M is for Mom, Mike and More

The day I moved into my college dorm (oh, so many years ago!) I was overwhelmed with emotion. Excited to be on my own. Scared. Sad. I distinctly remember feeling like there was something stuck in my throat, like I’d swallowed a pit that got wedged right in there, feeling a lump when I swallowed. It wasn’t until years later that I realized that the pit was actually all of those emotions trapped in my throat, because I hadn’t learned to express myself, articulate my feelings—give them a voice…yet.

I also remember Dad’s parting words, “You’ve got to cut the umbilical cord.” (At the time, that was the best Dad could do.)  He was referring to my relationship with Mom.

Because you see, I was always super close with Mom. And leaving her (and home) to go off to college was very hard for me. As a child, I never wanted to go to sleepovers at friend’s houses or off to sleep away camp in the summer. I was content staying close to home- and Mom, where I was safe and comfortable.

As the second of four kids, I became Mom’s helper. I loved being by her side.  It didn’t matter if we were grocery shopping, cleaning or cooking, I just wanted to be close to her. We were very much alike- ‘cut from the same cloth’ as she would say.  While my siblings and Dad were all thinkers, Mom and I were the feelers. When dinner conversations centered around intellect and details that remained too heady for me, I’d glance over at Mom and she’d offer a knowing smile. We spoke a different language.

Mom’s talent at nurturing others was unmatched. And it seems I came into this world with the maternal gene as well. As a young girl, I only wanted to play with dolls that resembled real babies because I wanted to shower them with love and be their mommy. And I had the best teacher, learning how to nurture by watching my Mom.

Mom knew how to make anyone she came in contact with feel cared for and special. Within moments of stepping into her house, her guests and friends were showered with questions about what they’d like to eat or drink, or what she could do to make them feel more comfortable. Sometimes she didn’t even ask- she’d just place a big bowl of popcorn in their hands and point them toward the comfy couch.

I have so many memories of how Mom expressed her love. Like when she’d ‘fluff me up’ with baby powder and warm blankets when I was sick.

Or when I’d come home from school to find a new outfit, folded so perfectly, waiting for me on my bed.

Or all of those homemade meals.

Or in high school, when she and I traveled to Orlando so I could audition for Disney’s Kids of the Kingdom. I didn’t make it past the dance  audition. As I sat there completely deflated, she looked at me and (always the optimist) said, “It’s their loss! You’ll get it next time.”

Or how she found a way to make it to every single one of my shows.

Or even when I was thirty years old and she helped me move from New York to San Diego. It was a tough transition for me, but Mom was right there- doing everything she could to make sure I was taken care of, safe and loved.

Or one of the many, many times that I’d call her because I was upset about one thing or another and she’d remind me that ‘tomorrow is a new day.'

This Mother’s Day will be my first without my Mom. The day after Mother’s Day will be my first birthday without her. And, well, I’m having a tough time, still deeply mourning her loss.

I’ve experienced loss in the past. Hard losses. And because Mom was 84 years old and her health was failing, I thought I’d be prepared. But instead, I find myself surprised at how challenging this time has been. It has sent me into deep thought and feeling.

It’s just so final.

So I guess I’m still working on cutting that umbilical cord. Or maybe it never gets cut.

Funny, I remember feeling ashamed and embarrassed hearing those words from Dad. Like there was something wrong with me for being so attached to Mom. But later, that same attachment provided comfort for Dad as I reassured him that I’d care for Mom after he passed. I honored that promise. And I’m grateful for our time together. And I miss her so, so, so much.

Mom’s death has opened up a menagerie of deeper questions for me about my place and purpose in this universe. In the past, my faith and knowing carried me through, trusting that our energy is a constant and continues beyond this lifetime. But now doubt has crept in as I consider that maybe there’s nothing after we die. So many questions. And now, on top of the deep grief I’m experiencing, these questions weigh heavily on me, like I’m carrying a load of rocks. It has been a time of deep reflection.

So I cry. And I cry more. And more.

But through it all, Mike has been by my side. Married for almost 25 years, we’ve been through so much. For better or worse, sickness and health. Mike is patient. Kind. Loving. Funny. (Did I mention patient?! Living with me through all these questions has not been easy.) He was holding Mom’s hand as she passed, facing this challenging time head on in order to support me. He loved Mom, too, so sometimes he cries along with me. I don’t know a better man than Mike.

After a recent purge of emotions and thoughts, (because I no longer allow them to get stuck in my throat!) I questioned whether I’d ever find my way out of the feeling of being lost and overwhelmed with sadness. Mike offered a wonderful insight.

“It’s like you’ve just gotten done running three marathons. The first, raising our boys. Second, surviving breast cancer. And now, losing your Mom after caring for her. You just crossed the finish line! And right away, you’re questioning what to do next? You just ran THREE marathons! You’re entitled to some time to move through this transition.”

Yes, I need some time to recover. Replenish. Release all of the thoughts and feelings that are overwhelming me. Surrendering. Trusting that as I do, I’m healing. That Mom is still by my side.  And allowing faith to guide me- even as I question it.

Recently, our younger son shared that he was in a slump in baseball. He wasn’t hitting well and it was really bringing him down. I understood. It seems I’m in a life slump.

I encouraged him not to dwell on the past. And then I encouraged myself to do the same. So I’m doing my best to put my energy into the present. Some days are better than others. I try not to make it bad or wrong during those tough moments or days. I cry. I feel sad. I question. I move on.

I listen for whispers of reassurances that I’m safe. That I’m on the right path. That sharing my light is enough and that I’ll always be taken care of.

And I do my very best to focus on gratitude.

Because the truth is that I am blessed. I’ve had the privilege of raising two amazing young men. Sharing my life with a man who loves me and makes me laugh. Enjoying shelter and food and prosperity. And knowing that, although they are gone, I have experienced deep, meaningful relationships with both of my parents.

For now, that will do.

Our son stepped up to the plate at a recent baseball game and I held my breath and began whispering (very quietly, because oh, my, gosh- the worst thing to do is embarrass your kid at a baseball game!) “You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.” … And he did. Had a great day! Went three for four (Which- hello- I now understand what that means!) As I watched him send the ball sailing above the pitcher’s head (and our son’s spirits lift), I became hopeful. Maybe my slump will end soon as well.   

So if your Mom is still here, give her an extra hug. If she’s not, whisper a loving thought to her. And if you’re one of those people who’s lucky enough to be super close with your Mom, enjoy the gift of being attached by the umbilical cord.

And while you’re at it, acknowledge yourself for all that you’ve done to get to this moment right now.

You’re worth it.

In loving,

Sarah