Two years ago this June my mother died. I was in the midst of a terrible break-up with a man I was living with and whom I loved very much. When my brother called at 6:30 a.m. the morning she died, I was devastated. I remember that it felt like I cried unendingly for the next two months.
My relationship with my mother was complicated and hard won. For the longest time we had no relationship at all. Then, after an airing of grievances and a lancing of wounds, we were able to build a relationship so strong and wonderful that the loss of it nearly destroyed me.
My mother’s life was never easy. From her childhood until the day she died, she faced challenges and hurt that most of us could never fathom. Yet despite it all–or perhaps because of it–she was always kind and caring and tried to do the best she could for the people she loved. Any time I released an album, or directed a play, or was published in a literary magazine, my mother was so proud and she told everyone she knew all about it. On a bulletin board in her bedroom she had cards I’d sent her and copies of show flyers that I had made. She was my biggest fan and the only person who has ever loved me completely and unconditionally. To lose her in the midst of having the man I love tell me I wasn’t good enough for him and that he no longer wanted to be with me hurt beyond belief.
My mother was always kind to people that are often treated callously and carelessly– check out clerks, waitresses, residents of nursing homes, adults with mental retardation. She always made small talk with clerks and waitresses, treating them like people when so often they are treated like things. She always bought the paper poppies that were sold to support veterans, and as a cook in a nursing home she always made sure to make favorite meals for residents’ birthdays.
My mother was not perfect, nor was she a saint; but she had an immense capacity for love, and for much of her life this love she had to give had been spurned or stifled– yet I believe in the last years of her life she found many ways to give it and show it, and for this I am extremely glad.
Without my mother I would not be who I am today. I would not be singer, a musician, a writer, for my mother was all of those things (one of my greatest regrets is that I never convinced her to play the accordion for me, or the guitar). Without her I would not be empathetic, or strong, or sensitive to a fault. I would not be able to cook. I would not be sarcastic and curious aboit the world. Without her I would not be who I am, and I would not change myself for the world.
My mother sacrificed so much, but I believe that she was happy. I hope she was happy. Despite her wretched marriage to my father, she was thankful for it because she had her four children because of it, and she loved us so much. When my sister was hard to reach, my mother would cry into the phone and tell me that she loved everyone– me, my brothers, my sister, her son-in-law, his parents, my aunt and uncle–and the love and pain in her voice cut me to the bone. After she died we found among her things a card for her grandchild who didn’t even exist yet. When it opened it played “Baby Baby” by Amy Grant, and she’d signed it “I love you, Grandma Gloria.” After I found that, all my previous tears seemed insignificant; I fell to my knees and keened like something from a Greek tragedy.
This Mother’s Day “season” has been particularly hard and I am not sure why. If anything, my life is better than ever; I have a job I love, a nice place to live, wonderful friends, an adorable nephew to take joy in (and miss!), and music to play and stories to write. Perhaps that is just it. There are so many wonderful things happening right now that my mother can’t share in, and perhaps that is why this mother’s day is making me so sad. She never met her grandson, never heard the new cd that I am so proud of, never got to read the play I am writing that features a character that is much like the girl I imagine she was once upon a time…
Two years ago this June my mother died. It was sudden, and unexpected, and changed my life forever.
People can disappear from your life when you least expect. Don’t take them for granted. Tell them you love them, and why, no matter how fucking stupid it might make you feel, because when they are gone and you are left alone with only your regrets, you’ll feel infinitely more stupid.
Two years ago this June my mother died.
I love you, Mom.
2 Comments
May 10, 2009 at 11:30 am
I just wish all the mothers and the children who have strained and pained relationships can mend them the way you had with your mother.
May 10, 2009 at 6:16 pm
That was a beautiful Mother’s Day tribute. Well done! My mother is dead as well, she died shortly after 9/11. Aside from that, the congruity of our stories ends. Sadly, my mother was a spectacularly terrible Human being, but I am truly sorry for your loss Iris. Be well!