Musings on Mother’s Day and Loss

Mother’s Day used to fill me with some sort of unease. My mom never wanted anything, but I wanted to give her nice things, even better if it was things she actually would enjoy. Those were hard to find and figure out. She never wanted much, and that’s something I think I learned from her, for better or worse.

When my mom was sick, it was even harder to find ways to celebrate her that she would enjoy. One of the last things I did with her wasn’t for any particular holiday, just a day of visiting, and is a memory I treasure.

We were coloring.

That’s it. Just coloring together.

I had bought her an adult coloring book — I figured she would enjoy the more intricate pictures so I was glad they were a trending thing — filled with birds, butterflies, flowers, the like. I had also gotten myself one of owls. Hers I shipped to her from the store, along with markers. Mine I packed in my backpack for my flight.

We sat on the couch next to each other and just colored. We talked a little, but mostly just focused. She’d been having trouble with that, so it was nice to see when she stuck her tongue out and chose between the colors and went all at it.

I often wanted to celebrate my mom while she was alive. She never really cared for that much. But she loved it when we just spent time together. We used to watch movies and talk about them. We would talk about serious theological issues together — questioning with honesty some tricky concepts. And we talked about silly things.

After her chemo treatments, when her hair grew back, I remember her laughing and pointing out how her wavy curls had turned into super soft “super curls.” I had an essay assignment in college, and I wrote about that conversation. I wrote about my mom. It was a relatively easy way to fill an assignment and get the A…because I know a lot about my mama and I like talking about her.

When the initial shock and loss wore off, the heart aching that came after was untenable. Holidays, special events, Mother’s Day. All of them were harder because I knew I couldn’t just pick up the phone and talk to her. Not this time. Not anymore.

I’ve experienced more and profound loss since then, experiences that have shaped and educated me, but the day she died is still one of the worst in my life.

Mourning takes time. Grief never fully goes away. But now, with time, even on Mother’s Day it doesn’t hurt quite as violently.

Time is the distance we travel even if we don’t go anywhere. I don’t love my mom any less, but the wound, then so fresh and deep, has healed some. Maybe not fully. Maybe it never will. But her love helped me heal, even as I missed her. Even as I missed her, her love was still with me.

I’m getting choked up thinking about it, how I do still miss her, and I’m okay with that. I knew early on and I still hold that I don’t want the loss of my mama to hurt less. The pain is testimony to how important she was to me and how important she is for who she is.

And that’s something that even time will not change.