Updated: Aug. 3, 2020
Originally Published: Aug. 28, 2016
Four years have passed since my mother’s death. While I no longer burst into tears at unexpected moments—like while sorting laundry or glancing at the grocery aisle—I still find myself reaching for the phone after something amusing happens. Not my cell, but the house phone, a relic from a time when I had more people to call. Even after 1,460 days, I’m not ready to part with it.
Each year, I’ve paid tribute to her memory by reflecting on how my life has changed without her presence, often centering my thoughts on my kids: their growth, their teenage antics, and their role as my steadying force during this chaotic phase of life. It’s amusing to consider what they’d think if they knew just how much strength they unknowingly offer me.
What weighs heaviest on my mind today, however, is the significant shift in my emotional landscape. My feelings—and what impacts me—have transformed in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
Frustrations and Peace
What frustrates me the most now? Listening to friends complain about their mothers’ quirks, forgetfulness, or the obligatory dinners they “have to” attend. I feel a surge of irritation when I hear them grumble about quick visits, suppressing the urge to shout that they don’t understand how fortunate they are. They don’t know what others would give for just one more day with their moms.
And what brings me a sense of peace? I’ve found solace in the fact that my mom passed away swiftly and relatively young. It’s a bittersweet admission I’ve come to accept. She was only 69 when illness took her, and her decline was rapid, lasting just six months. Before that, she was full of life—stylish and vibrant, with an infectious sense of humor and charisma. She was truly one of a kind, a cherished friend to many.
In her illness, she remained spirited; I remember how she’d circle items in catalogs and send me shopping for things she never had the energy to use. I take comfort in the fact that I will always remember her as the lively, fashionable woman she was, not as a frail figure in a nursing home. I’ll never have to witness the heartbreak of seeing her forget who I am. Instead, she’ll always be my impeccably dressed, fun-loving mom at 69. This is the image I hold dear.
What Matters Now
As for what matters to me now? My family remains my priority, and I strive to keep us close-knit because that’s all we truly need. The rest? Not so much. I’ve let go of grudges and trivial worries. Instead, I focus on surrounding myself with uplifting, drama-free individuals. I often ask myself, what’s the worst that can happen? And I realize that in the grand scheme, things like a kid not attending college or a spouse losing a job aren’t the end of the world. In fact, they’re just small bumps along the road of life.
These days, I’m only concerned with the good stuff. I wish she could see how amazing her grandkids are growing up to be. I wish she could admire the living room chairs I recently spray-painted or notice how long my hair has gotten. I miss her more than words can express.
When my youngest, seated beside me, suddenly declares, “This song reminds me of Nanny!” it strikes a chord deep within me.
Further Reading
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In summary, the loss of my mother has led to significant emotional growth and a shift in perspective, allowing me to appreciate the present and cherish the memories of her vibrant spirit.