Truths My Mother Told Me

When I was very young, maybe seven or eight, I asked my mother a lot of questions. "A lot" isn't really strong enough to capture the number of questions I asked. She would often tell me things like, "You'll understand when you're older."

At that age, I imagined "when you're older" as just magically happening one day. My tiny mind didn't grasp the concept of gradually acquiring knowledge. I just figured that one night I would go to bed not knowing all these things, and then the next morning I would wake up knowing it all. When a couple years passed and this still hadn't happened, I decided that "when you're older" was just something my mom made up to get me to be quiet. I stopped asking so many questions after that.

I was a late bloomer in most regards. As late as ninth grade, I still viewed boys as primarily stupid and disgusting. I didn't really understand what "attraction" meant and I certainly didn't understand why everyone felt the need to be partnered up for dances and crap.

My liking of boys was the first thing that I noticed come about gradually. It wasn't like I woke up one day and decided, "Holy crap, that guy is hot." I grew from dislike to indifference to tolerance to liking to attraction over the course of about a year and a half.

When I had that first crush, one of the first things my mother told me when she found out (somehow) was that "No boy will every be worth it." At the time, I really wanted to ask what "it" meant. I had my suspicions, but I didn't think my mother was talking just about that. At any rate, I was pretty much done asking questions at that point so I just said, "Ok", and left it at that.

The first crush, as usual, didn't pan out to much. I'm pretty sure he didn't even know my name, but that's how it goes. Later I had a couple relationships, followed by a really long one that ended with me wondering why I had wasted so much of my life. That was when I understood. I told my mom, "Thank you", and wished I had really listened to her sooner.

There were lots of "thank yous" that went out to my mom over the years. It's hard to call to mind all the exact circumstances, but there were so many times that nonsensical things she had said just suddenly made sense. And yet, I never viewed my mom as a fount of endless wisdom. She just told me the truth when I could handle it and told me to wait when I couldn't.

I met many other mothers over the years. I had friends who came and went into and out of my life, and their mom's with them. I saw three basic types of mom. There was the cookie backing mom who always had something tasty to offer you and some obscure story or piece of advice. There was the polite mom who seemed to trust her daughter more than perhaps she should, but still had a nervous smile on her face whenever we would go out. And, fortunately less frequently, there was the hovering mom who wanted to know everything about her daughter and barely let us leave the house. I'm sure there are other types of moms, and in fact I know there are, because my mom didn't fit into any of those molds, and I always liked to think she was the only one like her.

My mom had half her head in the clouds and half her head firmly grounded. When she smiled, she meant it, and when she frowned, you knew she was disappointed. She was there for me when I needed her, but didn't force herself on me. She didn't say "I love you" a lot, but yet I knew she did. She seemed lonely sometimes, but she never called just because of that. She always had something to say and some reason to say it. She didn't talk just to talk. For most of my life, I have tried to be the same.

I've decided I never want to have children. I've been married for five years, and my husband got into it knowing my stance. If he ever backs out on that part, I know it won't be worth it. My mom taught me that.

I never want to have children because I could never stand any living creature loving me as much as I loved my mom, and I don't think I could ever be as wonderful as my mom was.

The day of my mom's funeral was the hardest day of my life, and I don't wish such torment on any one. They say losing a child is the worst feeling ever, but if I did ever have a child, I'd almost rather lose her than have her go through the torment of living me.

I don't know how many people have ever truly felt alone, but I did the day my mom died. In between the tears, I fought to remember all the wonderful things she had told me over the years, but I couldn't remember a single one at the time. That was terrible.

I'm not going to bore you with all the other things I've remembered now. I just wanted to take the time to write, like I do every year, to remind myself of how special my mom was to me. There was one thing I do remember her saying, that I never forget now, and that was "Nothing lasts here forever."

Those were the last words she said to me.

It seemed fitting.

I wonder often why she chose to say "here". My mother wasn't a terribly religious person, so I don't think she was referring to eternity, but maybe she was. I do know she had faith and hope, even though she didn't speak of them much. Mostly, I just think it's another one of those things that I won't understand until much later.

And this time, I won't be able to thank her.

Some things do come suddenly. Mostly, it's the things you don't want to come at all.

I love you, Mom. Rest in peace.