Navigating Mothers Day without a mother: A few tips.
If you’re like me and your mom is no longer alive, consider this comforting concept: The words “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom” still belong to you. Go ahead and say them.
I obviously know my mama can no longer hear the sound of my voice as she’s standing at the kitchen counter, slicing cucumbers, or while she’s moving around upstairs, shutting the windows against the rain. She’s no longer waiting for me on the front porch or sitting at the card table in the living room, typing on her Underwood.
Those memories are precious, certainly, and they will live forever. But the moments themselves are over. When my mother died, it moved us to another place. You might even know this place yourself: It’s somewhere in between knowing that she’s gone and recognizing that part of her is still with you.
Nope, my mom is no longer upstairs or out on the porch. She is everywhere.
My mother, Mary Elizabeth Clark, was a small lady with a huge presence; a gentle miracle of a woman who was, and remains, my guiding light and my strongest source of inspiration. A mother of seven, she went back to college and earned her bachelor’s degree when I was 2. There was even a newspaper story about it, and in the photo, I’m sitting on my sister’s lap. (My mother earned a master’s degree a few years after that.)
Yes, she was extraordinary — but buried beneath lay the pleasingly ordinary traits that captured her true character: kindness, grace, dignity, compassion and humility. Always humility.
Advertisement
If you’re reading this with a knowing nod, my guess is that at least some of these traits belonged to your mom, too, which creates a living link that I really love: Because our moms still belong to us, Mother’s Day still belongs to us, too.
A bond that strong cannot simply be severed when a heartbeat stops or a final breath is taken. Mother love can’t really be snuffed out. It’s unsnuffable. It lives forever, even if we do not.
That doesn’t mean that I don’t miss her — I’ll always miss the feel of her cool, flat palm on my fevered forehead when I was sick — but the grief isn’t as greedy anymore.
No matter where you are today on the “separation scale” with your mom, and no matter how your heart feels about facing this day without her, try to remember that sadness shouldn’t always get to take up every inch on your emotional shelf. You can decide to feel another way.
Advertisement
On Mother’s Day — especially if your mother’s absence is trying to take up more space in your brain than her presence — you can train your brain to choose happy. Or at least not totally sad.
It’s daunting and difficult to redefine a relationship like this, but try these tips. They work for me.
Pick up her pic: See that framed photo of your mom on the wall or on your desk or sitting on the sideboard? Pick it up and hold it. Take a good, long look. Smile if you want to. Cry if you need to.
Close the door: Get somewhere quiet, close your eyes, and try to remember something about her that you never want to forget. Take your time with Mom. Tell her you love her. Even tell her you miss her.
When you’re ready, open it: Open the door, open your heart and open your mouth. Talk about your mom. Your words will not only help sustain the memories but they’ll build a living bridge between the generations. Make sure you invite the little ones in, too. They’re the ones who’ll take up the charge long after you’re gone.
Advertisement
Listen to others: Other people are missing their moms today, too. Give them voice. Invite someone you know to share the living memories of their mom. Ask them good questions. Then listen carefully while they speak.
Show love. Never pity. Who among us hasn’t faced that awkward Mother’s Day moment when it comes time to greet the bereaved mother whose child is deceased, or the best friend who miscarried three years ago? Just show them love. To not acknowledge Mother’s Day might sting them even more. Pity is never pretty.
If you are facing this day without your mom, try embracing this concept: You are not facing this day without your mom. You have the strength she imparted to you.
I am blessed to have experienced the miracle of motherhood myself, not just once, but twice, and I am deeply, actively grateful for my two adult children every single day that I live.
Advertisement
And long after I’m gone, I’m reasonably sure they’ll know they can still open their mouths (and their hearts) and whisper, “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.”
And they will believe, deep down in their hearts, that I will hear them when they speak.
Correction: This essay has been updated to say that the author is sitting on her sister’s lap in the photograph that accompanied a newspaper story about her mother.
Kristin Clark Taylor is an author and a freelance journalist. She can be reached at WriterKristinTaylor@gmail.com.
ncG1vNJzZmivp6x7uK3SoaCnn6Sku7G70q1lnKedZLmqssSsq7KklWR%2FcX2YaGduZ2FmfK%2Bt1aKemqyZo7Ruuc6tn56qo2KxosWMsKCtoJ%2BqwW65zq2fnqpdm7K4edOip6xn