I Don’t Want a Pity Party. I Want My Mummy.

I want my Mummy.

If I had one wish, that would be it. I don’t want a million dollars or even world peace. I just want my Mummy. I don’t care that I’m a grown woman who is more than capable of taking care of herself and I even have a child of my own who depends on me, I still just want my Mummy. I am much better at expressing myself through written words and even photos rather than verbally speaking about something that is on my mind, especially when it is something that I am afraid to talk about for fear of having a complete breakdown. I suppose (and from what I have been told by people around me) that when I change my facebook status to something about my mother, or even when I post a quote or some other post on Instagram that draws light to the fact that I miss my mother or am thinking of her, some may take it as me “looking for attention” or (my personal favourite) “wanting a pity party”, but no, that is definitely not it. It’s quite simple actually. My mother died, my life completely turned upside down when she did and I miss her so much that it literally hurts, it is painful.

It’s been months now since she passed and I actually still have moments where I think to myself, “I can’t wait to tell Mummy this”, and then it hits me all over again like a ton of bricks every time.    Last week one day while out on my lunch break, I decided to run into the Hallmark store to purchase a birthday card for someone. When I walked into the store, I was suddenly bitch-slapped in the face. There were Mother’s Day cards, banners, balloons, books, teddy bears, bouquets, Mother’s Day everything – everywhere. I was suddenly reminded, not that I needed reminding, that my mother is no longer here with me. It was a big blow. I literally grabbed the first birthday card that came to my hands and quickly left the store.

After my mother died, many people told me that holidays and birthdays would be hard for me from now on, but for some reason I never thought about Mother’s Day until now. And I think more than any other holiday or special day, Mother’s Day will possibly always be the toughest one for me to get through. It’s kinda like when people say that Valentine’s Day should instead be referred to as Singles Awareness Day…for me, Mother’s Day will always be that one day where this ever present fact will be clearer than it is on any other day, my mother is gone.

Now that she is gone, of course I miss her tremendously and I appreciate all that she was to me even more now. No one could ever take her place in my life or even come close. I have very close friends and relatives who are there for me, but there is absolutely nothing like having her here and nothing can ever fill that void in my life.  I think one of the best ways I have seen that void described is [by Karen, who also lost her mother] “You have to learn how to be a mother for yourself. You have to become that person who says, ‘Don’t worry, you’re doing fine. You’re doing the best you can.’ Sure, you can call friends who’ll say that to you. And maybe you can call other relatives you’re close to, and they’ll say it, too. But hearing it from the person who taped up all your scraped knees, and consoled you through all the C’s you brought home from school, and helped you with your first lemonade stand, that person who watched you take every step and really knows you, or at least the one you perceive as really knowing you, that’s the one you count on. That’s the one you keep looking for.” The sad reality is that although you keep looking for that, you have to keep reminding yourself that it’s gone and memories will have to suffice.

She kept all of my secrets (she literally took them to the grave with her). She gave me advice on love, friendships, fashion and just life in general. Whenever I was faced with any problem, no matter how big or small, she was the first person I called and she would help me figure it out. She always knew exactly what to do, even when I didn’t want to do exactly what I should do. She knew all of my friends and she knew which of those friends were true and she never hesitated to remind me. She got my jokes. She made me laugh. She was the person I called to vent to…about anything and everything. And she always listened, even if she had to call me back when The Steve Harvey Show was over. She would tell me that I was too nice and needed to learn to start saying “no”. She would tell me what to say or not to say when I wasn’t sure. She would tell me when my pants were too tight or my skirt was too short and she would keep telling me until I changed. She called me when I was out late to ask if I was okay and what time I would be home. She told me over and over that I was beautiful. She made me confident. She consoled me when I cried. She helped me fix my heart every time it was broken. She showed me how to love. She cared about me more than she cared about herself. She loved my daughter, her only grandchild, even more than she loved me.  She was my first friend. She was the best friend I ever had. For thirty years she was that one person who was always on my side, in my corner cheering me on, no matter what, through every single moment of my life and suddenly one day she wasn’t there anymore. I can’t ‘get over it’ and I don’t really want to.  The memories that I have of her are what get me through everyday.  Going to bed at night and dreaming of her can make me so happy sometimes, but that happiness quickly fades when I wake up and realize every morning that she is gone.  Hope Edelman, author of ‘Motherless Daughters’ said “I also now know that the pain is worth it if it helps me to remember her.  The pain is a reminder that I once had an extraordinary mother who loved me a lot.  That’s something I want to remember.”  The only thing greater than her presence in my life, is her absence and her presence influenced who I was, and now her absence influences who I am.  When I say that I miss her and I want my Mummy, it’s not because I want someone to feel sorry for me. It’s because of all that she was to me and I know that I will never have that in my life again and it can never be replaced.

So please forgive me but, I just want my Mummy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“There is an emptiness inside of me – a void that will never be filled. No one in your life will ever love you as your mother does. There is no love as pure, unconditional and strong as a mother’s love. And I will never be loved that way again.” – Hope Edelman