My mom is dead. Even seven years later writing those words feels wrong, like a betrayal. There is a part of me that expects to hear her say, “Dead, Juarina? You’ve really got to stop exaggerating.” Losing my mother is still something I struggle with and doubtlessly always will. Realizing that she will never get to know my child nor my child her is a big part of the loss.
Mom and I were very much alike. I look so much like my mother that random strangers in my hometown have pulled me aside and told me whose daughter I am. There are photos of us as children where one would be hard pressed to say which is the mother and which is the daughter. We were also very alike in temperament, which I allude to briefly in High Anxiety. Like most human beings we were a study of contradictions; laid back, except when stubborn. Open minded, except when opinionated.
Both of my parents have a penchant towards pessimism and negativity. I had no idea how strong it was until I moved out for good in my early twenties. Among other things, I think it’s a remnant of growing up in the Jim Crow South. But Mom’s self esteem issues are a whole other ballgame. I grew up with Mom telling me what a shame it was that I had gotten her hands, her feet, her skin, her stomach, her body type. My appendages were too big. My body too round and too short. Of the kids, intellectually I was the special one. In school I averaged a solid B and struggled with math. In my family B stood for bare minimum.
Home for a visit after moving to Texas I was sitting on the sofa listening to my mother list all the things she did not like about herself. She was just on the physical (I did mention we look alike?) and the list was already extensive. I interrupted and asked, “Mom, is there anything you like about yourself?” She was flummoxed, flabbergasted. Silenced.
Mom had issues. I have issues. My goal is to pass as few of these on to my own daughter as possible.
All that said if I have a relationship with LB like the one my mom and I had I will still count that as a success. Mom was a nerd who introduced me to science fiction and fantasy. My favorite books when I was little were Weeny Witch and Teeny Tiny and the Witch Woman, they were on my shelf in the first place because Mom put them there. I remember watching the original Star Trek series on Sunday mornings as we got ready for church much more clearly than anything in the sermons. An elementary school teacher she is the one who introduced me to Harry Potter. Our taste in other things overlapped as well. To her chagrin I was constantly absconding with her earrings. I have them all now.
I could talk to Mom about almost anything. Often a counselor when the times called for it; we kids knew we could come to her no matter what the reason or circumstance. By the time we moved to New Jersey cellphones had long been ubiquitous. I would call Mom just to compare blouses at the mall. Calls were less often from Korea, but we still talked regularly and chats would last for hours. Mom was incredibly patient, no doubt a trait augmented by four children and thirty plus years of teaching. My eldest niece told me she was trying to describe her Granny to a friend and said Mom was like Mrs. Frizzle from The Magic School Bus. An adventurer who dragged my dad around the country to experience new things from music festivals to white water rafting. Mom was the rider of roller coasters who got a tattoo as retirement gift to herself. She was a free spirit who also managed to be incredibly organized.
How she would have loved Lil Bit. And how LB would have loved her. She would have been a second mom, especially when we lived next door. My in-laws have been amazing and I am damned lucky to have them. But it is not the same. My mother was one of the most amazing people I have ever met. I just wish she’d known it.