Losing More than My Mother

Losing More Than A Mother But Maybe She Wheel Julia Rodes

 

 

A week ago marked the 10 year anniversary of losing my mother.

 

These past ten years of grief have shaped how I see relationships. I’ve fallen in love, made the lasting friendships that’ll stay with me, became a wife, a sister and an aunt. But in the first six years after she was gone, I also endured the worst experiences I know I’ll ever live to have. There wouldn’t be any waking up from experiences harder than assault, a traffic accident, a spinal cord injury, waking up to a paralyzed body. What I missed most in those moments was the ability to call my mom, have her take me into her arms and make it all better.

 

I’ve learned I grief much more than just not having my mom in my life; I also grief not having A mom in my life. Because when you lose a mother, you lose so much more than having that person. You also lose the security that a mother gives her child, the comfort that there is someone wiser and always available to help. When a daughter loses a mother, she loses the relationship between mothers and daughters AND she loses the security a mother provides her daughter. My mother surrounded, protected and loved, sometimes judgmentally or intrusively, but with well-meaning and adoring¬† intentions. I miss the person my mother was, but sometimes more than anything I miss knowing my mom would be there any time I needed her. And how I’ve needed her.

But Maybe She Wheel

I needed our mother-daughter relationship when I fell in love with a soldier and made the choice to be an Army wife. I needed the security my mother would’ve brought when I couldn’t pull pants over my paralyzed legs. I needed her smile when I embarked on mentoring other disabled people on traveling, a passion I inherited from her. I needed her wisdom in medicine to help me manage the chronic nerve pain. I needed her pride when I walked across the stage at my college graduation. I needed her for every milestone in my life and for the lives of my siblings and now her grandchildren. What losing her meant that she’ll never be there to see the adult she helped shape me to become. And I’ll never get to turn around and thank her.

 

In the Hindu religion, time is thought of differently. Hindu’s believe time is not linear like most of the Western world believes, where days and months march forward minute after minute. In Hinduism, time is cyclical and revolves through the four phases, or yugas, of Sat (or Krta), Treta, Dvapara and Kali that repeat themselves endlessly. Think the only period of awkward insecurity is when you’re a teenager? What if we revolved around a period of awkwardness in the circular time when we’re 15 and then revolved through time to again move through that phase at 24, 43, and 68 years old? What if I moved back through the childishly sweet phase of falling head over heels in love with Dusty when I’m 31 and 59 like I did when I was 17?

But Maybe She Wheel

If time is circular, then I will continue to move through phases where I have a mom and where I don’t. Her death is a permanent fact of my life, but that never meant my life would be absent of her presence. As I revolve around and around the circular timeline of my life, I’ll move through periods where her presence is so acute it’s as if she’s alive and then phases where her absence is like a widening void. It’s comforting to think that when I feel her presence, it may be because I’m revolving through a past time as a teenager or child when she was alive.

 

In the linear timeline of my life, my mother is gone and abruptly removed. But in the circular way of thinking, I both have a mother in one phase of a revolution and then do not in another phase. For fans of the Big Bang Theory, this is what I’d call my Schr√∂dinger mother. In circular time, her presence will still be there at each milestone. Her absence will be felt but her presence will still be alive. I can have the relationship, but still have lost the realistic security. I can still look up and thank her.

But Maybe She Wheel

I am an overly fortunate person in that I’ve had multiple women step in and provide that missing security of a mother. Army wives all over the world have taken my husband and myself in to provide comfort and help during our crises, actions that I will not soon forget. Her fellow nurses were there when I fell in love and married my soldier, hosting bridal showers and hastily tying the back of my wedding gown so I could dance. The wives of Army chaplains were there when I awoke paralyzed, patiently explaining that everything would be okay while they fed and comforted Dusty. They were also there to smile with pride when I graduated college two years later. I have incredible, strong, and passionate women who have surrounded me and won’t be quick to let go.

But Maybe She Wheel

 

The cycles of grief have moved through me over the past 10 years and have subsided to echoing ripples in my day to day. She’ll always be painfully missed in my accomplishments, adventures and pitfalls and that’s when the waves will splash over my head. But I know now that she can be both present and absent, gone and alive, in the circular spinning of my life. I’ll be glad the next time I move through the phase where I can feel her presence again.

But Maybe She Wheel

 

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My Mean Mom

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When I was growing up, my mom was mean.

She punished myself and my three siblings when we made messes and didn’t clean them up.

I had to have a good excuse for not getting straight A’s.

We had a whole list of chores we had to do if we wanted allowance. And more chores were added if we were caught fighting with each other.

She made us go to church each Sunday morning and youth group on Sunday nights. And even during our summer vacation.

If we ever said we were bored at home, she’d make us clean the house or give us a list of books we had to read.

She was so mean taught me how important it is to give back by making us volunteer with her each Christmas by ringing bells for Salvation Army, even though all my friends could see me.

If we ever went camping, she forced us to know how to light a fire ourselves, set up a tent and make dinner.

We never got to get exactly what we wanted in the cereal aisle.

My mom was so mean she’d embarrass me all the time by giving me hugs and kisses in front of the whole school during awards nights, cross country meets, prom dinners or any of the million events she found a way to be present for after working all night.

I never got the makeup or jewelry I wanted for Christmas but instead got a microscope that made me fall in love with science. Lame.

She never let me pout when things didn’t go my way but made me learn how to roll with the punches of life.

All four of us had to have a job in high school if we wanted to share our own cars in high school. And those cars were bought USED. Gross.

My mom was so mean she made me believe in God by how fervently she prayed for all of us.

My mom was so mean she didn’t approve of any of my boyfriends except the boy I’m married to now.

 

My mom was so good at being so mean that God took her back to be the angel that watches me grow into the confident, strong woman that she was and I never would have been if she hadn’t been so mean.

 

Happy Mother’s Day. Kiss your mom today for being so mean.

But Maybe She Wheel in Cinque Terre

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