepmother has blocked my e-mail address from being able to send her e-mails and this is a relatively good period in our relationship! I have a very, very good friend who is very loving and motherly to me; but, she has far too much on her shoulders and has had too much on her for far too long. I do not want to add to her burdens. I don't relly feel that I have a "mother" to go to.
The short and the sweet of it is that I want MY mother. Tonight is one of those nights where I really, acutely feel the lack of that comforting, unconditional, female presence that it seems like everyone else in the world has. Tonight, I want to scream with the unfairness of it. Tonight I want to roll up into the fetal position and finally have some relief from the going on 25 years of not having that thing that everyone else gets to have. Tonight I really need it more than normal and the lack of it makes the intangible, irritable feeling even worse than it would be otherwise.
I want my mommy.
Part of me wants to text message my dad... but he's a DAD. He does that distinctly male thing where he fails to do the empathetic listening and just wants to solve the problem for me and move on to the next task at hand. Plus, he refuses to listen to me if there is even the remotest hint of whining or crying. 99% of the time I'm totally okay with that. Frankly, being raised by him has led to me being that type of person too. Tonight, I don't want that. I don't want a male. I don't want any of my favorite people: my husband, my father or my male cousin with whom I'm really close.
I have a couple of "mothers" I could turn to; but, one is my mother-in-law who has NOT been happy with me since Christmas Eve (and who now refers to me as "that American girl") and the other is my stepmother. Let's just say that I have a much better relationship with my mother-in-law. My stepmother has blocked my e-mail address from being able to send her e-mails and this is a relatively good period in our relationship! I have a very, very good friend who is very loving and motherly to me; but, she has far too much on her shoulders and has had too much on her for far too long. I do not want to add to her burdens. I don't relly feel that I have a "mother" to go to.
The short and the sweet of it is that I want MY mother. Tonight is one of those nights where I really, acutely feel the lack of that comforting, unconditional, female presence that it seems like everyone else in the world has. Tonight, I want to scream with the unfairness of it. Tonight I want to roll up into the fetal position and finally have some relief from the going on 25 years of not having that thing that everyone else gets to have. Tonight I really need it more than normal and the lack of it makes the intangible, irritable feeling even worse than it would be otherwise.
I want my mommy.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
New Inductees
Yesterday I found out that one of the sweetest women I know died last week. Since I was without a phone for over a week, I was late getting this most important message. This woman had two daughters, both under the age of six. Unfortunately, that means there two new very young inductees into our sad club.
I have been unable to think about anything but these two gorgeous little girls who have been unexpectedly thrust into the world of having one's identity shaped by being a motherless daughter. By being one of us that is largely unacknowledged by a society that discusses single mothers and fathers that die or leave, but not our situations. I have their father, a very admirable and nice man, constantly on my mind. I remember the grief and pain of my own father, which was evident even to my young eyes, and hurt that such a great person is now in the same situation.
I spent last night crying, vacillating between vicarious pain for three people who would now understand that Mother's Day is a horrible, horrible holiday for some people in this world and feeling extreme admiration for how unbelievably well my own father handled it all. I spent the night wanting to dispatch my father to their house to fix it all the way he always fixed my pain when things like my first pet dying triggered that buried pain about losing my mother.
As I got closer to sleep I remembered that, unlike me, these girls would not be ripped from the home of their only remaining parent. These girls could have everything else they know remain intact. They wouldn't have to spend years fighting along with their father to be able to live in their own home where they belong. These girls already have more positives working in their favor. Perhaps they can benefit from one of the Motherless Daughter Support Groups when they are old enough to attend. I felt more peaceful and filled with hope that they have it better than some of us did.
So, even though there are two new inductees, here's to hoping they don't have the slightest clue how all of us feel. Here's to hoping that their experience is so much better than all of ours and that they remain happy, healthy and whole despite their loss
This post is dedicated to JGL and everything she did to touch my life in such a positive way.
I have been unable to think about anything but these two gorgeous little girls who have been unexpectedly thrust into the world of having one's identity shaped by being a motherless daughter. By being one of us that is largely unacknowledged by a society that discusses single mothers and fathers that die or leave, but not our situations. I have their father, a very admirable and nice man, constantly on my mind. I remember the grief and pain of my own father, which was evident even to my young eyes, and hurt that such a great person is now in the same situation.
I spent last night crying, vacillating between vicarious pain for three people who would now understand that Mother's Day is a horrible, horrible holiday for some people in this world and feeling extreme admiration for how unbelievably well my own father handled it all. I spent the night wanting to dispatch my father to their house to fix it all the way he always fixed my pain when things like my first pet dying triggered that buried pain about losing my mother.
As I got closer to sleep I remembered that, unlike me, these girls would not be ripped from the home of their only remaining parent. These girls could have everything else they know remain intact. They wouldn't have to spend years fighting along with their father to be able to live in their own home where they belong. These girls already have more positives working in their favor. Perhaps they can benefit from one of the Motherless Daughter Support Groups when they are old enough to attend. I felt more peaceful and filled with hope that they have it better than some of us did.
So, even though there are two new inductees, here's to hoping they don't have the slightest clue how all of us feel. Here's to hoping that their experience is so much better than all of ours and that they remain happy, healthy and whole despite their loss
This post is dedicated to JGL and everything she did to touch my life in such a positive way.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Our Causes
I have an extremely good friend who teases me about being a sucker for what she describes as "tragic, human-rights-atrocity" causes such as chronic hunger and homelessness. While I am all for bugging people about those issues in other places, I want to stick to things related to the loss of mothers on this blog.
Some issues are the causes of becoming motherless and I want to highlight the need to support those causes as well as the effect of the loss. If you have an issue or cause that led to you or someone you know becoming motherless, please let us know. I plan on making a list of these including links to websites advocating these issues in the sidebar. For now, look into the issues below which are the reasons that me and some of my friends are motherless children.
National Multiple Sclerosis Society
Young Survival Coalition (breast cancer)
Mental Health America
Susan G. Komen (breast cancer)
Ovarian Cancer National Alliance
National Domestic Violence Hotline
American Heart Association (heart attacks, strokes, etc.)
Joyful Heart Foundation (domestic violence)
UNAIDS
United Nations Refugee Agency
National Ovarian Cancer Coalition
Click to Empower (domestic violence)
National Association of People with AIDS
International Rescue Committee (refugees of war)
American Foundation for Suicide Prevention
American Diabetes Association
Some issues are the causes of becoming motherless and I want to highlight the need to support those causes as well as the effect of the loss. If you have an issue or cause that led to you or someone you know becoming motherless, please let us know. I plan on making a list of these including links to websites advocating these issues in the sidebar. For now, look into the issues below which are the reasons that me and some of my friends are motherless children.
National Multiple Sclerosis Society
Young Survival Coalition (breast cancer)
Mental Health America
Susan G. Komen (breast cancer)
Ovarian Cancer National Alliance
National Domestic Violence Hotline
American Heart Association (heart attacks, strokes, etc.)
Joyful Heart Foundation (domestic violence)
UNAIDS
United Nations Refugee Agency
National Ovarian Cancer Coalition
Click to Empower (domestic violence)
National Association of People with AIDS
International Rescue Committee (refugees of war)
American Foundation for Suicide Prevention
American Diabetes Association
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