A letter to my mother

I did not originally write this letter for my blog. It was a private undertaking from me, to my mother. I hope that adding it to my blog doesn't feel like exploitation of precious memories. I wrote it this morning, Mother's Day morning, after looking through pictures of my mother and missing her. I want to put it in my blog because it is part of this journey and another thing that took me by surprise. I have not felt much sorrow at being pregnant without my mom alive. Part of me knows it is there--this void, this grief--but the novelty of pregnancy has kept me preoccupied. Today, however, memories of my mother and the pain caused by her absence hit me as people wished me a Happy Mother's Day for the first time. So, here's the letter I wrote my mom. Happy Mother's Day to all of you moms out there. Love your mothers, and make sure that they know it.

Dear Mom,
Today is Mother’s Day, 2009. I’m over 32 weeks pregnant, so I’m about to embark on motherhood. I have gotten many Mother’s Day wishes already, and I guess they took me by surprise. I feel very mixed emotions as I write this. I am excited to become a mother. Nervous, anxious, overwhelmed, yes. But mostly eager and excited. But, I miss you. So much. You were an excellent model of motherhood, but this is my 5th Mother’s Day without you. And as I prepare for motherhood, I can only yearn for you, for the talks we might be having as the big day arrives, and for the comfort of my mother’s physical presence.
Yesterday, Debbie, Judy and Juli gave me a baby shower. Today, we will take Judy to Mother’s Day Brunch. She is the best mother-in-law I could hope for, and I know she will be an excellent grandmother. I want you to know that I am loved and supported, and that your granddaughter will be, too. Nobody can replace you, but I am fortunate to have many loving females in my life.
I got a voicemail from Jenny’s mom, Cindy, this morning. She said, “Isn’t it special to be in the middle of two such amazing generations?” It is. It is an honor and a responsibility to follow your lead as a mother. Not only do I want to emulate the unconditional love that you gave me, but I want to honor you as a presence in my daughter’s life. How can I make sure my daughter knows you? How can I communicate to her the depth of your spirit and generosity, the love you had for life and family, the passion you brought to your work and interactions with others? I still grieve that you are not with me, but I feel it is an injustice that my daughter will not know you, will never be held by you or spoiled by you.
I was looking through an envelope I have of pictures of you. They span from a childhood portrait of you, to pictures of you when you were sick, weeks before you died. I found a picture of you pregnant, with me, at your baby shower. And I found a picture of you holding me. The back of that picture says, in your handwriting, “1st outing- Denise goes to Dr’s. Age 1 ½ weeks.” I’m sleeping in your arms, wearing a cozy pink knitted jacket and bonnet. You are smiling. You look great: fairly rested, comfortable with an infant. I will cherish these pictures. I can appreciate them in a way I could not a year ago.
I feel like this letter is inadequate: a poorly-composed, formal attempt to communicate with you. I need you to know that you are in my thoughts every day, that pregnancy has made Mother’s Day a happy occasion again, but that my grief is perhaps deeper this year, because I am grieving not only for myself, but for my daughter, who will have your name as part of hers. I love you, as much as I ever have, and I know that she—my daughter, your granddaughter—will love you, too. You are part of her; genetically you contributed to her. I take it on as my job to make sure that your energy, your spirit, your lust for life is passed onto her as well.
I miss you, Mom. But I know you are nearby. Most of all, I love you. Denise