I want my Mommy!

Sounds a bit immature, doesn't it. Me, a grown woman admitting that I want my mommy. I mean, gosh, I am 38 years old, married, and a mother myself. As a matter of fact, if I am truly honest with myself (and you), I seem to remember that my relationship with my mom wasn't always so sweet and gooey.

So why is it that after 7 years of her being in Heaven, I am still aching over the loss of her? Why is it that the pain is still very obvious? True, it isn't as sharp as it was that first motherless Mother's Day in 2000 when I was pregnant with Sarah. But it is there. And it always rears it's emotional head on this day EVERY YEAR.

My mother's birthday comes and goes with little fanfare or thought. Although I do remember it and think of her all day, it is never anything remarkable. Her eternity day, March 7, is a day that I always talk to my sister Karen - just because that is the day she died. But I don't cry, I don't carry on, I don't fall apart. I just quietly reflect on finding out the news of her death mixed with finding out the news of our pregnancy with Sarah.

But Mother's Day...that is a whole different ballgame. The days tears me apart from my insides out. I wake up aching, I am in a daze all day, I tear up, I lose my composure, I get angry, I get jealous watching my peers loving on their mothers. I feel every emotion you can possibly think of.

Why? Why is this day my torment? I think I know. Today, I think I figured it out.

Mother's Day haunts me because I am a mother.

If I did not have my own children, maybe just maybe, this emotional rollercoaster would grind to a halt and I would just quietly remember my mom on this day. But, I do have kids. And because I am a mother myself, the pain of losing my mother makes my mothering more intense. Make sense?

You see, I groan over the loss of her. Sometimes it is because of her specifically , Rosemary Bingham, that I mourn. The personality, her comments, her jokes. I am the youngest of four children. My sister Karen is 11 years older than me. My siblings all had their children, raised them, and my mother got to be a part of their lives. My sisters and brother all got to "show" my mother how they were as parents. Kind of like a milestone or something like that. And their children all got to know Grandma. They all had a relationship with her. Their own memories, their own experiences, their own stories of her.

Me? Jacob and Sarah? Not really anything. I am, however, incredibly grateful that she was around when I was pregnant with Jacob. She got to be a part of that. She was there when he was born. She did meet him, hold him, love on him. For that, I can not even type right now because the tears are clouding my eyes, I will always thank God.

She moved to South Carolina when he was 4 weeks old. I did have the blessings of several trips to visit her. Again, thank you God.

She died 18 months later.

And sometimes I agonize over the loss of my mother, the role, the institution, the parent. Following me here? Sometimes I miss the luxury of having a mother...any mother. Someone to talk to, someone to love my kids the way Lenny and I do. Someone that I can trust completely. Someone to take the kids for the weekend. Someone to go to lunch with, to hang with, to shop with, to have over for dinner, to ask cooking questions, to make Christmas plans with. Someone that can encourage me when I want to throw in the towel. Someone to just put their arm around me and say that all WILL be ok. It gets better. Someone to say "I am proud of you".

Someone to call Mom.