Happy Mother’s Day.
I wonder if people wonder how it feels to be motherless. Not like they dream of it, no one will dream of that kind of absence. Just… wonder. Now let me tell you.
2016, I and my brothers had to go through the second Mother’s Day without our mother.
I personally don’t feel like she’s completely gone despite the absence of her physical presence. She had taught me that we can always send our love to our loved ones by prayers, modestly asking Allah to keep them safe and joyful, even if they no longer walk the Earth. I can’t thank her more.
And thank you for the people who contributed in the innovation that enables people to take photographs.
Being motherless gives me so many different feelings. In case you’re wondering, let me share some points that hopefully will depict what it’s like to be motherless.
When you’re motherless and your friends boast and talk about their mothers and on some points you want to talk about yours too, you will feel these eyes on you rubbing a different sensation right on your face. Being the good friends they are, the look in their eyes will gradually change. Perhaps they just don’t want you to break down, or tear up, or anything that includes feeling sad.
They don’t realize that you just want to talk about her like a daughter whose mother is breathing at home, cooking something for lunch.
I truly hate that part so much.
I hate to feel like people pity me everytime I talk about my mother. I never know what was going on their minds as those eyes calmed down, offering the warmth they thought I needed. I hope they were remembering their mother instead of trying to reach my emotions.
The thing I learned some months later after experiencing that inconvenience is that it’s better to remember about my mother alone.
I often feel it’s awkward to prevent myself from talking about my mother. But then, there’s something that’s not less awkward. It’s when someone talks about how one’s mother assigns her house chores.
It satisfies me if she’s okay with it because then I’ll go on with my mind peacefully. But when she complains, that’s when it’s awkward for me simply because it makes me want to say “Well, I’d give my life to have my mother assign me other chores now.”
When a daughter loses a mother, the intervals between grief responses lengthen over time, but her longing never disappears. It always hovers at the edge of her awareness, prepared to surface at any time, in any place, in the least expected ways.
I came across this unbelievably relatable quote a few weeks ago. I spent an hour and a little bit more to savor similar quotes by Hope Edelman, to breathe in the familiarity, to engrave deeper in my mind that I’m not the only motherless daughter and I don’t always have to remember her alone.
a mother’s death also means the loss of the consistent, supportive family system that once supplied her with a secure home base, she then has to develop her self-confidence and self-esteem through alternate means. Without a mother or mother-figure to guide her, a daughter also has to piece together a female self-image of her own.
Hope Edelman strikes again. But here’s the good thing, Allah always surrounds me with the best things, including people, that are the most suitable for my self-development. In this case, they’re my relatives, my friends, my friends’ mothers, my seniors, famous inspiring women, and many more. I know it’s a different thing to be guided by my own mother and to be guided with the people who merely know some of all personality layers that I have. But, what else can I do?
Life goes on, and I must nourish a part of her that still lives within me in the best way, and by the best way, I mean to nourish it with good advices, good habits, life lessons, gratefulness and good people.
“When one parent dies, the world is dramatically altered, absolutely, but you still have another one left. When that second parent dies, it’s the loss of all ties, and where does that leave you? You lose your history, your sense of connection to the past. You also lose the final buffer between you and death. Even if you’re an adult, it’s weird to be orphaned.”
Again, -Hope Edelman
I think no one will be able to relate to this unless one had experienced it. Yes, it feels like that. Enough said about that.
“I miss her when I can’t remember what works best on insect bites, and when nobody else cares how rude the receptionist at the doctor’s office was to me. Whether she actually would have flown in to act as baby nurse or mailed me cotton balls and calamine lotion if she were alive isn’t really the issue. It’s the fact that I can’t ask her for these things that makes me miss her all over again.”
or when somewhere, somehow, you smell her body scent.
Being motherless doesn’t make me want to kill myself, or do anything to harm myself. Yes, it’s heartbreaking. It’s a different kind of heartbreak and intense emotion. It’s like a sting that enters your brain, throat, and chest that later transforms into a burst motivations, because eventually I know she never wanted me to give up, and she always believed in me.
This post isn’t personal. I’m not the only person who is familiar with these thoughts. There are so many motherless daughters and sons in this world, yet they’ll always be daughters, and the sons will always be sons no matter what.
“No matter how old we are, we yearn for a mother’s love throughout our lives, reaching for the security and comfort we believe only she can provide at times of illness, transition, or stress.”
There is no love as pure, unconditional and strong as a mother’s love.
Happy Mother’s Day.