Missing mom

She's been gone from my life for so long now.  I guess I stopped counting at ten years and just kind of fixed that number in my mind.  But it's been almost double that.  Was I really in my thirties when she died?  I was too busy feeling sorry for her to feel sorry for myself.   I spent most of my mourning energy empathizing with her.  How she must ache for what she's going to miss.  Of course that makes no sense, but I felt it anyway.  And now that I stop to think about it, I really got gypped.  I haven't had her around for most of my parenting years.  My kids didn't get to know her.  I missed so many chances to get her advice, to lean on her, to use her as we all use our mothers, as a kind of buffer against the tough bits in life.
My mom wasn't the effusive, wrap you in her arms type of mother.  The photo gives a hint of it.  Fine, sit on my lap. but I've got stuff to think about, cigarettes to smoke, things to do.  If that sounds like a criticism, it's not.  Mothers are human and their mothering styles are infinitely varied.  I felt my mom's love in a powerful way and I still do.  Her somewhat aloof but peaceful and thoughtful demeanor served as a real anchor for me.  After all these years without her, I don't seem to miss her with that sharp twinge of pain like I used to.  When I wondered about this I realized that she's come to rest in me in such a profound way I'm not always conscious of it.  She's there in the tone of voice I use when I answer my girls' calls, in the way I interact with them when they're in crisis, when I suddenly grab their knee and tell them they're good kids, and in the everyday choices I make as a mother...they're all echoes of my mom.  And in so many ways it's so much better than missing her. 


*Thanks to Cathy for sending me a photo since all of mine are in storage...and therein lies another post!