Remembering My Mother, My Lifeline – Scary Mommy

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Remembering My Mother, My Lifeline

Diane Diederich / iStock

In times of trouble, confusion and uncertainty, my mom always said, “What’s the worst that could happen?”

That has been my go-to line ever since I can remember her first saying it to help get me through anything life threw my way.

Well, it seems now that the worst has actually happened.

She is gone. My mom died.

That is the first time I have written that, and the words staring back at me are like a powerful, painful kick to the stomach.

And what do I always do when I don’t know what to do?

I call my mom.

But, today there’s no answer on the other end. So, I do what I do most when I can’t handle my emotions. I search for answers and pray for comfort in words.

My mom died.
The person I’d dial at least twice a day to spend time talking, laughing, and sometimes crying about nothing, something, and everything all at once.

My mom died.
The person who was always by my side, held my hand through every storm, and stroked my head while welcoming her grandchildren into the world with her open arms and heart full of unconditional love.

My mom died.
The person who threw me a life preserver and swiftly pulled me to shore on those all too frequent days when my kids drove me to the brink of sheer insanity.

My mom died.
The person who would read all my mommy blog entries, listen intently to all my motherly woes, while never once saying, “I told you so,” or mentioning the phrase “Isn’t revenge sweet?”

My mom died.
The person who truly appreciated hearing every last detail of my children’s daily lives including, but not limited to, the frequency and color of their poopy diapers and how amazing it feels when all the day’s stress dissolves away and they are finally asleep in bed.

My mom died.
The person who was always there on the sidelines to support me even when my ideas about parenting, dieting and changing the world were straight-up ridiculous.

My mom died.
The person who swooped in with a gourmet takeout dinner for my family of five on those evenings I just couldn’t muster up the motivation or energy to even slap a few PB&J sandwiches together.

My mom died.
The person who my children will always truly believe never yelled, never said no to dessert, and always had the solutions to their problems no matter what.

My mom died.
The person who always sat proudly in the audience at every school function, play and concert gripping a beautiful bouquet of flowers and each child’s favorite candy for her superstars.

My mom died.
The person who ever so gently verbally smacked me upside the head when I spewed crazy nonsense speak, a lack of self confidence, or plain old stupidity.

My mom died.
The person who sensed the very moment I was going to call her to take the kids so I could indulge in a half hour of silence and managed to  call me first to offer her babysitting services.

My mom died.
The person who always had the superpower to pick me up off the floor, dust me off, and make me feel better than new after one of those kind of days she always warned me about.

My mom died.
The person who knew the answers to my questions before I even asked them, the reasons for my mood swings before I even realized a tidal wave of emotions was about to overtake me, and the words I needed to hear to talk me off the ledge.

My mom died.
The person who gifted me the ability to stay strong, stand tall, hold true to my beliefs, pursue whatever it is that brings me happiness, show kindness to all in any way possible, always remember to spread love, and to leave a mark where you’ve been.

My mom died.
The person who taught me everything I need to know to survive on this Earth.
Except how to live without her.

Author’s Note: I’ve shared this piece to honor my mother by helping others as she always did throughout her life. My hope is that these words will help other motherless mothers navigate their grief and know they are not alone.