As most of you know, I lost my mom a few months ago. She was newly retired, ready to take on life as a full-time wife, mother, and, most importantly to her, an even more dedicated grandmother. My older sister and I have 2 kids ranging from 6 to 10 years-old but my younger sister was pregnant with her first child and planning her wedding when we got the news that my mom had terminal cancer.
I don’t think anyone is ever prepared to lose someone they love but when someone is taken from you early, when their life is cut short, there is a whole other layer on top of the loss. My family is extremely close and my sisters and I were very, very close to our mother. The relationship was effortless. This is what I really miss. There were no expectations, no conditions. She was always there and I depended on her a lot. I also had plans to continue to rely on her and enjoy our relationship for many years to come.
Now someone close to me is facing the loss of their parent. I feel their pain and see the panic and fear. I have been there. The loss of a parent, no matter how old, is terrifying because the tiny piece of your childhood you hold onto into adulthood dies with them. From now on, I am a grown-up. Always. To everyone. I feel a bit like I am drifting alone on a raft and am forced to navigate responsibly and effectively without input from my most reliable and dependable resource, my mom.
But watching someone else face what my family and I have just gone through brings so much of it back and I find myself revisiting and reliving a lot of the pain. Plus, there are new feelings and thoughts I am struggling with now. This person’s parent is 15 years older than my mom. I don’t begrudge them those years or think that makes it any less sad and difficult for their family but what I can’t stop thinking about are those lost years. My mom’s 15 lost years. Those years we never questioned we would have. Those memories and experiences we never thought we would miss. Those milestones she would follow along with us. And the people she would cherish and guide as they grow up.
By this I mean her grandchildren. The people she cherished most in the world and who worshiped and adored her. These tiny people who would have benefited so much from being loved by her. What I can’t stop thinking about is that instead of a 9 year-old boy, my son would have been a man. She would know him as a man, not a child just coming into his own. My daughter and older sister, Kath‘s, girls would have been grown-up too. She would know them and they would know her.
And my little, baby niece. Just 6 months-old when her Gramma died. With 15 extra years my mom would have seen her grow up to be a teenager and she would have loved her and known her. Plus, she would have continued her reign as World’s Most Awesome Grandmother to any little babies my sister may still have.
But she didn’t get those years. Those 15 years were lost to us and to her and I can’t get it off my mind. The things she would have done with those years. The memories. The love. She is missing so much and we are missing her.
I guess the point of this really is, time is a gift. Every day we get is another day with those we love because the truth is, despite your best laid plans, you just never know.
You are right, moments with those who mean the most to us are so very precious. My maternal Grandparents were very important in my life growing up, they made everything better. I think my Grandfather was a better male role model for me than my father, I tell my husband that my Grandpa taught me how I should be loved. My Grandfather passed away a year and a half before my daughter was born, and I was 5 months pregnant with my daughter when my Grandmother passed away. I always wished for just a little more time with my Grandfather, he would have been in heaven holding his Great Granddaughter and he would have been so proud of me. That was just stolen away.
I finally found some peace last year when my son was born, we named him in my Grandfather’s honor and it feels like he is still here. I hope you can find some peace down the road, it is never fair when good and love is taken from our worlds.
Hi Jen,
I can so, so relate to your comment “…it is so ridiculous because I need mom to help comfort and guide me through the grief of losing her. The one person I would have turned to is the same person I grieve.”
Jen, I used to say the same exact thing. I felt like I needed to call my Mom to tell her that well, my Mom died. The only person from whom I needed/wanted comfort was my Mom and finding myself at a point where I needed only her but couldn’t reach her created such panic and fear for me. It is so strange. My Mom’s 7 yr anniversary is the 28th. This week, I ache for her still. Cried at Mass on Sunday and am feeling generally out of sorts. I just don’t get the whole born from her yet she dies alone. *sigh*
Please know I am thinking of you and I appreciate your offer to support my book. Maybe you’d be interested in being a beta reader? No pressure, just an offer. I still have lots to write but would be honored to have you as a test reader. But I’ll leave that totally up to you, Jen.
Sending hugs and understanding, Jen. I hear you…I do.
Stephanie
Hugs Jen,
I was in the distillery district for the first time since you and I were there with our moms and it momentarily sucked the wind out of me when I saw the theatre.
My mom learned her mother was living with cancer while she was expecting me. My Nonna lived to see me born but not much longer. Her dad also died of cancer 2 years before.
Here is the thing, since I was a little girl I felt I knew both my grandparents and still do feel this way to this day. My mom was one of 8 children, and throughout my life, there was a story or advice that was sourced through my people.
My grandparents were more than legendary, they seemed materialize in the loving words, the funny stories and even the difficult or disagreeable situations I would learn about speaking to different relatives while I visited with them throughout my life.
Though I did not touch or hug them, I feel them present and connected in my life and they guide me in ways I never really realized until writing this.
When my mom pulls out an old yellowed hand written recipe and makes it, on the times when it comes out extra amazing, I could swear my grandmother’s hands were in there.
For what it is worth, I hope oftne you will feel present her essence and that it soon resonates in a way that brings you comfort you need in trying times.
with love
Id
Sometimes those grandparents that we are missing are people that died in their 60s leaving young-ish children too. When my grandma passed she was 60, I was 15 and my aunt was 23. Just a thought that came to mind after reading your comment.
Another reminder of the preciousness of each and every day. It so often gets forgotten in the midst of the busyness of life. I’m so very sorry that your mom didn’t get those 15 more years, and that you didn’t have them with her, either. I can’t imagine how I would feel losing my mom so young.
Thank you for sharing your feelings with your readers. It really does put things into perspective.
I have always felt torn when I hear about people that die when they are in their eighties. My Dad died just after turning 60. I had just gotten married. He never saw my kids. I feel that if you die when you are over 80, you saw it all. Your body is ready to shut down. That is how God made us. I feel that your funeral is to celebrate a life well spent. At 60, you have been completely ripped off. There is no fairness, no justice. When I hear of someone’s grandparent dying I always think, wow, I don’t even have a Dad let alone a grandparent to cry over. I hate to say it but I just can’t pull together much sympathy. Horrible but true.
a very moving post, jen. a few days ago i was in the elevator at a mall when a woman, in her fifties, walked in with her mother, who was probably in her mid to late seventies. They were obviously close, and were chatting away about a sale at William Ashley. A conversation I very well may have had with my mother. Except she’s not here and hasn’t been here since i was 28 years old.
She never knew me as a mom, never knew my kids or her other grandchildren. what i would give to have those extra years – of friendship, love and easy, effortless companionship. despite the people around me always, i am very, very alone.
Rant away my friend. I get and understand everything you say – especially the compass. There is a really great book out there called Motherless Mothers – some of it is for women who never had a mother but there are parts for women who have lost their mom’s later in life. I found it useful. But ranting away and chugging a few vodka tonics as my mom would have is also useful. I don’t ever find ‘brightsides’ – but I do try and find positive things to hang on to – and one is what a previous poster said about becoming a grown up only after. I used to look to my mom for approval all the time – and found not having her here to offer her approval gave me more confidence to seek approval from myself. I’m also incredibly fortunate that my dad found love for a second time with an amazing woman, who never tries to take my mom’s place but is a support – and came with two awesome step-brothers who I love.
You are right, Sara. I wouldn’t trade it for anything even though it was way too short and having been so close I miss her that much more. Because you have been through the same thing I can say that but it is different when someone who hasn’t been through it says all smug “you were lucky to have had such a close relationship” I can’t handle it. Or when someone says, “I’m not close to my mom so I envy you.” it takes everything in my power not to walk away. My mother’s dead, folks. That is not enviable. I totally get what people are trying to do “look on the bright side” and most of the time I am able to convince myself of all of that and feel grateful but sometimes I just want to be sad and angry and scream “I AM NOT LUCKY! IT’S NOT FAIR! If you’re mom is so rotten why did it have to be mine?”
Phew. Just a little rant and vent. Back to practicing my mom’s advice, “find joy every day”.
Hi Stephanie,
I would love to read your book. I totally agree about feeling lost. I have no compass. My sisters and I turn to each other a lot but it isn’t the same. I am not even sure my mom had a ton of profound wisdom but just her unconditional love and attention kept me grounded. I said to my sister today, “it is so ridiculous because I need mom to help comfort and guide me through the grief of losing her.” The one person I would have turned to is the same person I grieve. Crazy stuff, man.
Good luck with your book and let me know if my Motherless Mother friends can help support in any way. There is, sadly, a large community of us.
Jen
Hi Jen,
Boy can I relate to this. I am so sorry to hear about your Mom. Everything you said resonated with me. I too lost my Mom and am in the process of writing a memoir about how it is only really when we lose a parent that we truly begin the process of becoming a grown-up.
I am a therapist with years of experience working in hospice care and work now in private practice with a speciality in grief and loss. For me, I was never able to have children of my own so losing my mother felt like my only last bastion of maternal connection. I felt reduced to feeling like a little girl who got lost in some superstore. A world without my Mom felt unsafe and I had to begin to reconstruct a sense of safety in the world absent of her.
Please know, I understand your pain and I am sending you a hug from one bereaved daughter to another.
It was a beautiful post, Jen. Thanks for sharing it.
Stephanie
I so agree with Sara and it’s because I’m on the other side of that comment. I love my mom dearly but we are by no means close…sad as that seems, that’s the way it is for me. Jen, I am so sorry for your loss and for the pain you will still feel as so real and raw for years to come…… but I am also very envious and jealous that you had as many years as you did with an amazing woman who you could call your best friend, your greatest influence and an endless inspiration. I can only hope that a relationship like you had with your mom will be one that I can share in the years to come with my children. Thinking of you
Oh Jen
I wish I could hug you right now. You said this so well. I lost my mom almost 10 years ago when she was only 59. She would say, as we all would, that it’s a rip off. One giant rip off all around. All women in her family lived to over 100 – we thought we had another 40 years. I’d write more but I’m already crying at my desk. I will say, that take one thing to heart Jen because it sounds like you had the same type of relationship that I had with my mom…I would have rather had the 30 amazing years I had with her – then have had a mom I wasn’t close to for 60 – if that makes any sense at all.
Always cherish the moments you have. Easier said than done. The 2 women in my life that meant something to me are both gone. My Mother died years ago and i lost my Grandmother in 2009.
All i can say is i hope they are looking down upon my Husband and kids and myself watching us grow.
You never know what can happen tomorrow so live for today in the moment and make it worth it.
I’m the second of 11 grandchildren. Only the first 6 of us were lucky enough to know our grandma. I’ve ofter felt sad that those last 5 cousins never got to meet her. Grandpa also took this to heart and was a very different grandpa to them than he was with the first 6. He would hug and chat and play; all the things that we had counted on Grandma for he did for those that came after she passed. He’s now gone too and it makes me very sad still, 11 years later.
My 2yo will ofter look up at lights or the high corner of the room and say “Bye!” and wave. I always pray that it was one of my grandparents coming to check on us.
I’m very lucky that my parents are still around, and cannot even imagine what you have and are going through. Your post really resonated in me as I thought about the grandkids still to come.
Wonderfully written. I lost my father 14 years ago and still miss him everyday. I now have a little one and really wish he was here to be his grandfather, I know they would have so enjoyed each other. It is so easy in our busy lives to forget how precious life is and to try and enjoy every minute.
Yes, time is a gift. I cherish every moment that my children get to spend with my mom and my dad. I lament the fact that they don’t get to see my in-laws very often because they live so far away. But they do have them, as part of their lives, and they are so so lucky.
I haven’t lost a parent yet, but I did lose my grandmother when I was pregnant with my first child, her first grandchild. She was the last of my grandparents that was living and I was very close to her. She was the first person, other than my husband, who I told that I was pregnant. I’m sitting here crying now as I wrote about it. Crying about the moments she never got to have with her great grandchildren. She was so close to being with them….but just didn’t hang on long enough.
First, giving you a big hug! That was a beautiful, heartfelt post. It’s natural to wonder about what would have been and bereaving those lost years that never came to be. If you can take comfort in this, know that she is with you, with your children and your sisters’ children, in their hearts, whether they know it or not. Remind the grandchildren about her often so that they can feel that she is a part of their lives at least emotionally anyway. She sounds like she was a wonderful woman who raised wonderful kids!
Thanks for the reminder Jen. Beautiful post.
The gift of death is the reminder of how to live well. Thankyou for sharing.