As I lay next to my mother, my eight-month pregnant belly overshadowing her frail frame, she took her last breath. The next morning, I forced myself to attend an ultrasound appointment, yearning for the reassurance that life still lingered within me, even as everything around me suggested otherwise. While my mother’s lifeless form was being taken away from my childhood home, the doctor revealed a vivid image on the screen—a vibrant baby, positioned and thriving.
At 26, I received the devastating news from my mother that she had been diagnosed with cancer and had only three to six months left. After a moment of hyperventilation, during which my roommate’s repeated exclamations of “It’s so awful, it’s so awful, it’s so awful” pulled me into a stupor, my first thought was of my future children—how they would never know their grandmother. Just a day later, I dropped out of my nearly finished graduate program and moved across the country to my childhood room. Fortunately, my mother was still alive when I became pregnant three years later, though her health was rapidly declining.
As my pregnancy progressed, my mother’s condition worsened. She lost her hair, eyelashes, and eyebrows, followed by a staggering amount of weight and vitality. Meanwhile, I was experiencing the joys of pregnancy—my skin glowed, my hair flourished, and my nails grew long and strong. By the time I entered my second trimester, my mother could no longer breathe or walk without assistance. It was heart-wrenching to witness her transformation into someone so vulnerable at a moment when I needed her strength the most.
On a conscious level, I managed to suppress the thought that my mother wouldn’t be alive for my son’s birth. Yet with every passing week of my pregnancy, a fragile glimmer of hope accumulated, as she clung to life, desperate to meet her first grandchild.
While I have needed my mother throughout my life, her absence was felt most acutely when my son was born. The void she left was profound and often unbearable. Every joyful moment I shared with my son felt tainted by the realization that she couldn’t partake in them. I longed to send her videos of his laughter and his playful kisses to our dog, knowing she would have struggled to watch them (“Sweetie, I opened your email, but where’s the video? Nothing’s happening…”). I wished to ask her about my own infancy and the experiences we shared. I wanted to forgive her for misunderstandings that I now comprehend as a mother.
In her absence, my connection to her deepened. After her passing, I encountered well-meaning individuals who tried to console me by suggesting that my son and mother had met in spirit or that her essence lived on through him. While I appreciated their sentiments, they didn’t ease my sorrow. As someone who does not adhere to any religious beliefs, I found no comfort in notions of an afterlife connection. Similarly, I didn’t see my son’s resemblance to her as a meaningful link.
What resonates most deeply with me is the understanding that my mother continues to live through my parenting. Our mother-daughter relationship was never one of identical appearances or best friends; we were quite different in many respects. However, her influence is ever-present in my role as a mother. I am who I am because of her, and my son feels that love. He knows the warmth she would have given him.
In the months following my son Theo’s arrival, I experienced vivid dreams of trying to unite him with my mother. In my waking life, reminders of her absence were stark and painful. There were moments when I almost forgot she was gone, allowing myself to momentarily believe that I could share the joy of his first steps with her. Perhaps someday, I will truly come to terms with her absence.
If you’re interested in exploring more about the journey of motherhood and the avenues of home insemination, you can check out this insightful post about the at-home intracervical insemination syringe kit. Additionally, Positive Results on Our First Attempt provides valuable insight from those who have walked a similar path. For more resources regarding pregnancy and home insemination, visit Progyny’s blog.
Summary:
This personal narrative recounts the author’s experience of becoming a mother shortly after losing her own mother to cancer. It explores themes of grief, longing, and the enduring influence of maternal love, emphasizing the complexity of motherhood and the irreplaceable absence of a parent. Despite the challenges, the author finds solace in the ways her mother’s legacy continues through her own parenting journey.