Most mornings, I wake up having dreamed of my daughters. I wouldn’t call myself an empty nester since they aren’t adults yet, nor have I suffered a tragic loss due to an accident or illness. As far as I know, both of them are safe and sound. However, they no longer live with me, and it’s been over two and a half years since I’ve seen them.
Am I still a mother? Can you truly be a mother to children you can’t see or talk to? I can no longer drop them off at school, wipe away their tears, or share in their daily lives. The list of what I miss out on is endless. I’ve become what some might refer to as a “former mom.”
When asked if I have children, I often hesitate. More often than not, I simply say yes and put on a facade of a typical mom. Most people wouldn’t want to hear the full story, and it’s not something I’m eager to share. I certainly don’t want to explain that I lost custody due to a foolish argument with their father, my ex-husband. Just to clarify, I have never laid a finger on him or our kids.
Before everything changed, we had joint custody, and I was deeply involved in my children’s lives. From PTA meetings to Girl Scouts, I cherished every moment of motherhood.
In a couple of months, my daughters will celebrate their 13th and 10th birthdays—big milestones. I’ll miss these moments, just as I have missed so many over the past two years. Their stepmom bought my oldest her first bra, and she now has her period and is probably taller than me. My youngest has braces and is learning to play the violin. My mother visits them twice a year, providing me with occasional updates and rare photos. While I appreciate these glimpses, they’re not enough. I long to be their mom again, rather than just a former mother.
The dreams I have are often similar: I find myself in places where I try to get their attention, even knowing I might face consequences. I hug them and touch their sweet faces; sometimes they appear as their current ages, while other times, they are little ones again. I adore dreaming about them, even if I wake up alone in an empty house.
Not long ago, I spotted them across a parking lot by chance. My fiancé and I were at the local middle school for a basketball game, and there they were, walking together. My heart raced, and I instinctively wanted to run to them, embrace them tightly. But my fiancé stopped me, saying, “You can’t do that.” I remained in the car, straining to catch a glimpse as they walked away from me.
For a few minutes, I sat there, trembling and heartbroken. “They were right there,” I said to him. “I know…” was his somber reply. That fleeting encounter was the closest I’d been to them in two years, and it was from a distance. They didn’t see me, and I often wonder how they would have reacted if they had. I fantasize about running into them at places like Target or the grocery store, but we don’t frequent the same stores anymore.
Being a mother was my lifelong dream. While many aspire to careers like doctors or artists, I simply wanted to be a mom. Now, engaged to a wonderful man, I consider starting anew and having children with him. I had my first child at 25, and now at 38, I worry that it may be too late. Besides, how could I bring more children into the world when I can’t even see my two? It feels fundamentally wrong. Yet, I deeply miss being a mom. The title of former mother weighs heavily on me; it brings feelings of emptiness, loneliness, and sorrow. I yearn for the chance to change this reality. All I have left are my dreams.
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In summary, navigating life as a former mother is filled with profound loss and longing. While dreams of reconnecting with my daughters linger, the reality remains that I can only watch from afar, wishing to reclaim my role in their lives.