We often look at age as a curse - we think of it as getting older. We think of it as our life getting shorter and our days being numbered. None of this is wrong, but it's definitely looking at it with the glass half empty. Age means you've lived longer. You've learned more. And most importantly, you get to experience and witness more out of life.
Raising kids without my mother is probably the most difficult thing I've ever had to do and may ever have to do in my lifetime. I love looking at pictures of my babies and watching them change over the months and years and grow up. I love watching the way their faces and expressions change, and I've even purposely captured pictures of their screaming faces. Because I simply want to remember someday when the sleep deprivation and repeating myself 100 times a day stops. But at the same time that I love looking at photos of my children and the memories we're making together, I'll forever know that my mother will never be in them. Not one photo of my children will ever include her.
I've shown pictures of her to my daughter. We went through a phase where she'd look through photo albums while eating her meals as a way to bribe her for bites. I pulled out some of my old family photo albums and showed them to her. She could pick out my dad and refer to him with no problem. But of course, she didn't recognize the other woman who appeared in the photos. I didn't go into detail now as she won't understand nor am I ready to explain to her. But one day, she will ask. Or I will choose to share with her. And that's going to be a hard day. She's going to look at this stranger and think to herself, "I don't know who this person is." And I'll have to tell her: "She's the grandmother you never got a chance to meet.
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After my daughter was born, I really missed my mother. My daughter was quite the handful of a baby. We were tired. And most of the time, we were just guessing at what we were supposed to do as new parents. I wondered what it would have been like to have my mother there. Chances are, in all honesty, illness aside, if my mother were alive when we had kids, she would have probably given me a little too much advice, done things in ways I didn't appreciate, and gotten on my nerves a little bit. And that would have been totally normal. But knowing what I do now, wishing that I could see her holding my babies would make those annoying moments worth it.
Since having my son, I've wondered what having my mother around would have been like. It's hard to envision because she was so sick the last few years of her life, I don't remember my mother doing normal day-to-day activities. I don't remember her cooking. I don't remember her cleaning. I don't remember her sitting down and having a conversation with me.
What do I remember? I remember administering her shots. I remember helping her drain fluid from her lungs and cleaning the area where the tube was inserted and re-bandaging it up in a way that was comfortable. I remember being careful which way to coil the tube so she'd feel it the least. I remember her saying she liked it best when I did it rather than when other people did it. I remember watching her take packets of pills everyday and swallowing them with food rather than water, because if she took a sip of water with every pill, she'd fill up and never want to eat anything.
You know what else I remember? I remember the days when I was selfish, and I didn't want to help her. I didn't want to spend the 20 minutes it took to drain the fluids and re-bandage the area. I wanted to get on the computer and talk to my friends. I wanted to watch my show on television.
I was 11 or 12.
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My mother and I weren't close. I didn't have deep, meaningful conversation with her. In the 9 years I had with her as a healthy person and the 4 years I had with her while she was sick, I remember my mother as the person who took care of the house. The person who picked us up from school. The person who washed my hair. The person who cooked. The person who disciplined me. The person who took care of us when we were sick.
There's lots of things about my mother which I believe she did wrong as a mother. A lot of my parenting philosophies were based on things I didn't want to do because I was the product of them. My mother's personality is still within me, and there are moments when I feel myself become her as I parent my children. But I'd like to think I removed the parts of her which scarred me and took all the best parts of her and made them better. I hope my kids do see me as the person who takes care of the house, the person who picks them up from school, the person who washes their hair, the person who cooks, the person who disciplines, the person who takes care of them when they're sick. But more than that, I want them to see me as the person who loves them and cherishes them and supports them.
Regretfully, I don't have many good memories with my mother. And because she was sick, the last memories I do have with her are tainted. But that doesn't change the fact that we loved each other as a mother and daughter do.
Happy birthday. I miss you.
