Nic Narrates

I mailed my Mom’s Mother’s Day card earlier this week, and while writing my personalized heartfelt message, there was so much that I didn’t, that I just couldn’t say…

I love you and miss you, Mom, but I really miss the Mom I knew who sang “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?” and “Imagine” at the top of her lungs while vacuuming. I miss the Mom who would pack us into the Javelin and haul us off to the park to play in the leaves and get some fresh air. The Mom with the crush on Cal Ripkin Jr. I miss you in so many more less obvious ways. You used to laugh so freely before and we would always laugh with you. You had such a light about you. You sparkled.

And when Dad would misbehave or give you hell, you’d fight back and give as good as you got. Those fights always frightened me as a child. I wanted to disappear then, but I knew you’d make it okay and would never let anything really bad happen to us.

When I look back, I love that we were so close all those years while I was growing up. We talked about everything, and sometimes it was like you were my Mom and my best friend too. But we never talked about the undercurrent. I wish we could have; I wish it would have been okay to, but I don’t blame you for not seeing what I couldn’t show.

It’s like that time I found you crying in your room alone with the afternoon sun fighting through the mauve curtains. I was eight, maybe 10, and I didn’t understand it. I’d never seen you cry before, except for when Grandma had Rebel put to sleep. And I never saw you cry again until the day you left me behind in the dorms. I wish you could have shared yourself more. I wish you weren’t so afraid to let me see your tears. I would have loved you anyway you know, and maybe you would have better understood my own.

I’m still so sorry for that one time I mouthed off and called you a “bitch.” I didn’t mean it and shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry too that you slapped me.

For all those years afterward, when there grew a mutual respect between us, when we’d visit and goof off–those moments are like gold to me. But Frost was right when he wrote that nothing gold can stay. The memories; however, are evergreen.

Every day now, with the passing of each birthday, I feel the two decade gap between us lessening. And I don’t like it. You had three children at my age. Three. And a husband and a home far from any friends and family. And no career. I loved, and didn’t then appreciate, that you were there every day with us, but I can’t imagine how lonely you must have been.

Now that things are more difficult for you and Dad, I want so much to make it right. I want to fix your sadness and the unfair hand you’ve both been dealt. But I can’t. You’re my parents.

All of these thoughts, these memories and worries and messages of bittersweet love make me so grateful for you. And I miss you all the more. It’s palpable. I just can’t imagine a life with you even farther away. You’re my Mom. And you and I will always share a love that only a mother and her daughter can know.

Filed under: childhood, letting go, mothering, write on by Nic