This past summer, I found myself in the park, feeding my daughter at a picnic table. As I watched my partner push my son on the swings, I noticed a young mother nearby with a baby close to my daughter’s age. An older woman, likely her mother, played with a little boy who resembled my son.
As I sipped my coffee, I observed them. When the baby began to fuss, the young mother looked at her mom with a hint of panic, asking, “What do I do?” The older woman instantly picked up the baby, encouraging her daughter, “Take Jake to the playground.” The young mom’s face brightened. “Are you sure?” “Of course,” replied the older woman, soothing the crying infant. The pair dashed off to the playground, leaving the older woman to calm the baby.
A wave of envy washed over me as I looked at my little girl. I don’t have anyone to step in like that for me; my mother passed away several years ago. I didn’t resent the young woman for her support system, yet I felt the absence of my mother keenly. Like many mothers without maternal guidance, I long for her presence for countless reasons.
I wish my mother had known she had a grandson. After a long battle with illness, she passed away when my son was just six weeks old. A devoted mother to her daughters and an adoring aunt to her nephews, she would have been elated to welcome a grandson. Although I brought my son to see her once, I’m unsure if she even remembered that fleeting moment.
I also wish she could have met my daughter. My little girl already embodies the grace and spirit akin to her grandmother. Each smile is delightful, and every movement is elegant. My mother once told me how she could “boss people around with a smile.” I imagine she would have cherished her granddaughter’s charming demeanor.
I long for the meals my mother would have cooked for me after having my babies. A culinary genius, she could recreate any dish after just tasting it. Bringing over a homemade meal for her new grandchild would have filled her with joy.
In times of stress about parenting, I yearn for my mother’s reassuring voice. She would have known how to soothe my worries, while I now turn to Google, friends, and a myriad of parenting books.
I miss the comfort of her shoulder when I felt overwhelmed or inadequate as a parent. No one can truly understand a person like their mother can. I wish my children had another person in their lives who adored them unconditionally, someone who could find their tantrums amusing and play board games without losing interest. My mother, an artist, would have been so proud of my son’s artistic flair. I envision them together, with her guiding his hand as they create art.
Above all, I wish I could express my admiration for her. I only realized her strength and determination after becoming a mother myself. She balanced raising two daughters, managing a home, and pursuing a master’s degree in clinical psychology, dedicating her career to supporting the most challenging individuals in society, including prisoners and the mentally ill.
If you share the experience of being a mother without a mother, you understand this longing. It creates a void that can never be filled. Yet, whenever I gaze into my children’s faces, I feel my mother’s spirit enveloping me, offering comfort. I see her kindness reflected in my daughter’s smile and her fiery spirit alive in my son’s eyes. I hope that wherever she is, she knows how proud I am to be her daughter.
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Summary:
Navigating motherhood without the support of a maternal figure can evoke a profound sense of loss and longing. The author reflects on her experiences as a mother who has lost her own, expressing wishes for her children to know their grandmother and for her to have been present during significant moments. The piece captures the emotional void felt by those in similar circumstances while highlighting the enduring connection between mother and child.