This time of year is always tainted with the persistent hole left by people we've lost. When a piece of the family is missing - no matter how long that piece was taken and no matter how many or few other family members come together - we are always acutely aware that they aren't here too.
Last night, a friend of mine and I were talking about our dead mothers. Her mom died last spring - on Mother's Day no less - and the two were very close. We were talking about how now it's like she has been given the password to the secret club, how she's somehow different, marked, and only young people who have lost a parent understand, but that it's unspoken. This is a feeling I have had for more than a dozen years.
People are painfully uncomfortable talking about death. My friend recalled how others tip-toe around her mom's death, choosing their words carefully. But why? Are they afraid she'll have a comeapart? That it's not really real, and by talking about it makes it so? That she'll be insulted you brought it up? I don't really remember the awkwardness because I was so young, but even today, when it comes out that I lost my mother, people want to apologize, change the subject, unsure how to ask the nagging questions like how old were you, and was it cancer.
To be sure, folks, not a day goes by that I don't think about my mother. She made me who I am, and I own every part of it - her life, her illness, her death - and it has grown with me. Nothing about it makes me uncomfortable, and my guess is it's the same way for many young people who have lost a parent.
So I say let's talk about our dead mothers, and better yet, let's pour one out. Which is exactly what my friend and I did.
She had poured me a glass of wine, just as we were wrapping up our having-a-dead-mother-is-the-pits talk. And both our mother's were big drinkers - hers: Bud Light in cans and red wine, mine: Bourbon on the rocks. So I said, "Let's pour one out for our moms." We both positioned our glasses to let a little drop hit the ground for them, paused, and looking at each other said simultaneously: "But not too much!" (knowing our mother's would never want us to waste a drink!)
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4 comments:
I will also pour one out with you. You know what the sad thing is? I don't even know what my mom liked to drink.
This year marked the more than halfway point for me. I've now lived longer without my mother than with her. Scary thought, I suppose.
Regarding the whole not talking about it thing? Well, I guess I am offended at times, when people say things like "your mom," etc. I've never been very sensitive about things like this, or averse to talking about my mom... But, for some reason, this one always gets me.
Anyway -- Happy holidays, and consider some "poured out" in the name of the secret society.
Yeah, you know who I am.
I agree - Living more without her than with her is scary. I think about that too.
But, I must say the "your mom" thing is one of my favorites, especially when my brother and I throw it around. Lightens the load, I find.
One more thing: Do NOT see the movie The Family Stone. Just don't do it. It's not the funny family flick the previews make it out to be. It's a heartstring slaughterfest for anyone who's deal with the The Big C.
Really?? That was on my post-Christmas, light-hearted day-off movie list. Hmm, thanks for the head's up.
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