motherloss

"HONOLULU – Barack Obama's grandmother, whose personality and bearing shaped much of the life of the Democratic presidential contender, has died, Obama announced Monday, one day before the election. Madelyn Payne Dunham was 86." - Associated Press

This news made me sad. Just one night before the election. Surely she would have had such joy at seeing her grandson win. But maybe she already knew he would win, held on as long as she could. Probably didn't want to distract him, sabotage him. Wanted to go on being his rock until it was apparent to the world that he needed no rock -- he was anchored, grounded on his own.

I'm sad because it makes me think of my own mother. How much she shaped me. How sad it was for her to die just weeks before the birth of little Ruby. I can almost taste the emotions that would have burst forth were she present for one more birth.

Joy seeing a precious new life burgeon. All the muscles and nerves locking up, watching a child, a mother herself, suffer through childbirth. Visceral pleasure holding a warm infant, another granddaughter. Pride washing warmly over her as she shared the news with others, reveling in the fuzzy feelings.

But she couldn't be here for Ruby's birth -- she had to let go. And so we had to collapse all that mash of pain, edginess and pleasure into a handful of glances, hand squeezes and other unspoken but palpable messages.

She had boundless concern for me and this baby, just as always. She knew what she was going to miss, but I think she also felt peaceful that even though she would miss it, she could have faith it would go well.

BIRTHday

I got through it. The last two weeks were a steady build up of obsessive thoughts and grief over my mother and my approaching birthday. The day that she gave me life. The day she said I nearly ripped her in half and made her think she was going to die.

 

But she didn’t die that day. She became a mother. My mother.

 

 

Beginnings

It's after 11:00. I should be in bed. Tomorrow I get to go to school with Ruby and Sophie and play with the babies. Then I get to come home to warm, happy and sticky-with-sugar chaos. My niece will celebrate her first birthday here, having traveled all the way from sunny CA to have the big family party in Texas. The Texas Wilsons have definitely reached critical mass.

Sweet babies. It is a treat for us.

But it also makes me think about my mom. Gone for 8 months now. A year ago, she asked me nearly every time I spoke to her, "What day is Kim due?"
"On my birthday."
"On my birthday."
"On my birthday."
Over, and over I answered her...

In retrospect, I see how firmly her illness had grasp of her then.

And so this is where I'm at. Every woman's story at some point. New life is irrepressible: my splendid niece turns 1 year. Tomorrow we'll share this joy as an extended family. And I will get those warm fuzzies that children so easily elicit.

Meanwhile, not in the back of my brain, but right there in front, will be thoughts of my mother -- her death, her giving me life, her immense enjoyment of the intoxicating preciousness of babes.

She's alive in these moments, these thoughts. And I don't know how to let her go or even if I should. Where is my new beginning?