Dear Mom, I Miss You
How fragile we are, between the few good moments.
~Jane Hirshfield
On November 30, 2009, my mother became an ancestor. Exactly one week later, on December 7, 2009, I met my son. These major life changes did not happen in a vacuum, they came when there were bills to pay, a friend’s daughter to grieve for, the aftermath of a tragic flood, a marriage ended, a love lost, a brother in prison, ongoing family mental illness, and profound darkness that seemed always ready to obscure the light.
At my mother’s funeral, I stood to speak, and my sister shouted, “You killed our mother!” I wrote the eulogy here and her husband commented that I made it up. I can look back on it now and see the humor in the moment. A friend described it as the most bizarre funeral she had ever been to that while I was standing up at the podium and my sister and brother were shouting at me, I was making the crazy sign as I spoke, unflustered.
My mother had given me medical power of attorney because she knew I was the one capable of putting a Do Not Resuscitate on her chart after two code blues and six months in the ICU with permanent tubes in every orifice. My mother had also given me so much more. She gave me fortitude.
After spoon feeding and cleaning up after my mother, I found myself spoon feeding and cleaning up after my son. Her presence surrounded me while I put the spoon to his mouth, swaddled him in a blanket, changed his diaper, and held him close to tell him I love him. She had taught me how to love; how to be a mother. She and her mother, my beloved grandmother, both said in their old age that the singular thing in their life that had made them happy was their children.
Next week, my son and I will celebrate our family anniversary, his adoption birthday, his homecoming. These events only one week apart are indelible bookends in my life. And always between the lowest point, my mother’s passing, and the highest point, meeting my son, are the days of ordinary living.
November 30th, 2017 at 3:03 pm
You…
What pain. What sorrow.
What beauty. What strength.
What LOVE.
You
are a bright, magnificent,
soaring soul.
I have so much respect and admiration for
you!
I thank your mother for her gift of you to us.
May next week’s celebration be joyful
and magical!
All my love,
always xox
February 3rd, 2018 at 2:04 pm
Beautiful mother! Beautiful daughter!
Rachel, I just read your story about Tin’s adoption. What a story indeed; made me realize even more how special you are. My first impulse was saying to myself, over and over, how lucky Tin was, then I read those words pointing out how “white” that sounded! Forgive me, how did I not know that myself?! You are so right. I learned so many things over the long and profound read, so many things hit home for me even though I’ve always thought of myself as open minded and sympathetic. As you said, I still have a lot to learn, but this I know. Any child would be lucky to have you as a mother.
July 12th, 2018 at 6:33 am
Oh Alice – good Lord, I’m just reading your response here from February and it is July! I miss hearing your voice and updates about the hubby. Thank you for your kind words. It’s been a journey from learning how to relate to my mother (I learned more after she was gone – sigh) and now learning how to be with my son (always and will always be learning). One thing I know for sure, I have not undertaken this journey alone, I’ve had so many beautiful and wise people reach out and put their loving hands on me I feel that I’m constantly pointed towards the light. Much love. R
July 12th, 2018 at 6:38 am
Mudd – seeing your response from November! I got out of my daily habit of using this place to connect. It’s unfortunate that FB, Instagram, Twitter have taken the place of my own little fiefdom here. It began with a desire to speak about parenting Tin on http://www.transracialparenting.com and then I was busy writing a book and working on my memoir (a work in progress), that I got away from coming here. There have also been so many developments in my life of late that are not meant for public consumption and that will inevitably work their way into the memoir to be told after they are “recollected in tranquility” – but I miss our conversations here, which always seemed more personal and less public. Much love to you, R
July 12th, 2018 at 9:46 am
Ma belle amie Rachel…
You are such a busy gal that I don’t expect a reply. I’m simply grateful to read your always inspiring blog posts, alors pas de soucis.
Really looking forward to your memoir. REALLY.
Big bundle of love,
Mudd
xox