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I lost my mother twice. On October 8, 1999, while I was pregnant with my first child, she passed away. She was 69 years old. That was the second time I lost my mother. The first time was April, 1992…when her dementia spiraled to the point where she didn’t know us anymore and my dad needed to put her in a nursing home. She was only 62 then.

I was 26 and single. I wasn’t done needing her yet…who was going to get me through
my heartbreaks and career crises? Some days (even at 42), I still need her just to hug
me and give me encouragement. We were separated by many miles since I left home
for college (at 17) and only saw each other for quick visits, but I believe our phone bills greatly contributed to our phone companies’ bottom line.

With the anniversary of her passing around the corner, I am reminded of the different
ways I grieve for, remember and miss her.

I loved my mother’s laugh and my goal growing up was to make her laugh at least once a day. I see my younger son try to do that with me. Who is a child’s most attentive, indulgent audience after all? My mother never met my husband or knows how he strives to make me laugh on a daily basis, too. Despite this, I can’t help but believe that she would be happy for me.

My children are curious about the grandmother they will never know and I miss her more in that role than anything else, because I never got to experience her as that in relation to them. Do they mirror any of my behaviors as a child? Did she feel the same myriad emotions that I feel on a day-to-day basis in my joys and challenges in raising them with my husband? Was I really that finicky (I so want to put that one on my husband)? I wish she were here so I could ask her about raising us. How did she handle it when she and my father didn’t agree on a parenting issue? How often did she second-guess herself? Was the reason we had pasta three times a week in some form really because she was Italian or was it because she could guarantee that her kids would eat?

My mother encouraged me to do my best, she taught me about faith (in God and in
myself and my decisions). These are things I am striving to teach my sons. Our legacy. My mother was passionate in what she believed in – a great thing to teach my children in a time often plagued with too much complacency. My mother was short–tempered (well we can’t have everything). As a result, patience is a goal everyday in raising my kids. While we may have been short on money, short on time, my mom always had time to listen and a hug ready. And while my eight year old may think he needs a Wii more than anything else…I hope it is the hugs and my “ear” that I gave to him and my grandchildren that he will remember fondly at 42…52…62…My mother gave me wonderful tools to help me form my character. She may not be “here” everyday, but she lives on in what I am trying to do with my husband for our sons.

I’ll make sure Teresa gets any comments you leave here for her. 

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