How Long Do We Greave A Mother?
by Tracey Sharp
They tell me it shouldn't hurt anymore - that time heals all wounds, and I should move on. I wish it was that easy.
I figured out how to get over my college boyfriend. I no longer mourn the job I lost last year. I can even let go of friendships that go sour. But I cannot forget my mother, and I refuse to apologize for it any longer.
It's not that I cry every day. I do not regularly re-live that surreal morning, six days before my 14th birthday, when the doctor called for my father. I do not spend hours at the cemetery, staring at the grave dug 40 years too soon. And I try not to realize that when she was my age, my mother's life was more than half over.
I do, however, remember her. I remember the way she tucked me in bed, singing "My Favorite Things". I remember her squeezing my hand on the way to the hospital, and the look on her face when she introduced me to my baby brother. I remember how excited she was every Valentine's Day, always finding the perfect way to celebrate with her one true love. I remember her planning our family vacations - spending hours preparing for our trips, and happily filling photo albums when we returned. I remember talking for hours about everything and nothing, and still having more to say. Most of all, I remember that she was always there, and that she was my best friend.
Not that life was perfect. It seems when people die we transform them into angels who did no wrong. But believe me, I remember what I thought was wrong. We fought - as all mothers and daughters do - over clothes and curfews and my perpetually messy room. But the usual bickering never lasted long enough to do much damage. We weren't together long enough to have any real arguments - she didn't get to disapprove of my first boyfriend, she wasn't there to debate with over college applications, and she won't be able to dislike the flowers at my wedding. In my mind she'll remain an angel.
So it's been 10 years - why write this now? Because the loss is still there. It's real and it hurts, and it will never go away. Yes, over time it gets easier. I've moved away and have a life of my own, as most young women do. But for me, this is the time that I miss her the most. I imagine that our relationship would now transition into a more balanced union - I could begin to give back and truly thank her for the amazing job she did as my mother. She would be my closest confidante, and strongest ally. We would be best friends again.
So I store these hopes away, in a private box that some wish I would close forever. They say it isn't healthy for me to think about her too much. But there are things - Oscar de la Renta perfume, peach roses, tuna casserole - that open the box, whether I want to or not. And there are days - anniversaries, birthdays, graduations - when being surrounded by family and friends still feels like the loneliest place on earth.
But it's not every day. And it does not mean there isn't room in my heart for the people I love who are here with me. So please, let me be sad. Every once in a while, I deserve to be sad. But better still, remember with me. Celebrate her life and the way that she loved. We can make new memories together, and still keep the memory of her alive. Missing her may make me sad, but remembering her keeps me alive.
|
