Losing a Parent Made Me a Better One

I hear it all the time – “It must be so hard going through all of this without your mom here.”

Yes, it is. But so was everything else.

Do I wish my mom was there the night I found out I was pregnant?
Yes.

Do I wish my mom could have helped me pick out the crib for the nursery or when I found out the sex of my baby?

Of course.

Do I wish she had been there to hold my hand and tell me it was going to be okay when the doctor told me a Caesarian would have to happen?

Absolutely.

Do I wish my mom could have curled up in the bed next to me and smile with tears in her eyes at the life I had created?

More than anything.

But I also wish she had been there the day I found out I’d been accepted to University of Florida, and the day I graduated high school. I wish she had been there for move in day. I wish she could have met the man who fathered my child, I wish she could see the way he looks at me, the way he looks at our son.

I’ve missed out on a lot of things because I lost her, but losing her has made me better, stronger, more aware.

I understand the value of time. I understand the need for patience. I understand how important the memories I’m making now are. I only had 16 years of memories with my mom, but they shaped who I am, the kind of parent I am.

I don’t mind being selfless. I don’t mind giving everything I have to my son. I’m making the memories now that he will carry with him long after I leave.
Life is harder, but it’s gratifying.

It’s okay that I’m 21 and staying home on a Friday night. My mom would have done it for me, she did  do it for me. We would lie on the bed, under our blankets, and watch Lifetime and eat whatever was in the fridge. Sometimes she would make us oatmeal cookies. She was always choosing me first, and I’m eternally grateful.

Those are the memories I have of her – her selflessness, her kindness, her patience, her unconditional love.

I remember her telling me about how I used to sleep in her arms and how my body just fit perfectly next to her body. Now, when my baby sleeps in my arms and he fits just perfectly next to mine, I think of her.

There are little things every day that remind me of her, at first, it hurt. It hurt to look at my son and know that she never will. But now, I’ve come to realize that she’s looking at him through me. That’s why I feel her all the time – in my actions, in my thoughts, in my calming melodies and sweet words.

I know everyone appreciates their parents when they become parents, but this is so much more than appreciation – it’s understanding, connecting, embracing.

I lost a parent when I was still a child, and it has made me a more patient, more kind, more selfless mother for my child.