Today is the five-year anniversary of my mom's death. This past year, I’ve finally been
able to talk about her without choking up and I’ve stopped crying in the shower
every week thinking about her. I’m almost accepting of her absence in my life.
Almost. It’s good timing, because Nick has recently become very curious about
death and, in his three-year-old bluntness, frequently reminds me, "Your
mom's dead. She died. She’s gone. We can't see her anymore." Okay, okay,
kid--I get it. Geesh!
So,
it’s getting easier. But, it’s still tough as hell parenting without her. I
often wonder if and how things might be different if she were still here. What
would she think of me as a mom? What would she think about my kids? What would they
have thought of her? I know there’s no point in “what ifs,” but I can’t help
it.
I want to
see her laugh with joy at the antics of her grandchildren. I want her to step
in a lay down the law when their antics are too much for me. I want to hear her
tell me “pay backs are hell” when they are acting exactly as I did as a child.
If there is an afterlife, I know she is slapping her knee and laughing with her
head thrown back watching the things these kids are throwing at me. I want to
laugh with her. I want to hear stories from my childhood told only the way she
could tell them. I want to tell her stories about my children.
On the
days when I’m so exhausted it physically hurts, I want to lean against her soft
body and have her tell me it’s okay. Or when I’m feeling overwhelmed and like a
failure, I want to hear her say, “oh Kylie, suck it up.” I want to ask her
questions about what I was like at a certain age or how did she handle this or
that. (Which is strange, because I rarely agreed with her advice, but I want it
anyway.) I want to apologize for being such a horrible brat—1995 was not my
finest year—or ’96. Sorry, Mom.
While I
have a devoted husband, loving family, and many wonderful friends, my mom
understood me like no one else. Our relationship was not perfect and tensions
and frustrations often ran high, but she was always my first phone call. My
number one supporter. And I want that lifeline back as I navigate this crazy
thing call parenting. I would give up a year of my life to have one hour with
her to hear what she thinks of her grandchildren and of me as a mother. (And I
can hear her voice now, “Oh Kylie, that’s just stupid.”)
So, it’s
hard. But, I’m still lucky. I have my memories and all of her many, many, many stories that I draw on when I need
her by my side. I know there are plenty of this people in this world who have
never known a mother or, perhaps worse, have a mother they wish they’d never
known. So, I am thankful for the 32 years I had with her. But, I still want
more.
