Dealing with Grief on Mother's Day

I was at a ceremony for my husband's late grandmother last week and I always feel compelled to visit my mother's grave whenever I'm at the cemetery. We are really not a "visit the grave" kind of family. As my grandmother used to say "dead is dead." I confirmed this too on my visit, as my mother's plot came into sight. Yup, still there, I thought.

I always feel awkward kneeling down in front of my mother's stone, like I'm supposed to make a profound statement or something. I never really know what to say, though. I usually get her caught up on things: this time I told her how sweet her grandchildren are and then I apologized for leaving my legal practice. I told her I'm trying to figure things out and that I love her very much.

I know others take comfort in visiting lost loved ones, but it doesn't really do much for me. I don't believe my mom is really there. My mom isn't anywhere. I don't feel like my own thoughts and memories bring forth her presence in any tangible way. I loathed when people who, leading up to my wedding, told me my mother would be there when I chose my dress or that she was watching our ceremony with delight. I hate that kind of talk. No, my mom did not come to any dress fitting, nor did she dance at my wedding. How could she? She was dead.

This realist approach makes Mother's Day very lonely. A part of me wishes I believed in it all. I wish I could believe my mother was in some afterlife sipping coffee with Mordecai Richler or Jackie Kennedy, ready to be summoned at a moment's notice to give me solace or to attend an event. It would be so much easier.

Without religion or other philosophies, I don't know where to garner comfort. They say that time heals all wounds, but I haven't found this to be the case. Time just dulls the memories so they are less raw and less available.

On my knees this time in front of my mother, a conversation I once had with her slowly surfaced. I remember sitting on her bed a decade before she died, with my little cat Olympia, telling her how scared I was for Olympia's death. Olympia has been with me through so much that she now feels like a part of me.

"I'll be inconsolable when she dies," I said, "I can't live without her."

"It's not that she can be replaced," my mom said, "but when she does go, I want you to take all that love and give it to another animal who needs it. Take it and pour it all into them. Don't let all that love go to waste."

I think that's how I cope with my mother's death. I take all the love, drawing it in from the tips of my fingers and the tips of my toes. I gather all the tenderness, all the warmth and affection, spilling over from my loss. I roll it all together and give it to my husband. I give it to my brothers and their families, my father and my extended family. I give it to my friends and all the people I care for, collecting even more people as I go.

Standing up, I brush the dirt off my knees, take my husband's hand and walk away.

 

Comments

[gndungi]

09:39 AM on 05/09/2011

It's not even just the kind of grief that follows the death of one's mother. How about the grief of realizing that your mother just doesn't love you?

http://qalil-com.blogspot.com/2011/05/post-mothers-day-blues.html

[galeenglish]

07:28 AM on 05/09/2011

playflute2, I'm sure you mean well, but my mother is not in birds singing or blue sky etc, why on earth would she be? She was a human being, whom I was lucky enough to have in my life for just over 19 years, but now she is dead, and she is not anywhere in this world (or any other) any more. I have (frustratingly few) memories of her, and she sometimes appears in my dreams, and that's all I have left.

I totally identify with the sentiments expressed by Wendy, and by Widespread Panic. I have been missing my mother for nearly 17 years now, and sometimes (less often as time had passed) I still feel just as devastated as when I was first told she had died.

[Amber Moon]

06:54 PM on 05/08/2011

Oh how I could have read something like this in 2006 when my son died in my arms. It would have helped me so much. So much. Thank you to the Author for this piece it is truly inspirational.

[Widespread Panic]

02:29 PM on 05/08/2011

I could've written this (not as eloquently of course). It expresses exactly how I feel. Thank you for putting into words the way I have felt and how I am trying to deal with my grief, 5 years after my mother's death.

[playflute2]

02:23 PM on 05/08/2011

You are right. Your mother is no longer physically with you. But whenever you remember her, she is with you in your heart and in your mind. She is with you in funny (or sad) things that happen that remind you of her. She is with you in nature--the songs of birds, blue sky, not so blue sky, the trees, spring flowers, you name it. So, yes, your mother is still with you, in the lessons you learned from her over the years with her, in your heart. I know this because my mother, who died in 2009, is still with me in all of the things and more that I listed above.