Ramblings About Loss

I’ve almost lived my life longer without my mom than I have with her.

I read somewhere once that when someone dies, the first memory that tends to go is your memory of their voice. You remember the way they looked, their hobbies, the way they smelled, and you’ll always remember the way they made you feel. But, you quickly forget the way their voice sounded. 

I remember the way my mom’s dark brown hair was always pulled back into a low ponytail, how she loved wearing a pair of light wash flared jeans and a baggy t-shirt, and how she rarely wore makeup. She smelled like vanilla musk perfume and Salem Slim Lights. I remember her always carrying sticks of gum in her black “pocketbook.” I remember classic rock always at the loudest volume in her car. She’d say gross things like how hot and sexy Mick Jagger was, just to embarrass me as a pre-teen. 

I remember how she’d decorate the house from top to bottom for every single holiday, including putting window clings on the large window in our dining room. Her favorite color was purple. Her favorite coffee was Folgers. Her favorite TV show was American Idol. But with all that I do remember, there’s a huge amount that I don’t… most importantly her voice.

My mom passed away in 2007, before smart phones (at least for me). I don’t have much saved of my mom digitally. I could probably dig up old VHS tapes and convert them. But even then, my mom hated being on camera. I’m not sure I have much.

Sometimes when I’m driving alone, I try to hear my mom in my mind. I imagine her saying, “Good morning, Nic”, “I’m so proud of you”, or something realistic like “Nic, you’re grounded.” Every time, I’m not convinced that the voice in my head is truly hers. 

Anyone close to me knows that I lost my mom. Lost, like she went hiding and I just can’t find her. I hate that word. Most people don’t know she’s gone until a few conversations later. When people would ask, “Where do your parents live?” or “What do your parents do?”, I used to simply leave my mom out of it. “My dad lives in Wilmington”, I’d say and quickly change the subject. In fact, I used to keep a mental list of topics to steer the conversation in a different way so I could avoid talking about her at all.

I never gave it much thought because over the years it came so naturally. It was only recently that I thought about why I’ve always done this. It’s because I never wanted this to be my thing. You know – the girl with the dead mom. I didn’t want people to feel sorry for me or only think highly of me because I “overcame” a huge childhood loss. When I was forced to bring my mom up in conversation, I would say things like “My mom died. It was a long time ago.” I’d make a joke if I met someone who also lost a parent and say “Guess we’re both part of the dead parent club” and follow it with a big high five. 

I saw a grief therapist very briefly in my early 20s. She asked me to bring in a photo of my mom and talk to the photo as if I was having a totally normal conversation. I have my degree in psychology, so I trusted the process. I remember holding the photo and saying something along the lines of, “Hey mom. I think the Stones are going on tour again. By the way, Mick Jagger still isn’t cute. Someone told me how much they hate their parents the other day. I told them, lucky me… I only have one to deal with.” My therapist who certainly didn’t understand my humor asked if there was anything else I wanted to say. With a huge lump in my throat – you know, the kind that feels absolutely suffocating – I said, “Mom, I fucking hate you for leaving us. I fucking hate that I have to do life without you.” The session ended and I never went back.

That was over 10 years ago. I can’t say that I’m an expert in dealing with loss or have healed myself in some monumental way. I still find humor in it all because it helps me cope. I’ve never and will never be someone who believes that everything happens for a reason. I haven’t discovered any positivity or reason for my mom dying and I never will. I think grief changes you in a way that unexplainable. It enables you to appreciate things more and see the world in a different way. 

If you’re a member of the dead parent club, I am incredibly sorry. I have no tips for feeling better or healed or whatever else you’re looking for. I’m not here to say it gets better with time. In fact, time makes things worse in so many ways. I am here to say that you’re not alone. There’s going to be days when you want to curse the world and feel sorry for yourself. Let yourself feel that. Don’t push your emotions away.

But also know that there’s going to be days of light, optimism, and pure happiness. Days spent laughing until your side hurts or seeing the most beautiful sunrise. Personally, my good days are when I stumble upon a picture of Mick Jagger, cringe, laugh to myself, and think of my mom.