No-Mom Mom

My mom died when I was 24. I was a young single mom with a semi-psychotic exhusband who was stalking me. It was a rough time. I grieved for her for... well, I guess I still grieve. I heard of some other bloggers who recently lost their mothers and a very good friend of mine is by her mothers bedside right this very second. My grief always wells up again as I remember all the pain and sorrow that I felt in that first awful year.

I got remarried about 15 months after my mom passed away, and promptly had my second child 10 months after that. Just when I thought I was getting used to being without my mom, it hurt to the core all over again when I realized she'd never know my new baby. My husbands mother and step mother were available, but our relationships were strained and I missed out on the chance to have them fill this empty void in my heart.

Right about that time I read a wonderful book called Motherless Daughters by Hope Edelman. It wasn't just for women whose mothers have died, but for those whose mothers were emotionally unavailable, abusive, or otherwise absent. A follow up book was Letters from Motherless Daughters. Both of those books made my grief acceptable and gave me a sense of belonging - to a group I wish I didn't belong to, but a sense of togetherness none the less. Then my husbands mother died too and we were both motherless, both part of a club.

This weekend I found yet another book. Motherless Mothers.

Since my mom was around for the biggest chunk of my life, I found raising my own babies to be easy. My mom was a good mom, and she was an excellent grandma to my firstborn Chick. She was a great example of how to be a mom - to a baby. I saw her hold her various neices and nephews or other peoples babies and when I was a new mom I simply mimicked the things I'd seen her do. I replayed all the songs she sang, stories she told, and games she played as I mothered my own babies. As a career choice, I work with new moms and babies and I'm good at it. It's in my heart, my soul, my very being. When my husband and I started fostering babies in our house, it was easy. It came naturally to me to mother a baby. I thought that losing my mother was a terrible thing to happen, but wouldn't necessarily have any long term effects.

I was wrong.

Now I am in my late 30's. My firstborn 'baby' is a teenager. And I have no idea what I'm doing. And I have no mom to ask.

I can't see my mom go through menopause and know what it will be like for me. I can't see my mom age and slow down and imagine how it will happen when it's my turn. I can't ask my mom questions about my body, my family health history, or about her own feelings on aging. I can't ask my mom how she dealt with me or my brothers as they entered the teen years. I can't ask my mom how she maintained a love for me when I was rude, surly, obnoxious, and 16. I can't ask her how she let go when I pulled away, or how she held on when I needed holding. I can't ask her what it was like to see me make so many mistakes, so many bad choices, and not lose her mind with grief and angst. I can't ask her to come over and sit with me while I worry and fret. I can't call her and spill my woes about my pre-teen son and my baby bear and her learning challenges. I have no mom. I am a motherless mother.

My grief was re-ignited first by hearing of other bloggers loss, then by my good friend who lives far away from me and has a chronic illness, and whose mother is actively dying. I found the book Motherless Mothers and started reading it. I can't get through a single chapter without weeping. My sorrow is endless, not just for myself, but for all the women who didn't get the kind of mothering I had as a child, and for all the women who are navigating parenting without the help of their mom's, either because their moms are gone or because their moms were never able to do the job for whatever reason. All of us who are mothers have a connection, a bond. And those of us who are motherless are even more connected whether we like it or not.