Becoming a mother without a mom
I have always been a very even-tempered person. When friends and colleagues describe me they always say that I’m consistent and you know what you’ll get with me. Nothing truly surprises me. My approach to life echoes the mantra, "Expect the worst and hope for the best," a philosophy shaped by the unexpected death of my mom when I was just 21. At that age, my world was abruptly turned upside down, and the responsibilities that came with being the oldest child of divorced parents forced me into decisions most 21-year-olds don't have to face.
She was 43. Losing her so early into my adulthood completely changed how I approach all my relationships. This cautious approach to relationships became even more ingrained when my longest friend, Allie, unexpectedly passed away at 34. Allie was like a big sister and someone I could always count on to be there for me and also to call me on my shit when I needed it. She was my constant when my mom died. She was the one I felt comfortable having hard conversations with. She made sure I was taking care of myself. She helped me navigate all the responsibilities I didn’t know I had assumed. When Allie passed, she had only been a mom for a couple of years, and knowing she doesn’t get to see her children grow up is something that haunts me because I know how wonderful she would have been as they grew up and faced their own challenges.
The night my mom died, thoughts of all the future events she wouldn't be there for struck me. Meeting my future husband, getting married, and experiencing grandmotherhood—these were all distant futures. Fast forward, I met my husband at 26, married at 28, and became pregnant with my daughter at 32. Truthfully, I missed her during the whole getting married part, but I also didn’t allow myself to feel anything. I just pushed any feelings of her not being there away and didn’t face them.
What I didn’t realize is that it would be impossible not to face those feelings when I had a child. Becoming a mother when you don’t have a mother is like walking into a cave with no map and no lamp. When we started trying to have children I experienced miscarriages, and I wondered if she did too. The night she died, I was at the hospital and had to answer questions on her behalf and I remember the nurse asking if my mom ever experienced a miscarriage. I said no but I didn’t actually know and now I think about how it would feel to just have that part of my story erased. I know I was doing the best I could to answer the questions at the moment, but there is just always so much about my mom that I’m never going to know because I never got to have her as an adult. There are so many conversations we never got to have and questions that will go unanswered about our family, my childhood, and her life.
Lately, I have been thinking a lot about the mental load my mother must have carried or wondered if it was all as hard for her as it is for me. My mom always worked and had jobs but not a linear career, and more than ever I want to learn more about why that was. When my brother and I were young, she worked at the daycare we went to. Is that because our family received an employee discount and it made it easier for us to afford daycare? Or did she really feel called to be closer to us throughout the day? Or did she really just like working with little kids?
More than anything I wish I could tell her now that I get it - how hard it must have been and how much we appreciate everything she did for us. I’d give anything to hear her talk about how she navigated motherhood at such a young age (she was 22 when I was born. I was a full decade older when I had my daughter). And to hear in her own words the story of her life.
The complexity of parent-child relationships is apparent, and the absence of a mother, whether through death or estrangement, intensifies the yearning. Not having a mother to turn to with questions, to connect to, or to gain a better understanding of our family often leaves me longing for her. Hearing others talk about how their mom is their go-to person for help or questions makes me so happy for them and also makes me feel so jealous. Even my husband’s connection to his mom and step-mom triggers a sense of longing for my own mom.
In a twisted sense, I consider myself fortunate to have spent 12 years without my mom before becoming a mother. Her absence is familiar, and I never had to question whether she would meet my husband or children. Yet, it’s heartbreaking not to have the most important people in my life connect with her. People's questions about her often leave me guessing, as I never got to know her as an adult, and the person she would be now remains a mystery. And I have no idea how I will ever be able to tell my children about who she was or why their mom doesn’t have a mom.
I also spent 12 years learning how to trust myself. I made a lot of big decisions during those 12 years and they all led me to where I am today - which is exactly where I want to be in life. My relationship with my mom in the last few years of her life is not one I want to emulate with my children, and I think it’s so important to know that - what I don’t want as much as what I do want. When I think back on all those late-night conversations with Allie, I think about how much honesty and connection was in them. I want my kids to know how much I love them, how much I value their growth and individual experiences, to watch them make mistakes and learn, to celebrate their accomplishments, and to stand by them when they fail. I want to talk about our feelings and share our stories. And mostly for them to know how proud I am to be their mom.