But not quite. In this last year, I have tried hard to focus less on who I am as I relate to the various past influences in my life, and more on who I am currently and essentially.
So Sunday, this year's reaction to Mother's Day was less, "may I put a bag over my head?" and more an outpouring of grief. I am not a mother. It finally hit me that, in this lifetime, I will never hear anyone call me "mommy." I (probably) will never have a child jump in my lap and hold onto me for dear life. My housemate has grandchildren, and several times a week, I can hear them call out to her and say, "grandma..." That, too, I will never hear. This was subtly my choice, I guess, but not an active choice. Life went on. I didn't realize that this hurts, but it does.
I don't remember any moments of jumping into my own mother's arms and calling her "mommy." It may have happened, but I don't remember. Mom did not really like being hugged and would back away from friends who tried to do it, so it's possible she did that with us too. (I do remember her sitting next to me and reading "Winnie the Pooh.") Since Sunday, I have had a few moments of just crying out for my mommy. She passed away in 2001, and I can't say I feel her "presence" but I definitely feel her absence. I miss her. We became pretty close in the eighteen months before she died. She needed a lot of help from me and others, but her mind was sharp as a tack, and we talked about politics, religion, science, you name it, until about one day before she died.
This is one of those things I know I will need to move on from, but you can't move on from the things that you didn't know were bothering you under the surface, so I am thankful for this clarity, and this understanding that there has been a gaping hole in my experience that I am still alive to fill. I know that motherhood is complex and often painful, but if you have ever had even one "mommy" moment, one sweet, hugging, "mommy" moment on the giving or receiving end, treasure it.
