Tag: mom

The Day You Died

On April 15, 2003, you died, but I died too. The girl I was up until that day, died. She died in a car crash along with her mother. A part of grief that hurts so much is that you’re dealing with a loss and the loss of yourself, because you really do not know how to go on without the person. After that day of loss, I lost myself too. I had to rebuild myself and adjust without you on Earth. The new me, is missing a lot of parts; only ones a mother could fill.

Everyday I hear your voice come out of my mouth, not what you’d say but your actual pitch and tone—It’s terrifying and amazing but it makes me fearful of speaking at times.

Sometimes I see your face in the mirror when I’m putting on my make up, and I briefly gasp and look away. I’m turning into you more and more.

I hear your voice in my head all day-saying what I think you’d reply to my usual million questions. I have conversations with you, and imagine the advice you’d give. I have searched (and will continue to search) everywhere for that feeling only a mother could provide-that calming feeling of relief that “everything will be okay.” To say I miss you does not apply. As miss means “fail to notice, hear, or understand.” I always understood you the most. My entire being aches from your absence. I cry and scream, and hold my two hands together, pretending one is yours, to comfort myself, as you taught me.

Hearing your voice in mine, seeing your face in mine, is all I have left of you.

You’re Just Like Your Mother

Growing up, my father would constantly use this statement as an insult towards me. As if being like her were the worst thing in the world. Sure, she was mentally ill. It was difficult for her to multitask and she was extremely codependent. But, she was also extremely intelligent, funny, and beautiful.

One day, after another session of berating me, I turned to my father and said “good, I hope I’m like her, she’s amazing.” He never said it again after that day.

Despite my rebuttal, this still effects me everyday. When I’m too emotional, I question if I’m acting like my mother. I’m constantly comparing my life and hers. It’s an awful process, and there is a lot of guilt involved. The truth is, I’m terrified of becoming “like my mother.” Towards the end of her life, she was prescribed Thorazine to get through the day. She couldn’t work, and she was living in a rented room. I would like to think I have her best qualities.