The first love we know is that of a mother and a child, and it’s the realest love there is. To an infant the world is one woman keeping you safe, fed and educated. The truest friend one can have, who knows who you are before you even do and sees the darkness in some of your acquaintances/choices. Some rebel and refuse to listen or pull away but there’s only a short time when the whole world is safe because of her.
I wish heaven had means of communication, for a single chat with mine. The twenty five years I had her went far too fast and the two plus years since have been a challenge. I can’t ask the question now at twenty eight that teenagers often ask; about medical concerns, boys, sex or life or even a single hug because my mother’s physical presence is no longer here. Only the faint reminders of her smell, laugh and favourite things but they are not always a constant comfort But I know I was lucky to have mine while I did, to show me how to be a woman, stand tough and follow your dreams. I am who I am because of her, because I had her. I only regret that she never saw my dreams come true or witness her children marry or have the opportunity to become a grandmother. Sometimes I fear that my dreams died with her, that I’m stuck in a box labelled motherless daughter that I will forever be stuck in and be a transparent girl that is still reeling. But I know it’s only my fear stopping me from stepping over a threshold and achieving everything that waits ahead.
Somehow I know you are still here, you are within me and I still have dreams about you so I know the connection is still here. That my journey is at a crossroads or a junction and the next step is mine to take.
Hold onto those moments of your happy memories with your mother if you are lucky to still have yours, I would trade anything to have mine back and complete my life once again but I am left with memories and feelings and a family that she left. I cry a little when I see how happy other mother/ daughters are when I see photos. I don’t really know if these are happy or sad tears but they make me miss mine. Make me wonder if the fact I miss her so will be a reflection on my mothering skills, that maybe I will be a failure or unable to ease a sickness or suffer from post-natal depression. The thought is frightening and I stuff it in a box for later but it somehow creeps out into my current conscious which is irrelevant as at this point there is no child of my own in this life. Maybe I’ll only have myself to wonder about and the only children I’ll love are the ones that aren’t mine. Is this the next thing my mother will help me work through in my dreams?