Sunday may 14, 2017 3:33pm
What is it like not having a mother on mothers day I asked myself yesterday? How does that feel? How does that manifest itself in me? It’s been 3 years since my mom died and it has been 3 miserable sunday’s filled in loneliness, emptiness and jealously. I made the mistake the past 2 years by logging into Facebook and seeing everyones posts about how they have the “best, most beautiful, giving, generous, funny mom in the world.” I am staying away from social media today because I get angry and resentful seeing the posts. I even see some people having memorial posts about their moms that have maybe passed. But then I get angry because I know people whose moms died from sickness and had time to say goodbye to their moms, unlike me, where mine was tragically and suddenly ripped from my life. I don’t like feeling bad for myself, its a feeling and state of mind I try to steer clear of but today sucks and that is okay for me to say that.
I wish I could go to my moms favorite resturant or sit on my patio by the pool and wrap my arms around my mom and kiss her softly on the cheek. Tell her how much I love her. Tell her just how much I take her for granted. I wish I could spend one more day with my mom. To ask her all my questions and to hug her endlessly. I don’t remember her hugs or kisses, I barley remember her smell. But I remember her golden curly hair and sparkling green eyes. I remember her playing solitaire on the computer late at night and casually smoking a marlboro special blend 100 that rested between her acrylic nails.
I can’t help but think of all the things that have changed since my mom died. My dad moved to a new apartment, I moved to new york, my sister owns a restaurant… It appears life has moved along smoothly for all. But when I truly reflect on my life, I don’t think I have moved on as swiftly as I would like to think. I am still haunted by nightmares surrounding her death, I am still reminded of the sight I saw and I still have PTSD. It seems like my family has moved on, built new relationships, forged new bonds and I am stuck in the past. That’s the the topic we don’t touch in therapy. Talk of my mom hurts too deep, it’s so surreal, too fresh and raw.
I’ve often questioned if my mom would be proud of me today. If she would like the person I have become, if she would be proud I went to acting school and live in new york. If she would understand and support my transgender identity. A large part of my identity is based around her, my name is gaelic for island meadow. I wanted to chose an irish name because I think my mom would have liked that. I have an irish tattoo on my arm in memory of her. So much of me is infromed by her and how she fit into my life. Today my question isn’t whether or not she is proud of me, I will save that concern for a dark, gloomy day when I feel sad again. But today is just full of sorrow and loss. The feeling of something missing inside, a hole that has formed inside my heart and still has not been patched up.
I didn’t want to wake up today. I wanted to pretend like the day didn’t exist and like I could pretend it wasn’t happening or real. But anytime I woke up to go to the bathroom I was reminded of what today means. I can’t run from today. I can’t run from my sadness. I just have to sit with it and deal. No tears to be shed, no pictures to be looked at, just a silent hurt that will permeate this sunday in May.