I wonder what my mom was like. Odd question that ... but I guess its one I'll never have an answer to. One that maybe I shouldn't be asking. You see, my mom died when I was a baby.
- "You can't miss what you've never known..." they say... and I guess they're right - but hey, you can dream about it. You can dream, and yearn, and wish for it... until your heart bleeds. Lately? I've been giving her a lot of thought; My Mom, that is. Maybe more thought than I should be sparing.
There's always been times when I've thought about her; But recently? I've been thinking about her way more than usual.
Maybe its because it's Mothers Day on Sunday... and all the shops are filled with flowers, and balloons, and random excuses to lavish your mother with expensive gifts, and tokens of affection. It's hard Not to think about her. Hard not to imagine how different my life might be now, if she was here. "I wonder what I'd have bought for mom ..." I found myself pondering, as I browsed through the supermarket - passing all of the pretty cards, with the sentimental verses, ALL addressed to 'The World's Greatest Mom'.
I spent ages thinking about what she might have liked best - Ages imagining how she'd have gleefully reacted when I shook her awake on mothers day morning, and presented her with my well thought out gifts.
I soon decided that she'd have liked some red roses - the real ones, which smell really good, and I even picked out a silver necklace that I just knew would have looked great on her... but then I realised how stupid I was being - How would I know what she'd have liked? How could I ever know what she'd have looked good in? I never even knew her. Never saw her smile, or heard her laugh.
; She got snatched away before I even knew how to love her. And got replaced by an emotion I can't quite explain... It doesn't hurt... it doesn't make me cry. It's just there. An endless curiosity. A silly yearning. I've just painted some inaccurate, romanticised picture of her in my head. An image which becomes more far-away, and more unreachable with every year that I live. Yet, I still love to imagine her. I've been doing it for as long as I can remember - picturing random little scenario's in my head; like her being there at the gate to pick me up from school, or like, her helping me practice my lines for an audition. Little things, that everyone else, takes for granted. I've just been doomed forever to dream. This is the woman who gave me life - the woman who gave her life, to save my own ... and It's like she never existed. Because she didnt; not to me. Well, maybe I'm lying there. Because, of course she existed to me... just not in human form.
When I was very young, "Mom" existed in the whispers of distant relatives, and family friends who thought I was too young to understand their murmers Of -"Awww... poor little guy. Isn't it tragic that he lost his mother so young?"
Yes, I was too young to know the meaning of tragic ... but I was old enough to feel it. To hear it. To confuse myself with it. When I grew old enough to question the lack of her existance, "Mom" existed in a shadow - as it was the shadow of her death, which was always there. - The shadow that cast it's darkness over my fathers face when ever I'd pluck up the courage to innocently ask, "Where's my mommy, daddy? Why aint I got a mommy like all the other children?". - the same shadow that crept over my dad, whenever the anniversary of her death, or birthday came round. I grew to learn, and accept - that the shadow is in ME. I share Moms love of music. I share her eyes. I share her smile. I share her soul. I know I remind my dad of her... because everyone who ever knew my mom, always comments on how much I'm like her. How painful must that be, for dad? Everyday, he gets to see a constant reminder of his lost sweet heart. Everyday, the ghost of his past, dances before his eyes. Dad will still brush off the subject of my "mom" even now. And it's such a hard topic to address - I mean, what do I say? If I ask my dad anything, I fear the memories will go and break his heart all over again... I could ask my grandparents... but they loved my mom just as much as dad did. Even now, almost nineteen years on... it still hurts them. A couple of weeks ago, I decided to do a bit of research into my mom's death. - People would always ask me, "What happened to your mother?" And I'd shrug; ashamed that I wasnt really sure.
I always knew she died of something to do with Postpartum Eclampsia. I've heard my dad talk about it, but he's never gone into detail - so I decided to look it up myself, and do a bit of reading around the subject. It was something I'd always spared myself from before. I didn't want to learn how my mom died - I knew it wasn't nice... I knew it would make me feel guilty. The first website I found described it as, "a rare, frightening, and potentially tragic complication of hypertensive pregnancies, usually developing within 48 hours of delivery. " ... that sent a shiver down my spine. So I checked another source, and read, "Eclampsia - a dramatic and often unpredictable complication of pregnancy-induced hypertensive disorders, is characterized by sudden hypertension, proteinuria, edema, and seizures." ... and I thought, "shit! Thats horrible... I dont want to hear about my mom suffering... about my mom dying because of me." So I surrendered my search, and gave in; suddenly realising exactly how painful it must be for my dad, and my family; to talk about this. Sometimes I think that its not fair. Everyone else has a mom. Everyone else knows their mom. Everyone else knows thats their mother is unconditionally proud.
But me? I dont even have a memory of my mom. Not one. But then I childishly remember the words of J.K.Rowling, in "Harry Potter and the Philosopher/ Sorcorers Stone..." - "Your mother died to save you... a love as powerful as your mothers for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign... to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protesction forever. It is in our very skin..." And I remember that She's still with me. She'll never leave. She'll love me always... and no amount of time, circumstance, or anything - no amount of anything - could ever sway that fact. So, the message of this entry? Love your mom. Cherish her. Appreciate her...
Simply because you have the chance...
Love, Ryan xxx