A Daughter WithOut Mom on Mother's Day

To avoid the greeting card aisle filled with nothing but Mother’s Day cards, rivaled my loveless affair with liver and onions. Even as I zoomed past cards, I swear the words, “To My Dear Mother,” screamed after  me.  As people picked out the most perfect Mother’s Day card, envy, not blood, flowed through my veins.

Did these people know how blessed they were?

My mother died from yellow liver atrophy almost three months to the day after elective  surgery. Mom was forty-three years old and I just thirteen. Death robbed Mom of her life. Death robbed me from a life of having a mother.  In a blink of an eye, the new normal became my dad and me.  Even at thirteen years old, I wondered how we would survive. Mom never hesitated to spank me, yet I would endure thousands spanks a day, if God would bring her back.

My simple ice cream filled world melted. No more Mom and me, ‘girls only’ nights when Dad worked late. Mom  drove as far as time and ice cream took us. We sang, mostly off key, to songs blasted from the car radio.  No more would I watch Mom put on eyeshadow and wonder if I would ever be as pretty. Her death made Mother’s Day became just another Sunday without football.

For twenty years, I let mom’s death become the blame for my stumbles. My confidence waned as I doubted my self worth. Mom had my first and best cheerleader. She was my nurturer and strongest female I knew.  And now my mother was gone.

Even though life moved on,  I so lagged behind.  Somehow I had to deal and learn from her death, because I wanted to live my own.  I was sick and tired of being sick and tired of not being able to change the past. I had to embrace her death and move on.  I went to the bible and God’s Word opened my mind with Psalms 121 (NIV): “I lift up my eyes to the hills-where does my help come from?”

No longer, do  I avoid the Mother’s Day card aisle.  Like everyone else, I hunt for the perfect card.  How can I not show thanks to the woman who said at the end of each day with “Mama love”?  As  we savored
ice cream, this woman explained  how  a girl’s bloom into a young lady should not be scary, yet celebrated.  So I  smile with memories abound and sign my chosen Mother’s Day card. It is then tucked away with the others.

Although our life together was just thirteen years, that life was more valuable than rubies. My mother’s spirit dances within me every second, every minute of  every day. I am truly blessed.  I know  we’ll see each other again. Our laughter and songs will once again  fill the air, with some ice cream for good measure. Praise God.

(c)2015

PS. And the photo is my mom and me :)
#Mother's Day

July 9, 1928 was Monday

...and the day my mom was born. I wonder what my grandmother--my mom's mother-thought when she held her new baby girl in her arms. Sad to know I outlived both my mom and my grandmother. 

My mom was a discinplinarian. Yep--Mom could spank--and spank REAL good--yet I never once doubted her love for me. She called me her "Angel."

Lots of life lessons missed since Mom and I were on Earth together for just a little while. However, I do smile when I think of us getting ice cream at our town's version of a Dairy Queen, then drive all over who knows where in that old blue Chevy Mom named Daisy June. 

We'd sing to songs on the radio, laugh and have our 'girl talk time.' I hate the fact my mother died when I was barely into my teens.  I try to remember eventho our time was not long, what we had lasts a lifetime. 

I am blessed. 

Happy Birthday, Mommy.

September 27, 1971 was Monday

My life forever changed on September 27, 1971 when your life ended. I wonder how our lives would have grown together thru these years. Your spirit does waltz within me. I love you, Mama.

May 8, 2011 is Mother's Day

Mom and Me. We just started our lives together. We thought an entire life time was ahead of us. We did start our with lots of promise. Three months after weight loss surgery, because of complications, Mom died. She was 43, and I was just 13. Not quite the entire life time we thought we'd have. Since then, Mother's Day has not always been rose petals, kisses and funny cards. Women who have experienced mother loss, regardless of age, may have feel the same. Below is a piece I've written about my experience with mother loss and Mother's Day.
Another View******Years ago, avoidance of the greeting card aisle near Mother’s Day rivaled my loveless affair with liver and onions. Even as I rushed past the cards, the words, “To My Dear Mother,” screamed at me. As people did their best to pick the most perfect Mother’s Day card, envy, not blood, flowed through my veins. Did they know how blessed they were?
My mother died from yellow liver atrophy almost three months to the day after surgery. She was forty-three. I was thirteen. She was too young to die and I was too young to be left without a mom. Now it was just my dad and me. Even at thirteen, I wondered how we would survive. I hated that my mom never hesitated to spank, yet I would let her spank me a thousand times over if God would bring her back.
My peaceful world was gone. No more ‘girls only’ nights when my dad worked late. We’d drive as far as time and ice cream took us. Laughs and song filled the air. No more would I watch her put on eyeshadow and wonder if I would ever be as pretty.
Mother’s Day soon became just another Sunday without football.
For twenty years, I permitted my mom’s death to be the root of my stumbles. Life moved on, but I lagged behind. I somehow had to learn from her life so I could finally live my own.
I was sick and tired of being sick and tired of not being able to change the past. I had to embrace my mom’s death and move on. God’s word opened that door with Psalms 121 (NIV): I lift up my eyes to the hills-where does my help come from? I knew where to start.
Now, I no longer avoid the Mother’s Day card aisle. Like everyone else, I hunt for the perfect one. How can I not celebrate the woman who introduced me to A & W onion rings while she explained changes a young girl experiences are a celebration? I sign my card with love and tuck it away with the others. Our life together lasted just thirteen years, yet was more valuable than rubies. My mother’s spirit dances within me every second, every minute, every day. I am truly blessed, for I know one day we’ll see each other again. Our laughter and songs will fill the air. Praise God.
©2011

September 27, 1971 was Monday

My post on September 27, 2009--it still says how I feel. .

..and the day I became a motherless daughter.

I cried in Dad's arms five times and probably at least another five times by myself. At one point, during that longest day ever, I stretched myself on Mom's side of their bed, where she'd been just three days prior. I wanted to be close to her. I wanted her to come back. I didn't know how sick Mom was or maybe I did and just in teenage denial.

On this day in 2009, Pastor Rickie Rush, of the Inspiring Body of Christ Church, spoke of shame. How things of your past are great canidates for shame. How Satan reminds you of these things and tell you how you're not worthy. The shame occurs when you believe the words Satan's spews. Yes, you will always have struggles as you journey to your blessings, that's where Satan's really wants to latch on, so you can fail. God wants to see how you react. If you can handle what HE has instore for you.

After Mom died, I felt so unworthy of many things. I trace alot, if not all, back to that 1971 day. As an adult, I realized when I was a kid, didn't think I was as special as somebody with a Mom. My Dad adored me, as did the rest of my family, but I wonder since I missed out on something--was I worthy enough? Satan had a grip on me. I know that now. I felt shame over my Mom's death. I carried guilt that I could have prevented it--if I just opened my mouth.

Mom wanted to have weight loss surgery. She wasn't a Half Ton Mom, like you see on TV, far from it. Yet she wanted it, to escape her 300 pounds yo-yo dieting, especially due to the success her sister and my 17 year old cousin seemed to have. On a June day, the doctor gave the final OK for surgery. Mom was euphoric. Mom held me close as she nearly skipped with joy from the doctor's office. Mom shouted how this time next year, how thin she would be.

A boulder slammed in the bottom of my stomach. I wanted to scream "NO! Don't do it!" But I didn't.

Three months later, after several complications, Mom died of yellow liver atrophy.

Our family doctor told me he advised Mom not to have it. My dad told me over and over, how Mom wanted this surgery and it didn't matter what anybody said. Dad, also said through the years, to not to feel guilty--how Mom wouldn't want me to. That's alittle easier said than done.

In service today, Pastor Rush said how words from those that are suppose to love you causes shame too. Explains alot. Especially when my step-mother would inform me how I didn't quite measure up to being the best daughter or that a man would want me because I didn't cook enough. After Mom died, I so longed for a mother figure. I settled for hurtful words to get what I thought I wanted.

I didn't wait for God to work it out, as Pastor Rush said. God had to put me in quarantine as He did His work on me. I skipped that step--ALOT, and tried to do it myself. In those cases, Satan roasted his marshmallows and had a good time. I know that now.

I'm not perfect, yet I see things more clearly now. I try to remember more memories of Mom---the good and the bad (she could spank in blink of an eye!). I was 13 when she died on this day in 1971. I think of how hard it was for Dad to wake his daughter and tell her Mommy was gone. So much we missed out on--our entire family.

Yet, I realize I am worthy. I always have been. God waited patiently for me to get there, even tho I wasn't so patient on myself. I still make mistakes. Sometimes I hear Satan whisper in my ear, but I don't hear him as much as I do. The beauty of being born with no left ear (microtia) so I turn to my left and all I 'hear' is hot air.

I celebrate Mom's life and continue with the dance our spirits still do today.

I am blessed.

My Mom's Birthday

Today Mom turns 82 years old. If she walked this Earth, I imagine

To tease her with a cake too small to hold 82 candles-

If I listen I can surely hear Mom laugh.

My dad would be quite the feisty 86 years young, and

I see them, side by side on the river bank-

Perhaps with my 94 year old uncle I visited the other day--

Fishin' and talkin about the 'old days'.

My 'old days' with my mom lasted just 13 years.

It's funny how my memories aren't as vivid as they once were-

Time has passed so.

I want to remember more.

I want to just be the daughter to make a mother proud...

Happy Birthday, Mama--

Thank you for giving me this life--

I love and so very much miss you.