My mom was fifty years old when she died. I was nineteen. She died of breast cancer. She was first diagnosed with breast cancer when I was sixteen. She was in remission for a while, and then developed a different kind of breast cancer (the nastiest kind) in the same breast. She died about a year and a half after that second diagnosis.
I don’t talk about my mom very much, except to my husband, who never met her. But I think about her. Sometimes I think about her a lot, sometimes less. This year I’ve been thinking about her more than usual.
My mom and I
I thought about her when my husband and I made our first lemon meringue pie. I used to help her make the same kind of pie. I thought of her when I saw the large doll house at the Smithsonian because she loved doll houses and miniatures. I thought of her when I made my first story sale because when no one else believed in me, she did, and I know it wouldn’t have come as a surprise to her. I think of her when I teach the song “Think of Me” from Phantom of the Opera, which I sang at her memorial service and was one of her favorites.
When we have an important relationship with someone, it doesn’t end when they die. Just as we create stories about our lives, we create stories about our relationships, and when the other person dies, we become the only one who can affect that story. But it still continues, and as I get older, I gain new insights into my mom. I wonder how she felt about various aspects of her life. I see things we have in common that I never noticed before.
In many ways, my mom was a very troubled woman. This is the aspect of her that the family has often dwelled upon…when they bring her up at all. But she was also a truly great woman, and this is how I remember her best. She was brave and possessed an infinite well of compassion. She was the best listener I have ever met, and she gave the best hugs. She tried to change herself, and if she didn’t necessarily succeed, she taught me that it is worth the effort. She always had time to read aloud to me, and she took me to the library twice a month without fail. She loved Christmas and little dogs, waterfalls and the ocean, children and long hot showers. She also had horrible fashion sense and an inexplicable love for bad made-for-TV movies. And she loved me with all her heart.
I have a lot I want to say, about death and grief, about society’s sometimes dysfunctional attitude towards these things, about not knowing what to say. Some of these things really need to be said, even if they’re uncomfortable or inconvenient or painful. But today is for my mom. I really miss her. I think I’ll always miss her. And you know, I’m glad of it. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Because I love her as much as she loved me. And we were lucky enough that we both knew that about each other before she died.
Happy April 26th, Mom. I’m still thinking of you.
The Practical Free Spirit 
I am with you. This year is the twentieth anniversary of my dad’s passing. I was sixteen, about to turn seventeen. He was in his early fifties and had a massive coronary. I don’t know if it’s because he’s now been gone most of my life, or if it was because it was such a big milestone year or what, but this year has been especially hard. I see him in everything, and it has been affecting my depression management like you wouldn’t believe. Well, *you* would believe it, maybe, but you get my meaning.
This post of yours helps. Thank you.
Thanks for sharing, Gigi. I completely believe it. *hug*
My God, what a lovely piece. Thank you so much for sharing.
Thanks, Jeff. That means a lot to me.
“Just as we create stories about our lives, we create stories about our relationships, and when the other person dies, we become the only one who can affect that story.”
There are a lot of beautiful ideas here, but this one is my favorite, and I will be thinking about it for a while. The anniversary of my father’s death is coming up soon too.
There’s something about the anniversary, isn’t there? I never would have thought about that beforehand. I’ll be sending you good thoughts.
I love you, Amy Sundberg! *HUGS* You’ve written beautifully about the two of you. Much love to you and to your Mom today.
Thank you, Amy Fonarow! I’m so touched you commented because you actually knew her. Love to you too.
My dad died 10 years ago this year – thank you for sharing this, it captures a lot of the feelings I never think to put down.
Beautifully, beautifully said.
My mom also died in April. She had to live through a lot of hardship, and it made her troubled too. There were certain things she did really well when she raised me, and certain things she did badly. But she was my biggest fan when it came to my writing and my singing. I miss her and wish she could have had an easier life.
I’m currently writing a story that’s based on some of the negative things she did with me. I think I need to process them and make something out of them. I think she’d understand that.
I think she’d understand too. And having a creative outlet can be a really powerful and helpful thing.
Hugs, Amy! This especially gives me hope:
“When we have an important relationship with someone, it doesn’t end when they die.”
A very beautiful and moving piece. Thank you for sharing your mom with us.
We have similar stories; my mom died of emphysema when she was 54 and I was 22. She’d been ill and in and out of hospitals for years before her death. Like you, there are so many times when I think of her. Now I have a daughter of my own and, even though it’s been 15 years since her death, I feel the loss more vividly now because a) I now realize just how much she loved me and how difficult it is to be a mother, and I can’t express that to her, and b) I wish I could ask her what I was like in those early years, compare notes with what my daughter’s like, and so on. It’s hard, and yet the daily moments thinking, “THIS must be what it was like for her” helps me feel like she’s with me still.
Yes, there are certain times of life that are harder, aren’t there? I really missed my mom during wedding planning and the actual wedding. And I think about not having her around if I have kids, and that makes me sad. (She was an early childhood expert, loved kids and was super excited about having grandkids.) I expect that if I do have kids, I will gain new insight into her life, as you have said.
That was quite lovely, Miss Amy. 🙂
What a wonderful remembrance of your mom, Amy. Thank you for sharing this with us. 🙂
What a truly sweet post. What a wonderful relationship you two had!
So sad. Wherever she is, I’m sure your mother is smiling at the woman you’ve become. She seems like a great woman.
I want to thank all of you who have commented. Your comments really mean a lot to me.
[…] It’s the end of April, April 26th, to be exact, and as always on this day, my thoughts are with my mom. […]
[…] It’s the end of April, and as always at this time of year, my thoughts are with my mom. But instead of talking more about her, I’d like to talk about how our society deals with the […]
Great post thanks. I lost my mum April last year and im still at the petrified I will never see her again stage. I cant seem to come to terms with it. I ask her everyday to give me a sign shes with me but nothing. Its reassuring to read other people are the same thanks vicky