Parenting
I lay beside my mother, her frail figure dwarfed by my large eight-month pregnant belly when she took her last breath. The very next morning, I forced myself to attend an ultrasound appointment, desperate to see proof of life within me, especially when everything felt as though it was crumbling around us. My mother’s body was being taken from our family home as the doctor displayed a grainy image on the screen, revealing a healthy baby in a ready position.
At 26, I received the devastating call from my mother, sharing her cancer diagnosis and prognosis of three to six months. I entered a surreal state, hyperventilating, as my roommate’s monotonous lament, “It’s so awful, it’s so awful,” lulled me into a dissociative stupor. My first thought was about the future—my children would never know their grandmother. Within 24 hours, I had withdrawn from my almost-completed graduate program and moved back to my childhood home. Three years later, I found out I was pregnant, but my mother was barely holding on.
As my belly grew, my mother diminished. She lost her hair, her eyelashes, and her weight—an unimaginable amount. Meanwhile, I was blooming; my skin glowed, my hair thickened, and my nails grew rapidly. During my second trimester, my mom lost her ability to breathe without assistance and walk. It was heart-wrenching to see her so frail and childlike, especially when I desperately needed her guidance.
Deep down, I never truly believed she would be there for my son’s birth. Yet, with each passing week of my pregnancy, a fragile hope began to form. My mother fought to stay alive, longing to meet her first grandchild.
After Theo was born, I realized how much I needed my mom more than ever. Her absence felt overwhelmingly painful. Every moment of joy with my son was tinged with the knowledge that she couldn’t share in it. I yearned to send her videos of Theo’s giggles or him giving our big, scruffy dog a kiss—videos she would have found both infuriating and adorable as she struggled to figure out how to watch them. I wanted to ask her about my own infancy and seek forgiveness for things I couldn’t comprehend until I became a mother myself.
I’ve never felt her presence more than I do now. When my mother passed, well-meaning friends tried to console me by saying things like, “They may not have met in person, but they connected in spirit,” or, “She lives on through Theo.” While I appreciated their thoughts, they didn’t bring me solace. I don’t find comfort in the idea that my son and mother met elsewhere, nor do I see any resemblance between them in a meaningful way.
What resonates deeply with me is that my mother lives on through my own experience of motherhood. Although we were never the typical mother-daughter duo, I feel her influence within me now more than ever. I can love fiercely because of her, and my son feels that love.
In the months following Theo’s arrival, I had vivid dreams about connecting him with my mom, while waking moments filled with reminders of her absence often left me breathless. Occasionally, I forget that she’s no longer here, relishing fleeting moments when I think I can call her to share that Theo took his first steps. Perhaps one day, I will truly accept her absence.
For more insights into pregnancy and home insemination, check out this excellent resource from Mount Sinai, and if you’re considering increasing fertility, visit Make A Mom for their fertility boosters for men. Also, for more engaging content, visit our post on intracervical insemination.
In summary, navigating motherhood without my mom has been a profound journey filled with heartache and growth. Although she isn’t physically here, her spirit lives on through my parenting, guiding me in ways I never anticipated.