The hardest thing I will ever have to do

Last month I was given the opportunity to have a girls’ weekend with my absolute best girlfriends from college. The 16 year bond between us only grows stronger over the years transcending time and distance. Our love has become unconditional. We sat around the table at a local brewery. The sun was setting, the air was sweet and warm, the breeze kept everything feeling light. It was the perfect evening for a summer beer with your closest comrades. 

The depth of our friendship often results in conversations that resonate with the soul. Life altering tragic events have taken place in our lives. We have seen each other at what seems like rock bottom and had to hold each other up to keep moving forward. Don’t get me wrong here, most of the time we just laugh our asses off and tell old stories too loud for those around us, then take over the DJ booth and get kicked out of bars. But also we’ve cheered each other on as each of us has hit high points of new jobs, new spouses, new houses, new babies, new puppies, etc. But the conversation can sometimes grow heavy. We talk of our dreams, we talk of our fears and we talk of our challenges. 

As we sit at the brewery and conversation turns serious and the beer settles in and the hormones overwhelm us. The conversation meandered down a path that is split between 1. losing parents and 2. raising babies. The dichotomy of these thoughts weaving through conversations of six friends. Tears well up in my eyes. I’m not ashamed but man I did not feel like crying right then. Little does everyone know for the last 6 years I have said to myself often, from the sincerity of my heart, no matter what’s happened -coma, losing jobs, losing granny, being ostracized from family, etc- the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do is raise my son without my mom. It’s tragic. It’s unfair. It’s total bullshit. I’m salty. I’m bitter. It takes a deep level of control and confidence to continue on. There is endless supply of self doubt. All those times mothers call their own mothers for parenting advice, I can’t call. I tried once, on accident. I had forgotten for a second that I lost her. 

When Enzo pooped on the potty for the first time I wanted to call her so badly. When it’s his birthday party and I want advice. When adults get sick, they want their mom. When my son gets sick, I want my mom. I need her to give me approval to give him medicine, or a bath, or a cold compress, or whatever he might need that she will advise me to, that I’ve simply forgotten about or not thought of. She would have been a sounding board, an extra hand, an extra set of eyes and ears, she would have been the foundation of my village for him. 

Do not get me wrong, I’m certain as parents there would also have been times when we disagreed. I’m realistic to the fact that things aren’t always perfect. But I would go back and give anything to disagree with her in the flesh and then see things from each other’s perspective and move forward together. That’s what we did. We moved forward together, we progressed, we grew, we blossomed together. Best friends growing up together since 1984. 

Mom was a young mom, I included that theme in her eulogy. That just meant she was with-it. She was cool, she knew the hottest styles and coolest trends, she was not stuck on this saying of “back in my day” the way older people will. Growing up with her being so young meant she grew with me. I expected her to be by my side as I grew as a mom. I can’t speak for my brother and sister but I imagine each of them has a similar sentiment. It’s hard. I want my mom to approve of how I mother my son. I want her laughter in his ears. I want her food on his plate. I want her scent in his hugs. I want her hands in his hands. The good news is I have her laugh. I know her recipes like the back of my hand, and my hair, when it’s dirty, it smells like her. My hands look like her hands and undoubtedly feel as soft as hers. He gets all these things I wish for him, just not in the way I expected. 

A few years ago, shortly after losing her, I remember a time when I reached out to my girlfriends. I said I’m struggling with this loss. Some understood the loss personally, others could only be sympathetic, but one of them said something to me that resonated forever as a piece of comfort for me. She said, “you are the perfect embodiment of your mother and you honor her in who you are and what you do with your life everyday.”

This friend has suffered loss but not in the same capacity I suffered. Damn, she knew exactly what to say to give me peace for years and years to come. I’m grateful for this friend and her words. 

I honor my mom in my kindness to strangers. My kindness to everyone. My mom had this ability to make everyone around her feel comfortable, she was never intimidating, always accepting of everyone. I took pride in being an approachable teacher that was never intimidating and always welcoming and accepting of everyone. One doesn’t seek special education without having an open heart. She gave me her open heart, I will promise to do good by that. 

I honor her in the food I cook for my family; the recipes, the time, the ingredients, our culture, our history all tied together into roasts and noodles, sauces, gravies, salads, casseroles, definitely monkey bread and especially cakes. 

I honor my mom when I visit with her siblings in Cincinnati. They knew her the longest, they knew her before me, and suffered a loss too. I will honor her by choosing to keep family close. 

I honor her when I wear her clothes. Having a mom the same size was such a perk. Inheriting her clothes meant wrapping myself in the same garments she chose for comfort and style. Covering myself in her comfort measures feels like a good way to honor her. Is that weird? Probably. But not everyone had a cool mom who could share clothes. It’s funny how often I got compliments on my outfits while I was a teacher. Hey guys, thanks, it was my moms. 

I honor my mother in the limits I set for my son. I am who I am because of her and her limits, rules, responsibilities, and expectations. She had a way of making her expectations clear just by the look on her face. My son will also know that look. 

I honor my mom when I do the dishes after dinner and put them away dry instead of leaving them for the next day. 

Kyle, Courtney, and I honor our mom when we keep each other in check. When do stupid things from time to time and will tell one another “mom would be so mad at you right now” and that’s true. We respect her when we check on one another. 

So I ask myself what are ways in which I honor my mom and I think long and hard about this daily. She always was my inner voice. So maybe raising Enzo without her is the hardest thing I’ll have to do, but I know I’m able because of all she taught me. I know I make her proud in the ways I honor her because I am the embodiment of her. 

I hope everyone finds a way to honor their mom today. 

with love,

Amanda