The Woman Who Made Me
Five years ago tonight, I lost my mom. It was four days after Mother’s day that year, weeks before my youngest sister would graduate high school and a few months before what would have been her 52nd birthday. For this reason, May, June and July are the most emotionally challenging months of my year.
On what feels like a milestone anniversary, I’m especially concerned about not letting the dates, like the memories slip away. How has it been five years already?
If you are close to my family, you know that my mom had more than her fair share of demons. These internal struggles profoundly shaped my relationship to my mom and my view on the world. In life and death, she remains my greatest influence. Her life, with its trauma, twists and turns, gave me a heightened appreciation for second chances, forgiveness and kindness. Her death, in its caprice and universal nonchalance, revealed to me one of life’s most important qualities – it’s brevity.
The months following her death were agonizing in their apparent normalcy. The scarce solace I found was in my relationships with my sisters, aunts and the strong women in my life. The humanity of my friends and coworkers began to heal wounds that predated her loss and I began to recognize the complications of my grief. I am forever grateful to the people and institutions that buoyed me through that year.
I grieve for my mom daily. There is an ongoing campaign to make sense of all of it, but the journey is circular and seems endless.
All we have is each other. I will spend the day trying to be an unaffected adult professional, please forgive me if the emotions rear up in unexpected places. If I go crazy and max out a credit card on decorative garden accoutrements, I’ll say it’s in memory of the woman who made me.
