My mom died when I was 8 years old. She suffered a stroke and a brain aneurysm. I remember the day well, or at least I think I do. I'm sure the "adult" version that my dad remembers is much different from what I remember, but that's okay. What I remember is that it was the last day of school - the end of second grade for me. I remember waking up to the sound of my mom throwing up. Apparently she had suffered a horrible headache in the night. The vomiting went on until after I left for school. I helped change her soiled pillowcases before walking out the door for what would end up being the worst day and the turning point of my young life. After school, a friend's mom picked me up and took me to her house where my dad met me. I remember sitting on the couch with him wondering why he was so serious. He was, after all, my "fun" parent. I didn't really know my dad that well as my mom and I spent all of our time together while he worked both in and out of town. My dad was the guy who played with me when he was home...catching frogs in the yard, teaching me somersaults, and tickling my feet. He was anything but serious. So, as I sat on the couch next to him that day, I knew something wasn't right. That's when he told me Mom ("Mommy", as we called her) had died. I remember thinking that this had to be the worst practical joke he could play. But, still, there was no smile. He started crying. My dad doesn't cry...why was he crying? Could he be SERIOUS about my mom? I remember leaving the room and not crying. That's what I remember. I didn't cry. I didn't cry for a long, long time. I think I was hoping it wasn't real.
Dad and I sat on our balcony that night not saying much, from what I remember. Again, I didn't know him very well, so what were we supposed to talk about? People came with flowers and food and tears. I still didn't cry...at least I don't think I did.
I truly don't remember the first time I really let loose and let myself mourn. I remember that not having a mom really affected me in high school. I didn't have anyone to do "mother-daughter" things with. My friends' moms did their best to fill the void. My aunts sort of took over the maternal role, although they were thousands of miles away. For the most part, I had the basic need for a mother-figure filled. I missed her, but I would be okay.
College was tough. I went out of state to go to school...it was the first time I was really away from my dad. My Aunt Joyce became my surrogate mother, and she is still that to this day. We shopped, talked, laughed, cried, gossiped, cooked...all the things mothers and daughters do, or so I imagined. It was wonderful.
When it came time to plan my wedding years later, it really hit me hard that I didn't have a mother to help me plan, to fight with me about what I want or don't want, to go dress-shopping with, and to talk to when Tim and I got into those inevitable pre-marital fights. Aunt Joyce, once again, stepped up to the plate and stood up for me in place of my mom at our wedding. She and Tim's mother lit the "family unity candle", thus joining our families together. I know my mom was there. I felt her there.
The next noticeable gaping void came when I found out I was pregnant for the first time. I could not fathom having a baby and not having a mother. How could I BE a mother when I didn't HAVE a mother? I was completely clueless. By now, my dad had met his future wife, Nancy. She and I took some time bonding, but after I accepted that my dad could love someone other than my mom, Nancy and I became very close. Both she and Joyce were there for me when Daniel was born. Joyce came to Alaska for Daniel's first week of life to help me and to bond with him. Nancy took on the role of "grandma" like a natural.
Giving birth a second time without my mom was a little easier because I believe that she had placed people like Joyce and Nancy in my life to fill the hole she left in my heart when she died.
It has since occurred to me that I may have lost a mom, but I have also gained my very own personal guardian angel. She is always with me, Tim, and my kids. I think she is also with my dad. There have been a few times, one in particular, where my dad should have been taken from us. There is truly no explanation for why he wasn't...except that my mom sent him back because she knew he was still needed here by me, my boys, and Nancy. For that I thank her every day. I wish she was here so I could thank her in person, but I will just rest assured knowing she hears my prayers everyday and knows how much she is missed.
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