May 6, 2011

Celebrating Mother’s Day As A Motherless-Daughter

by

As Mother’s Day approaches I’m feeling melancholy. It’s a time when I really miss my mom. This year is the 20th anniversary of her death. Nearly half my life has gone by without her in it and this year is especially hard for some reason. Maybe it’s because my birthday and Mother’s Day are so close this year? Or maybe I’m just being emo and need to snap out of it. Whatever it is, the bombardment of ‘all things mom’ for the past month has been a challenge.

Photo of My Mother circa 1962 - (c)

 

Last year I shared this picture of my Mommy with you and told you a little about her. What I didn’t mention was how it felt to be a Motherless daughter during a time where “all things mom” bombard your senses. Her name was Eileen and she was a gap child who didn’t fit in with her depression-era parents or the baby boomers born just a few years after. Truly, she was cut from different fabric and lived life her way.

I was 21 when my mom died in November 1991. She had a stroke and never recovered. It was a grueling and very emotional few weeks as we dealt with what my grandparents thought should be done versus what my brother and I felt our mom would want.

She didn’t have an advanced directive. Even though Nancy Cruzan’s struggle was a public topic, it wasn’t as routine as it is now to have some type of advanced directive or living will. I remember, though, even all these years later talking to my mom about this one night. I was probably 16 years old and she told me that if she ever ended up on a coma that she wanted to be allowed to die.

It was a very hard conversations, but I knew why she was telling me. As a diabetic, she knew there was a very real possibility that something could go wrong and she’d end up in some type of irreversible state. In addition, she was seeing an oncologist. It wasn’t until after her death that I knew she was seeing an oncologist. I knew she saw a few doctors but back then it wasn’t as common to share your health care situation with your kids. Why would she be seeing an oncologist? Unless she had cancer and never mentioned it. No one knew. Possibly the only people who knew were my grandfather and uncle (my mom’s brother), neither of whom ever said a word.

At 21 I became a motherless-daughter and joined a secret sisterhood of women. I knew there would be situations where not having a mom would be emotionally challenging. While friends would share the fun and exciting things they were doing with their mom, I’d put on a smile and try to share in the joy. All the while stifling the growing sadness within. There would be lifecycle events where I’d much rather just hide in bed under the covers instead of pulling myself together and joining in on life.

Over the past nearly 20-years I’ve come to know other motherless-daughters who, like me, often had difficulty when Mother’s Day rolled around. Still there were family gatherings for the grandmothers and aunts, cousins and nieces who were moms. Celebrations that were full of laughter, only I was hiding behind a smile. Fortunately, when I moved away I could come up with all kinds of excuses to avoid Mother’s Day. Even when my mother-in-law moved nearby, she was understanding enough to know that if I didn’t go out to brunch on Mother’s day that it wasn’t a personal affront to her.

When I became a mom and Mother’s Day became part of my life, it was quite a challenge. Of course I was happy to be a mom, but it made me miss my Mommy even more. It’s a delicate balance emotionally. And one I know many of my friends deal with too. I’ve taken Mother’s Day as a time to share with BabyGirl who her grandmother was so she can understand the legacy of women she comes from.

If you’re a motherless-daughter, I get it. If your mom is still living, I get that too. What this celebration comes down to is honoring the women in our lives – whether they be our own mom, our aunties, our BFF’s mom, family friend, or other significant woman who has loved and mothered us in some way.

This year I’ll celebrate Mother’s Day in true fashion – I’ll be taking BabyGirl to violin rehearsal. Because, really, isn’t being a mom all about being a chauffeur? How will you spend your day?

Sara

{ 14 comments }

Ariana May 6, 2011 at 10:50 am

What a beautiful women she was!!! You look like your mom!

Sara May 10, 2011 at 11:10 pm

Ariana,

Thank you for visiting. Yes, I look so much like my mom as does my daughter look like me. It make me miss her a great deal more because I long for the opportunity to do a photo together.

Sara

Charlene May 6, 2011 at 5:33 pm

Such a wonderful post, and such a tribute to her. While she may have only been with you in person for half your life, she definitely has helped shape what you have become and is still by your side. The pain never seems to decrease, it just shifts, but I hope that as each year does go on, that you find your comfort, even if it can’t be happiness. For those of us that still have our Moms, let’s hug them a little tighter. Hugs to you Mama.

Sara May 10, 2011 at 11:12 pm

Charlene,

Thank you! Your words and thoughtfulness mean so much. You’re right, I may not get to happiness but finding whatever it is that is ‘comfort’ is still a good thing.

Sara

rhonda May 6, 2011 at 7:20 pm

Another piece of why we are sisters thing, huh? It still doesn’t seem possible that our moms have been gone for 20 yrs. I know that they probably sit together and visit us often. I’m sure they are beyond proud of us –what we have become and the children we are raising.
The missing them is hard enough, but for me, its that my kids never got to meet and enjoy her. sigh.
Love you!

Sara May 10, 2011 at 11:14 pm

Hello my sister!

It’s an amazing thing that we were brought together yet out moms became friends too. That they never got to meet their grandchildren makes me especially sad. Because I know they would have been awesome grandmas!

Love you,
Sara

Cass May 6, 2011 at 9:49 pm

What a lovely picture of your mom. And you do favor her!

I have so many friends who are motherless. Many of these are very close friends and have shared many of their feelings on the topic, yet I still can’t imagine being in your shoes. The loss of your mom, that’s just huge. I’m so sorry. ((hug))

And I know I crack jokes about how “annoying” my mom can be, but please know I exaggerate for the sake of humor. I love all of her and know that I’m lucky to have her here.

Happy Mother’s Day, Sara. ((another hug))

Sara May 10, 2011 at 11:16 pm

Cass,

Thank you for visiting my blog and sharing your thoughts. One of the cool things about following you on The Twitters and having met you at local MNO events is that I know the real you. Your humor is what makes you someone I enjoy following online. Keep cracking the jokes! If you stop, I’ll have to have you checked in to Mayo!

Sara

Nancy May 7, 2011 at 11:05 am

Hugs to you Sara. I am also a motherless mom…and I totally understand. I lost my mom 2 years ago, after watching her slowly leave me with Alzheimer’s disease. Mother’s Day IS a hard day…but I think honoring the women our mothers were is important. I’m glad you are sharing your mother’s legacy with your daughter….she lives on through both of you.

Sara May 10, 2011 at 11:19 pm

Nancy,

Thank you for visiting and sharing. I lament my experiencing with my mother’s passing, but I can’t imagine watching her become a different person due to Alzheimers. You are so brave, and I’m sure there was a part of her that held on to who you truly were to her.

Time does heal, but it never forgets. And that’s alright with me.

Kindly,
Sara

The Stiletto Mom May 8, 2011 at 6:41 pm

What a beautiful post! I had no idea you and I were in the same boat but you articulated it perfectly. Your Mom is no doubt looking down upon you and smiling, knowing she raised one amazing woman. Hugs.

Sara May 10, 2011 at 11:21 pm

TSM,

Thank you for stopping by and sharing in the sisterhood. Your kind words are appreciated, and I too know your mother is so proud of you!

Hugs and Friendship,
Sara

Kate @ Songs Kate Sang May 9, 2011 at 4:35 pm

Beautifully written, Sara.

Sara May 10, 2011 at 11:20 pm

Kate,

Thank you for visiting and your generous words.

Sara

Comments on this entry are closed.

Previous post:

Next post: