My baby’s first steps filled me with pride and gratitude but something else, too, this feeling that nothing ever feels quite like it should because my mom isn’t here.
Sometimes I look at my daughter and it feels like so much time has passed. I’ve been different versions of myself. A mom, a wife, a teacher, a student, a friend, a girlfriend, an adult, a teenager. A kid and a grown-up. A girl and a woman. When I close my eyes, it doesn’t feel so long ago. I was fifteen and afraid but brave, too. The type of brave that sat at your bedside and held your hand while your breaths slowed. The type of brave that I didn’t really want to be, the type of brave that said, “You can go now, Mama, I’ll be okay.”
I wouldn’t be, really. And yet, I was. I am. The space where you should be is never full. It always feels empty. There are conversations we never got the chance to have. Healing I wish we could have done together. When we lose people, I think our brains glorify them into something they weren’t. In order to allow myself to heal, I’ve had to dig into things that I really didn’t want to: Why was I always so scared? Why am I such a people pleaser? Why am I so critical of myself?
You were anxious. You gave too much of yourself to others. You criticized every part of yourself where I saw no flaw. You loved me fiercely and unconditionally and yet you reserved no love for yourself.
I came into womanhood without you and I discovered the effort that goes into reversing the negative words I told myself. I like to think that we could have worked on it together.
As I navigate parenthood and marriage myself, I recognize how lucky I was to have two parents who loved each other so, so much. I witnessed a marriage that didn’t falter through pain and illness and tragedy. You did not see how beautiful you were, but Dad did. When it was finally time for him to move on… it was weird. I only ever envisioned him with you. And yet… it is so obvious that you picked her for him. She is kind, and good. She makes him better. The knowledge that he has her brings me peace. He loves her, so much, but I know that it doesn’t mean he loved you less. He finally retired, by the way. Mostly.
Each new stage of life brings a new kind of grief. I have to learn how to navigate without you because it will never feel natural, no matter how much time has passed. Sometimes I miss you so much it takes my breath away and it feels like I can’t find my way out. Sometimes I think of you, the way you loved me, and I smile because that’s the thing you were the very best at. Loving me. Loving us.
Here’s to the next stage, toddler motherhood. Stick around, I’m going to need you for this.
Always and forever.
