This Will Be a Hard One
Through tears I cannot show and pain that isn’t visible, I am mourning. This is my mother’s third birthday in heaven. I am trying to visualize the kinds of things I would be doing to celebrate her birthday. I am wondering what kind of card I would be getting her and what kinds of gifts I would be wrapping.
Instead, I need to come up with ideas to honor her life, so that I can try to get through October 20th all over again. Although we just celebrated my Dad’s birthday, I find I am struggling to get passed the deep sadness in my heart today. It is not to lessen how happy I was to see my Dad blow out his candles at 75, but the customs and habits of 30+ years are hard to overcome. And in October we were used to the back-to-back celebrations of my parents.
It’s funny how people tiptoe around dates that were once as significant as one’s own birth. But it is definitely true. Those closest to the deceased tend to retreat within themselves to find the solace they crave. They tend to mourn in private, almost as if ashamed of the emotions that they are feeling. And in the voices of those who remember, I hear the hesitant expressions of compassion that bare no resemblance to the actions and words that flowed before she died.
My mother was a great many things to many people, but most of all she was wisdom. She was the one you went to for solid, no-nonsense advice when doubts of your decisions crowded your mind. You could be sure and find the kind of good-natured, loving help you needed to get by. Although I didn’t tell her at the time, I would swell with pride when her advice was sought out and even more so when it was taken. She had the assuredness, conviction and knowledge of someone many years her senior. And with only the best of intentions, she would attempt to guide, if you asked for help.
I think I knew my mother more than anyone else, with the exception of my Dad. Toward my late 20s and early 30s, we developed the kind of simple relationship that evolves from mothering becoming friendship. We talked and gossiped. I was always happy to have her company to shop, or to run errands. I loved taking her to breakfast, or having lunch. Seems like we were never at a loss for topics to discuss. We laughed a lot. I think she sought to create in me the friend she so desperately needed. Having spent her whole life in the care of others, she forgot to do many things – pivotal things - in her own life. She forgot to tend to matters that were as simplistic as making and keeping enduring friendships, devoting time to herself and seeking the best for her health. At the time, when we were all pulling her ten different directions on any given day, we didn’t notice the time passing and neither did she.
At times, I think, my mother was lonely, hold up in a house alone for many days and hours just going about the business of being wife and mother. Watching, perhaps with a touch of envy, as we all left each morning to conduct the business of our lives, as she lingered on the margins of it all. Of course, she was never one to admit as much, or to stand her ground and demand equal time or anything of the sort. She was of a different time when a woman did not feel the need, or see the benefits of putting herself first. I wish she had. I wish she had taken some time for herself and stopped to smell the roses. But of course, how could she know her time her would be so short?
I wonder what she would have done with her life, had she not been forced to grow up over night when she lost her mom at a young age? I wonder what would have become of her had she been a member of a more forward-thinking generation? Would she have found time to pursue her passion for art and decorating? Would she have gone to college, seeing as how she valued education? Would she have really taken the time and made the effort to learn the language of her adopted country? Would she have made a few friends with which to meet up for lunch, to chat and vent and whatever else we girls do in close company? There were so many what-ifs left when my mother died. There are so many questions that still remain. There are so many answers I will never have.
During lunch today, I am going to go to a church by my job to pray for her. This will be my way of honoring her by doing something she loved and held in such high regard. Yet, as I think about it now, I understand that I don’t really have to go out of my way to do a thing to honor her on her birthday, or any other day. I can honor my mother by simply living my life as she raised me and as she would have loved to live her own – with friendships that endure, freedoms that give me wings, strength to speak my mind, passion to pursue my dreams and humor with which to handle it all.
Instead, I need to come up with ideas to honor her life, so that I can try to get through October 20th all over again. Although we just celebrated my Dad’s birthday, I find I am struggling to get passed the deep sadness in my heart today. It is not to lessen how happy I was to see my Dad blow out his candles at 75, but the customs and habits of 30+ years are hard to overcome. And in October we were used to the back-to-back celebrations of my parents.
It’s funny how people tiptoe around dates that were once as significant as one’s own birth. But it is definitely true. Those closest to the deceased tend to retreat within themselves to find the solace they crave. They tend to mourn in private, almost as if ashamed of the emotions that they are feeling. And in the voices of those who remember, I hear the hesitant expressions of compassion that bare no resemblance to the actions and words that flowed before she died.
My mother was a great many things to many people, but most of all she was wisdom. She was the one you went to for solid, no-nonsense advice when doubts of your decisions crowded your mind. You could be sure and find the kind of good-natured, loving help you needed to get by. Although I didn’t tell her at the time, I would swell with pride when her advice was sought out and even more so when it was taken. She had the assuredness, conviction and knowledge of someone many years her senior. And with only the best of intentions, she would attempt to guide, if you asked for help.
I think I knew my mother more than anyone else, with the exception of my Dad. Toward my late 20s and early 30s, we developed the kind of simple relationship that evolves from mothering becoming friendship. We talked and gossiped. I was always happy to have her company to shop, or to run errands. I loved taking her to breakfast, or having lunch. Seems like we were never at a loss for topics to discuss. We laughed a lot. I think she sought to create in me the friend she so desperately needed. Having spent her whole life in the care of others, she forgot to do many things – pivotal things - in her own life. She forgot to tend to matters that were as simplistic as making and keeping enduring friendships, devoting time to herself and seeking the best for her health. At the time, when we were all pulling her ten different directions on any given day, we didn’t notice the time passing and neither did she.
At times, I think, my mother was lonely, hold up in a house alone for many days and hours just going about the business of being wife and mother. Watching, perhaps with a touch of envy, as we all left each morning to conduct the business of our lives, as she lingered on the margins of it all. Of course, she was never one to admit as much, or to stand her ground and demand equal time or anything of the sort. She was of a different time when a woman did not feel the need, or see the benefits of putting herself first. I wish she had. I wish she had taken some time for herself and stopped to smell the roses. But of course, how could she know her time her would be so short?
I wonder what she would have done with her life, had she not been forced to grow up over night when she lost her mom at a young age? I wonder what would have become of her had she been a member of a more forward-thinking generation? Would she have found time to pursue her passion for art and decorating? Would she have gone to college, seeing as how she valued education? Would she have really taken the time and made the effort to learn the language of her adopted country? Would she have made a few friends with which to meet up for lunch, to chat and vent and whatever else we girls do in close company? There were so many what-ifs left when my mother died. There are so many questions that still remain. There are so many answers I will never have.
During lunch today, I am going to go to a church by my job to pray for her. This will be my way of honoring her by doing something she loved and held in such high regard. Yet, as I think about it now, I understand that I don’t really have to go out of my way to do a thing to honor her on her birthday, or any other day. I can honor my mother by simply living my life as she raised me and as she would have loved to live her own – with friendships that endure, freedoms that give me wings, strength to speak my mind, passion to pursue my dreams and humor with which to handle it all.
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