Starting 2015 caught me off guard. I didn’t expect the day to cause such pain, because new years was not a day that I typically spent with my mom or uncle. This year, I was prepared that it would hurt.
A new year. A year that I will see, but that they won’t. A year of memories to be made, memories that will not include our beloved mom and uncle. A year of seconds. The first year that we will look back 365 days and not have them there.
It’s hard to explain, and yet not hard at all. Special people are missing, and all I can do is miss them. To stop missing them, would hurt more than to miss them with every fibre of my being. On good days… and bad days. In happy and sad moments.
Eric and I are entering 2016 trying to make some big decisions as parents. At least, decisions that feel big, even huge, in this moment. All I want to do is call my mom. Not because I have a specific question that I need an answer for, not because there’s nobody else we can talk to, and not even because I have something particular that I want to say, but simply because she’s my mom.
When I was pregnant with Madeleine, an extended relative hosted a baby shower for me. My mom was there. She was always there. One of the planned activities was for all of the mothers in attendance to share a story with me about motherhood. They each gave brief stories – some funny, some full of love, some about the challenges of navigating motherhood. When it was my mama’s turn, she told me about the time I fell off the counter and landed face down as a baby. Then she told me about the time she fell down the stairs holding my oldest sister in her arms. She told me that she wanted me to remember those stories the first time I dropped, or otherwise injured, our new baby.
And, I did drop Madeleine. She rolled off the change table. I was standing in front of her and my hands were pulling at the box of wipes, so I tried to catch her with my leg. I basically kneed her into the drawer and then she fell to the ground. I laugh about it now, but I felt awful when it happened. Even though I felt awful, I did remember my mom’s stories. I remembered how much I adore my mom even though she has made mistakes. I remembered that even my mom, who always seemed like super mom, like a woman who just took motherhood in stride, once dropped not one, but two of her children (and who knows about the other two, haha!).
I want to call my mom. I want her to tell me that Uncle Rob is at the house. I want her to say, “Uncle Rob wants to know….” And I want to hear his random question. I want to know more about when I was young. I want my mom’s comfort. I want them to still be on my team, cheering my small family on. I want to know that no matter what decision Eric and I make, that they would be with us on the rollercoaster.
My mom taught me that a mother, like any person, doesn’t need to be perfect. She also showed me in a million different ways how to do good for others, not just as a mother, but as a friend, a colleague, a mentor, and a community member. She showed me enough that I learned what I think she wanted me to, but it wasn’t enough that I was done with absorbing her love and lessons.
A mother is she who can take the place of all others but whose place no one else can take. Cardinal Mermillod