Untethered: Navigating Loss, Love and Life

Reconciling unfinished business with my mom

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When I tell people about the sudden loss of my mother, I often follow up with, “But she was 80.” I think I feel like the sudden loss of my mother shouldn’t have rocked me as hard as it did. My follow-up statement is some kind of apology to a question not yet asked: “How old was she?”

It’s strange to talk about the loss of my mom. First, it still feels unreal, and also, at my age, is it appropriate to feel so untethered and undone? I mean, parents age, and then they die. It’s a natural course of life.

My Mom and I

My mom and I had a complicated but loving relationship. She had me in 1971 at the age of 29. She was a beehive hairdo, miniskirt wearing smoking (literally smoking cigarettes) knockout who walked out of the hospital in her pre-pregnancy clothes. I heard that story a million times growing up, about her walking out of the hospital, super thin and “back to normal.” She was forever stylish, skinny, and proud of it.

I think growing up in the 1970s and 1980s lent itself to complicated, loving relationships with parents. It was not a generation of parents prone to sharing feelings or showing patience. We were a generation of latchkey kids left to fend for ourselves in many ways — emotionally, physically, and relationally.

My childhood wasn’t terrible. As far as I knew, I had stability in the form of a home, food, clothing, and two parents who stayed married. As the youngest of four by nine years, I was like an only child when I entered middle school. If I am brutally honest, it was a bit before that because my siblings were moving in and out by the time I was in fifth grade. I don’t like to think of myself in only child terms, but that is a story for another time. I could write volumes about the complex dynamics of my family of origin.

The complicated relationship between my mom and me consisted of an intricate dance of give and take or often sit and wait it out on my part. She was a martyr “doing everything” around the house and complaining about it loudly but never accepting any help. She and my dad struggled mostly due to money, which I was both aware of and intentionally oblivious to. The three of us stumbled our way through life, and when I eventually left home, a newlywed at 22, we grew apart and together in an ebb and flow I wish I could re-do knowing what I know now at 52.

My dad passed in 2004 after losing his battle with non-Hodgkins lymphoma, and from there, my relationship with my mom grew even more complicated. I needed things from my mother that she was unable to give. She needed something from me as her adult daughter that I was unable to give. In our own ways, we kept trying and ended up having some good and some very tumultuous times relationally.

I Thought We Had More Time

Anyone who knew my mom thought she would live to be 90 or older. She was very healthy, active, and proactive about her health. She always went to her doctor’s appointments, followed all their advice and instructions, worked out regularly, and was still working at 80!

She was packing and preparing to head to my house for Christmas in December 2022. She was scheduled to fly out the next day, but suddenly, she was gone — literally here one minute and gone the next.

When my brother called in his own state of shock and despair, I fell to the floor in disbelief. She wasn’t sick or hurt. She was just gone. I remember ruminating, “I thought we had more time. I thought we had more time.”

I thought we had more time to work on our complicated relationship.

The very day before, in my therapy session, I had focused on my mother, which is not uncommon for me in therapy. In that particular session, I started to make a concrete plan with my therapist about ways to connect with my mom and meet her where she was emotionally and mentally.

I wanted desperately to connect with my mom.

Simplify our relationship.

Strengthen it.

Appreciate it.

Enjoy it for whatever time we had left.

I thought we had at least another ten years. I did not realize it was only 24 hours.

I was not prepared for the guttural response I would have to her passing. I mean, she was 80. Older parents die. It is a natural part of life. Why was I feeling so lost? I think the suddenness is what got me. The unresolved complications I was focused on and determined to resolve.

I thought we had more time.

Untethered

The loss of my mom left me feeling untethered. It signaled a passing of the baton of sorts. My husband and I instantly became the one level of life left between chronological aging and death and our kids. Between the two of us, she was our last living parent.

I felt like an unmanned ship bobbing in a huge ocean with no land in sight for a while. Even though our relationship was complicated, it was loving and a big part of my identity. I am rooted in the foundation of family my parents were able to provide, and part of that was they were always there. After my dad passed, my mom was always there — unavailable in many ways but also available in many other ways.

For years, I held on to and took steps towards a dream of resolution, forgiveness, friendship, and togetherness — something I desired to be able to offer and receive from my mom. Without this defining relationship in my life, who am I? Feeling so untethered, I had to find a way to ground myself in who I am without her.

15 Months and Two Birthdays have Passed

Today is the second of my mom’s birthdays since her passing. Some days, it feels like longer than 15 months since her sudden death, especially when living through milestones like birthdays. She would have been 82 today.

Waves of sadness still overwhelm me sometimes, and I have to remind myself it’s been less than two years. Some days, I still find myself thinking about picking up my phone to call her, then remembering I can’t.

Losing my mom so suddenly has made me realize that if there is something I want to say or work out with someone I love, I should not wait. If there is something I want to do, I need to do it sooner rather than later. It has inspired me to take action. Before, I lived life thinking I still had time, and I would always have time.

Since my mom’s passing, I have started to write again. I am back in school pursuing my master’s in Clinical Mental Health Counseling. I have become a grandmother for the first time. Life is moving on, and I am living it, embracing my age and stage of life. Oh, how I wish I could call her with all the details.

Through my own complications and imperfections as their mom, my desire and hope for my adult daughters is to be who I needed as a daughter and who they need in their adult lives.

I realize now that being a mom, having a mom, and accepting yourself and your mom will never look the same for anyone, including my own girls and myself.

I am thankful for the mom I had. I wish I told her that more often.

Happy heavenly birthday, Mom. I miss you.

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