Peace

I wish I could call "Mom" from the contacts on my phone and it would be you that would answer.

I know that your number, the one I’ll have memorized for the rest of my life, belongs to someone else now.

I know that I was born on June 5, 1996 but I don’t know when I was due. My sister says it was a pretty short labor and delivery, but I don’t know how you felt. I don’t know if you felt ready, or if you knew for sure what my name would be. I guess the thing about moms is that no one remembers a child’s birth day like a mom does, and I don’t have you here to ask you about mine. Dad remembers parts, but I imagine he was a little overwhelmed and he doesn’t recall the details. Yesterday he said, “I know Mother’s Day is always hard for you.”

I know the doctor who delivered me in 1996 because it was the very same doctor who told us tearfully that you were dying a little over 15 years later. When he lost his own cancer battle last year, I thought about his impact on our lives and hoped that you would be reunited.

We’re about 4 weeks away from meeting our girl. We have been showered with love and gifts from family and friends and we have everything we need to begin our lives as a family of 3.

There is one glaringly obvious hole and it is the place where you should be, Mom.

It is the empty rocking chair where you should be rocking her. 

It is the stroller that you should be pushing this summer.

It is the chair in the waiting room at the hospital where you should be sitting, it is my hand you should be squeezing, it is the advice you should be giving, it is the questions that remain unanswered—

It is becoming a mother without my mother.

And yet…

I don’t feel afraid. I feel at peace. I know our girl is safe, I know she is healthy, and I feel this overwhelming joy— I get to bring a perfect gift into the world with my favorite person in the world, the love of my life, and I feel ready.

I don’t know how you do it, Mom, but I know it’s you. I know that you fill me with strength when I feel weak, you comfort me when I feel scared, and in the most life changing moments, you’re here even though I can’t see you. I wish I could. My daughter will know her grandma through the stories I will tell her and the lessons I will teach her. 

Something tells me that you’ve probably already met.

Thanks for being my mom. I love you always and forever.