In recent years, each November brings a a subtle shift in my emotional undercurrent that I have yet to actually be prepared for. I find myself more irritable, more sensitive and blue at this time of year. Just when I think I’m going crazy, it hits me that the reason for my change in mood is the approaching anniversary of my mother’s death.
I will say the anniversary is easier to handle now than it was the first year or two after she passed. It will be four years at the end of this month and I can finally say that the gaping hole in my chest has closed. I no longer feel as if I will be swallowed up by my grief and I am now able to find joy in my life despite missing her.
But the sorrow and haunting loss of things that were not resolved still linger and I suppose they always will. I take as much comfort as I can in the fact that I left nothing unsaid with my mother and she always knew, for better or for worse, how I felt and where we stood in our relationship. I called, texted and visited often. I know in my heart of hearts that I could not have had tried harder. If you knew my mom, you know she was an independent woman who relished her ability to make her own choices and live life on her terms. Her idea of relationships and how she wanted to spend her time were quite different from my friends’ mothers. It was only when I accepted how she wanted to live her life – half the year here, half the year in the U.K., collecting and caring for dozens of exotic birds and freely sharing her opinion – that I was able to embrace the wonderfulness of her quirks and let go of the things that we didn’t see eye to eye on. It’s a lesson I still use to this day: it’s imperative to accept people for who they are. Much unhappiness comes from trying to change people to fit what you want, rather than accepting them for who they are and going from there.
I also learned that I could express my feelings just as openly as she did and while we might not always agree, it didn’t affect the love we felt for each other. My mom wasn’t one to gush about her emotions, but she showed her love in many different ways – mailing funny cards, random gifts and sharing meals.
The lessons I learned with my mother have made me a better adult and I am grateful for them.
She passed away on Thanksgiving while I was on vacation in the UK, so the holiday is bittersweet for me. But I cherish the fact that we talked just hours before she passed and she was excited that I had finally sold my book.
Thanksgiving was always such a big holiday in my house growing up – everyone taking a break from their hectic lives to gather together and the kick of the holiday season. It is sadder this year with the death of my grandmother who passed in February; she always hosted our Thanksgiving and Christmas family dinners. It is lonely and a little scary to realize that none of the adults who raised you are around any more.
So at this time of year, there are definitely a few tears shed as I reminisce about all of my favorite holiday stories from my childhood. I keep the spirit of my mother and grandparents alive by sharing these stories with our son, who laughs when I tell him about the time my grandmother tried to cure my hiccups by shoving a tablespoon of peanut butter in my mouth after I ate an enormous Christmas dinner (it didn’t work). Or how my mom kept her favorite black palm cockatoo’s cage next to the dinner table and he would scream bloody murder until she fed him turkey at Thanksgiving. (Don’t start. Yes, a parrot eating turkey is definitely gross, I know). My family and I go crazy with decorations at our house because when I grew up my mom decorated for every holiday and Thanksgiving was no exception.
It’s weird and heartbreaking that my mom can’t see our son growing up. That she never had the chance to read any of my books or share in my achievements as an author. But I take comfort knowing I had her in my life longer than some children have their parents and that the lessons I learned from our relationship are still with me today.
I am grateful for having had my mother, grandmother and grandfather too for as long as I did. I count all the blessings in my life because I know they would be disappointed if I wallowed in sadness with everything that I am lucky to have – a wonderful husband, am amazing son, my sister and all the rest of our wonderful family members, my friends, our health, Phoebe, my writing, cheeseburgers…the list goes on and on when you bother to start counting.
So whenever I get too blue, that’s what I do. I count my blessings until my gratitude outweighs my sadness. Until my sense of loss is dwarfed by everything good in my life and every lesson I have learned from the challenges I have faced.
I miss you, Mom.
Happy Tuesday🦃