My Mother Was Me, and I Was Her

 Grief. Trying to understand it while you’re experiencing it is difficult. I often catch myself and step back, observing my emotions, trying to describe what I feel, and to understand them better. It’s a kind of self awareness, if you like. And what to do about the bouts of sobbing that come uninvited? How to “move on” or “move forward” as everyone tells you, or to “be strong” while experiencing the deepest of griefs… the loss of one’s self as reflected in one’s own mother? 

My mother was me, and I was her. And now a part of me is gone from this world, and I am heartbroken. I have not felt this kind of grief since my marriage ended, and I recall that it made sense to me then when I understood that the depth of one’s  grief reflects that one once loved deeply. We mourn because someone beloved is gone, because something or someone precious has died, or ended, and because we are adrift without the other. We are at sea. 

My mother was me, and I was her. I am so much like her, and I wasn’t ready to have the primary source of my selfhood leave this world. Now so much of her lives on in me, and while that legacy is a privilege and a blessing, I’d much rather have her embodying those qualities herself on this earth. She was so much more than I could ever be, and gave so much while she lived, and even in her passing. 

It’s been 15 years since my father passed, 12 years since my marriage ended, and a little over a week since my mother passed. It took me many years to get over my father’s passing. That I did not know him well helped in some way. When a marriage ends you eventually do move on for your own sanity, severing bonds that are no longer meaningful. But when your mother dies, the bond still remains, forever. I don’t think anyone ever gets over their mother’s passing. 

I don’t think I’ll ever really heal from this grief, and that’s okay. It’s been traumatic in a few ways, especially at the hospital, watching my mother on a rollercoaster ride, recover, go downhill and then leave us too soon. But it’s even more traumatic to know that her familiar face in her favourite spot, her trademark smile and cheeky laugh, her love and concern for all of us, her unconditionally generous and giving self… these are no more. 

We celebrate her life, and rejoice that she is with her beloved God. We are happy for her that she no longer suffers. But I am sad, selfishly enough, for me. 

My mother was me, and I was her. And now she is gone, and I am no longer myself. Grief takes as long as it needs, and reflects on the love that once was there. I’m not rushing it. I’m going to sit with grief, cry my way through it, allow my heart to grow because of it, and accept that I’ll always feel the loss of my mother. 

You were me, Ma, and I was you. I miss you, sweet Ma. Rest in peace. ❤️