It’s Mother’s Day, and I’ve been bracing myself for this day. You see, three months ago today my Mother, my best friend, the "Queen", passed away. We found out in October 2008 that she had stomach cancer. At the time, my 76 year young Mom was still working part-time, taking computer classes at the local community college, and ordering yet more clothes and shoes from any number of fashion catalogs. She was my hero. So many thoughts are racing through my head today, but I’d like to share a profound revelation with you all that has punctuated this journey for me.
Join me below.
There’s a ton of things I miss about Mom. I miss going by her house after work and leaving with a roll of ritz crackers that she would give me to snack on during my long commute home. "They’ll tie you over ‘til you eat dinner" she would always say. About three weeks ago, I had a cold and I was exhausted (mostly because since the day I found out Mom had cancer I hadn’t had a good night sleep). I couldn’t call Mom just to tell her I was sick and listen to her say "Baby, you’re working too hard. Mama wants you to get some rest. You can’t burn the candle on both ends. You need me to bring you some orange juice or 7-up?" Mom really thought 7-up cured most things. Somehow, I always felt a little better after talking to her. I miss her calling me whenever she saw a handsome man on T.V. to say "Now he’s handsome, and I don’t see a ring", to which I would always reply "And you want me to do what Mom?" Then we’d both crack up laughing. She hated that I was single. I miss shopping with her and fussing at her for buying yet another pair of shoes she did not need because they matched one of the countless outfits she had in her closet. I would tell her "Well, Mom, when you own an outfit in every color ever created by man any shoe meets that criteria!" Again, more laughter. I knew a Queen could neither have too many clothes or shoes. I miss her wisdom. I miss hearing her pray. I miss sitting next to her in church and holding her hand.
But you wanna know what I miss the most? It’s a surprise actually, and something I didn’t expect. I miss saying "Mom". I mean saying it and It mean I’m referencing my mother. Now for sure I have other "Moms" in my life. All of my mother’s close friends have rallied around me and my sister and have become surrogate moms to us. And today I love them and honor them. But it occurred to me not long after Mom died that I would never again walk in to any place and yell "Mom"? and hear her voice answer back to me "In here, baby girl". In some of my worst grieving meltdowns, I find myself crying out the same thing - "Mom"? "Mom"? wanting desperately to hear her voice. I can’t and never will say "Mom" again the same way. I was talking to a friend the other day and she asked how I was doing. I told her that I was trying to adjust. After all, I’ve never lived without my Mom. In 44 years, I’ve never known my life without her.
I knew all the big things I loved about my mother, and I knew I’d miss those things. But I didn’t know that the simple act of acknowledging her presence in my place or space had such an anchoring effect on me. Or that not being able to acknowledge her presence would leave such a profound hole in my heart. My Dad died just over two years ago. I loved him so very much and I miss him terribly too. I certainly had no favorites between them, and really I’m grieving them both now. But losing Mom has been so different in ways I can’t quite articulate yet.
Mom's voice comforted me. A verbal hug if you will. Daddy provided me with my foundation in life. Mom was my structure.
I know I’m early on in this journey of grief. I’m sure as I continue to make my way through this I’ll trip upon other little surprises along the way. But, I wanted to at least pause today and acknowledge this revelation.
My fellow Kossacks, do me a favor. Today, call out to your Mom, or someone you love and hold dear to your heart, and treasure hearing their voice acknowledge you. And never take this small act for granted.
I love you Mom. Rest in peace, Queen.
Happy Mother’s Day, my fellow Kossacks.