A Mother's Absence

It doesn't happen often.

Only on special days--
days when I gave birth to my children,
blessings,
baptisms,
marriages,
days when sickness fills my home
and I'm unusually tired.
Days like today...
one of my daughters is receiving
her mission call.

I woke up early this morning,
with thoughts of her.
My mother.

I rolled over in bed,
trying to push away these feelings
of needing, wanting, wishing
for a mother.

I feel around with my feet
the warmth of the covers--
hoping to comfort myself
so the pangs of her absence
recede as subtly as they arrived this morning--
this very special day for me
and my family.

Comfort doesn't come,
I leave the warmth of covers
and look out the window to the West--
the sun rising, bouncing off my beautiful, strong, Pikes Peak.
Again, I try to comfort myself--
I am in my fiftieth year.
I don't need to be "mothered",
I have dear friends who care for me,
who have filled in for that spot of mother
many times over the years,
and will gladly fill in that spot today
when we find out where my daughter is
going to serve her eighteen-month mission.
Women who will be excited for me and mine.
It's enough.

It has to be.

Alcoholism and mental illness stole my mother from me
a long long time ago.
She lives in a world that doesn't include me.
Addictions are so selfish they don't allow for
family relationships.
I know this.
I know this.

Logically,
I know this.
And yet, since I was just a very little girl,
I have longed for a mother.

I was taught not to need one--
her absence and addictions were very good teachers.

And I have gotten through this life
having learned my lessons quite well.
But every so often,
when
babies were born,
or
when I saw my daughter standing in front of a full-length mirror
in a white silk wedding gown,
or the day she became a mother,
I wanted to celebrate with my own mother
"Isn't she beautiful, Mom?" I want to say outloud.

The day I found out my son has cerebral palsy,
I sat alone.
Weeping in my car,
feeling out to the Universe for comfort.
There was no mother to lean into,
to lean upon
or soft shoulders to cry into.
That just wasn't my reality.

The night we welcomed my son home from his mission.
The day he asked me to go with him to pick out the engagement ring
for his sweetheart.
And the day he knelt across an altar and pledged his love
forever and always.

There's this part of me
that wants to show her what I've done
with my life,
somehow, some little hope
that she would be proud of the good I've done,
while she's been away.
 That whole, "Look Mom! Look what I've done!"--
seeking approval or acceptance or a place
in her world.

You can't get to be my age
and not have a few special days along the way
where having a mother would be super nice.

Addictions and mental illness are cruel teachers.

But today is a day of celebration!
I will shrug off these thoughts
and turn my attention to the events of the day.
We will not think about her absence.
I will not mention her name or
utter the ache in the corner of my heart
that speaks of her absence.
Like so many days before.
I got this.

No,
today my husband and children will gather together
and encircle our daughter and sister
as she opens a large white envelope
and reads outloud her mission call.
We'll laugh and cheer
and grab a map!
We'll have treats n' share hugs and tears
and this moment will be ours to breathe in
and burst open!
We'll pray together and bless this day.
It will be the stuff of memories
this day in my life.
And for my mother,
who lives in her own world,
it will be just another day.
A day where she won't even know
that her only daughter is celebrating
again,
another joy in life that only comes along
once in awhile.
And though her addictions close her off
from family,
noone else can take the place reserved
just for her.




If you or someone you love is struggling with addictions,
there is help.
Oh please reach out for it.
Here are some places to start a new life:


Addiction Recovery Program
Alcoholics Anonymous
Mental Health America