I Want My Mommy

Little Mite doesn't like me to leave him. At 18 months, he may leave me, but not the other way around. Although he doesn't say it, I know quite well that his cry is saying: I want my Mommy. I know the feeling.


She flew up to Heaven on the wings of angels
By the clouds and stars and passed where no one sees
And she walks with Jesus and her loved ones waiting
And I know she's smiling saying Don't worry 'bout me

That's from an Alan Jackson song that makes me cry every time I hear it. Mom's day is still - I might cry for any reason - hard for me. Yep, chocked up during the Mom song video at church this morning. If you haven't seen this one, it really isn't a tear jerker, but it is really funny.

My Mom has been gone for 16 and a half years. Sometimes I think people think the pain should have faded. It has some. Today, just today, I look at it another way: she has been gone 20 grandchildren, including a funeral for one of them and the adoption of another....she has been gone for 4 daughters' weddings and one son's as well....she has been gone for one of their divorces (well, so there is a good side)....she has missed first houses and job changes and firings and illnesses. She isn't there to consult about a recipe, the chickenpox, marriage, teething, sulky teens. And today is the day that I allow myself to have a big old pity party about it.

Since I made my serious entry into a big family with the surprise pregnancy of little Mite the same year I turned 40, I've really felt her absence. There are just not loads of people who have 5 or more, who have children in 3 to 4 different schools, who are simply inundated with laundry loads of socks alone. I was sincerely freaked out when we realized our 5th was on the way. He was quite a shock to us. I felt just like you would expect an expectant mom of 4 when the income consists of one part time job per adult with a 3-bedroom ranch and mortgage and the big 4-0 looming. It took us 5 months 'til we told even family, and I was seriously waiting for them to take me to task. Instead my sisters, the Marys, were thrilled and excited. "Terrific?" I said, "It's terrifying!" "Because we are getting a little older?" asked Sister Mary 1, who is 10 years ahead of me. Crying by now, "Because there are so many of them." I just wanted my Mom. Suddenly I could see her face throughout my childhood and I knew what she was feeling: overwhelmed, tired, hormonal, chained to family, wondering when this season would end or get easier.

I just can't relate to the advice or experiences of the Mom of 2 very well....except as a distant memory of when I thought I had this job in hand. (In fact, all I can often do is smile indulgently and hope they fare better than I.) I need someone who knows they are in waaaaaay over their head and has thrashed their way to shore and can throw me a line. Okay, okay, I know it is our personal ocean to survive, but I would just feel good knowing that they lived to tell the tale. I sometimes think my Mom didn't live to tell the tale. She died when her baby was 21. She didn't get all those perks of watching us all really take flight in our adult lives. She didn't get to enjoy her years of rapidly increasing intelligence in her kids' eyes. And she sure did earn it.