Motherless-4

Losing your mother can be a life-altering experience— at least, it was for me. When my mother passed away unexpectedly eight years ago from an aneurism at the age of 47, I suddenly felt completely lost in the world. Even though I was still surrounded by the love of all of my brothers and my father… I still felt alone. I felt orphaned.

It was a strange feeling to find myself navigating the waters of womanhood without her guiding me, and for a long time I felt helpless and terrified. Who would calm my nerves before I walked down the aisle? Who would consult me on my career changes? Who would offer me advice during my pregnancy? And who would stay up all night with me, teaching me how to soothe a crying newborn?

Milestones in life came and went, and with each one I would feel the weight of her absence. Mother’s Day is one particular day each year when the void she left behind seems to expand and swallow everything in its wake. While the world is celebrating and spending time with their mothers, I’m missing mine.

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Mom, 1982

This is my first Mother’s Day as a new mom, and as a result I have done a lot of reflection in the days leading up to this holiday. As I examine my own life and who I have become as a mother, I have a whole new perspective on this day. Compared to Mother’s Day last year, I now know what it is like to think like a mom, to feel like a mom, and – most importantly- to love like a mom.

If I sit quietly and imagine what it would be like to go out for a Mother’s Day brunch with my mother, I can see her face and hear her voice as if she’s right in front of me. We would order some mimosas and catch up, she would flirt with the waiter and get us something for free, and we’d probably end up embarrassing ourselves at some point. And before she left, she would be sure to leave me with some lasting words of advice.

This is what I think she would say.

“Even though I’m gone, my love for you is still alive.”

I remember one afternoon when my son was about 3 months old, he had fallen asleep in my arms while nursing. He had done this often, but there was something about that moment that struck me. The room was silent, the lighting was soft, and his little eyes flickered underneath their lids while his chest softly rose up and down with his small breaths. In that moment I was overwhelmed by just how much love I had for him. A deep, unexplainable, immeasurable and absolutely fierce kind of love.

I never appreciated just how much my mother loved me until that moment. This kind of love doesn’t die; this kind of love grows and expands and permeates the world around you, soaking into your skin and bones. This kind of love lives on in our memories, and is brought to life with every kiss and every hug I give my son. When I look at my little baby and feel the love pouring out of me, I in turn feel the love of my mother filling me up.

“Be sad. Be angry. But don’t feel sorry for yourself.”

It’s easy to feel sorry for myself, especially on Mother’s Day. In the first few months (even years) after her death, I felt an overwhelming sense of “poor me”. I had been dealt a rotten hand and everything was falling apart. On many occasions I howled about the injustice of her passing, and wailed about how no one could possibly understand what I was going through. I felt like I needed to be rescued, and the one person who could scoop me up out of my misery had died.

My mother was always trying to foster self-confidence in me, so I don’t think she would like seeing me feeling so miserable and crummy about myself. She would tell me to grieve as much as I needed and to cry whenever I wanted, but I think she would also want me to work through my emotions (as difficult as it may be) and grow from them so I could get back to being a happy, confident woman—the kind of woman my child needs his mother to be.

There will be so many more wonderful moments in this life and so many new memories to make, and she would tell me that I would be foolish to pass them up because I was too busy pouting about how unfair life is. Yes, it’s unfair. But it also goes on even though she isn’t here, and I have to decide whether to go on with it.

“And while you’re at it, don’t feel sorry for me either.”

While I definitely struggle with self-pity from time to time, sometimes it’s even easier to feel sorry for my mother, who is missing all of life’s joys and all that this life has to offer.

Just as she wouldn’t want me spending my days feeling sorry for myself, I don’t think she would want me to grieve over her lost dreams or to be angry that she is missing out on life. Because the little time she had on earth, she cherished and lived as fully as possible. As a mother, I know that every single second I get to spend with my son is a privilege, and I am thankful for each moment. My mother wouldn’t want me to focus on what she is missing in life, she would want me to focus on what she was able to experience and what wonderful times we had together.

“Make this day YOUR day, not mine.”

My mom would have been over the moon that I had a baby last year. In all likelihood she would have packed her bags, showed up on my front porch and told me she was moving in. Having had five children, she was a professional mom and knew every trick in the book when it came to raising kids. By the time she had passed she had celebrated 29 Mother’s Days.

Me & my son, 2014 (Photo: Amanda Hagood)
Me & my son, 2014
(Photo: Amanda Hagood)

I think its safe to say that she would have been ready to pass the baton over to me, and would want the focus of this day be on my journey to motherhood and not her departure from it. She would want me to be proud of everything I have accomplished as a mother, especially since I have had to do it without her coaching me along. She would be proud of the home I have made and the little man I am raising, and she would celebrate those achievements with me.

This Mother’s Day I will begin a new tradition with my family; one that I hope my kids will remember for years to come. I will miss my mother deeply just as I do every day, but I will try to my hardest to not let those feelings ruin what should be a day of celebration for all that I have achieved as a mama.

“You can do this. You’re a great mom.”

Being a mom without a mom is scary. I don’t have her experience and wisdom to rely on, so it often feels like I am flying blindly as I carve my own path through motherhood. Even if she knew all of the ways I have already screwed up or did things incorrectly, I still think she would hug me and tell me how I am doing an amazing job. She would tell me I am brave for embarking on this journey, and strong for learning how to be a good mother.

She would remind me that the love I have for my children is the driving force behind everything I will do for the rest of my life, so to embrace that love and let it guide me. She would tell me to reflect upon what it was like to have her as a mother, and to learn from her many successes and failures- because we all have failures, and that is okay.

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This Mother’s Day, I will hold tightly to these words of wisdom I feel my mother has shared with me from beyond the grave. I will not focus on the fact that I have lost my mother; instead I will spend time remembering the wonderful times we had together. I will not let my heart be weighed down with grief; instead I will let my heart fill with gratitude that I have the privilege of sharing Mother’s Day with my son. I will not shed countless tears missing her; instead will celebrate the fact that by becoming a mother I have forged an entirely new bond with the woman my mother once was.

If you are spending this Mother’s Day missing your mama, I urge you to embrace your own motherhood and let your heart speak to you. Whatever your reason for being motherless this Mother’s Day, what would your mother tell you if she were here? You may be surprised at what you hear.

~Wishing all you mama’s a happy Mother’s Day filled with love, joy and the creation of wonderful memories with your families~

 

 

6 COMMENTS

  1. Thank you so much for writing such a beautiful piece of work. Your words really spoke to me as if you wrote the exact words in my mind. I too lost my mom 18 years ago when I was only 20. She was only 49 and died from a brain aneuryism as well. I just have one brother but our stories are very similar. I can relate to everything you described especially feeling orphaned, the missing milestones and of course Mothers Day. I have 2 children now and Mothers Day is so much easier now as I do miss her I have so much to celebrate as it is my day now too. Thank you again and Happy Mothers Day!

    • I feel like we were all meant to support one another. I lost my mom 4 months ago at age 47 (i was 25) and have 1 brother as well. She also passed from a brain aneurysm.

  2. As i started to read this i was thrown into shock. My mom was 47 when she passed away from a brain aneurysm. Its been 4 months now and this is my first mothers day without her. I had a bad a bad day. I cried and i was in a bad mood with everyone. I have 3 children who i didnt celebrate with because i was too busy sulking and feeling sorry for myself. I wish i would have read this sooner because it is amazing and probably as true as can be. I was 25 when my mom died and even though i am an adult i still feel like a helpless child crying in a corner for her mommy. Thank you for writing this. I honestly believe that i was meant to read.

  3. Thank you Amelia for sharing your intimate thoughts. You are right on the ball with that great attitude.
    I have also lost my mother 16 years ago and completely understand what you and every other woman have gone through.
    Keep up the good work ladies and continue the legacy that your Mothers have left behind ?

  4. Beautiful words, Amelia. I lost my mom at 17 to cancer, and I can relate to so much of this. It’s not something many can relate to at our age so it’s nice to hear your perspective.

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