We moved this weekend. Our fourth- and final- move on this block. What can I say? We like this block.
Moving is exciting and exhausting, even when it is just across the street. The two weeks leading up to the move had me walking through our house, feeling totally discontent with the level of crazy and mess, but knowing it would just be like that for a while longer. One of my kids has been particularly difficult to enjoy lately and it dawned on me that maybe that child feels discontent with the crazy and mess, too. I don’t know why it would only be the adults who feel that way.
The good thing about moving is the intention/ambition to go through all the things, once again, and find a home for all of it. If there’s no home for it, I am likely to pitch it. My “donate” pile is pretty large right now and I have already taken multiple trips to Goodwill before we moved. Inevitably, though, I hit a wall of weariness with all of the things and just start putting them anywhere to “deal with it later” and then don’t. So we’ll see how I am doing in a few weeks, and if there will still be boxes lining the dining room at that point.
On another topic, Mothers Day was this weekend. Oh, you didn’t know? You must live under a rock.
It has been almost 11 years since my mom died. She met my then-boyfriend/now-husband, but has missed my move to Charlottesville, my wedding, my grad school graduation, my four kids. My four moves on the same block.
I remember when I moved to Charlottesville, right after she died, and I realized she wouldn’t be coming to town to take me shopping at Bed, Bath, and Beyond. That’s a mom thing to do- take me shopping for the extra pair of sheets and a new toilet scrub brush. But I suppose I did that trip on my own.
I remember the first spring without her. There was a day when everything turned green and it occurred to me that this was the first spring she was not here for.
That first year or so was all like that. It was a constant awareness, with big punches of particular sadness that hit me.
Now the punches are less frequent. I can- and do- enjoy Mother’s Day and the punch is not as intense. But now- 11 years later- it is still a dull pain that she is not here. It surfaces differently at different times.
Some of what I have done without her- my wedding, and having babies- I got to see her do with my siblings. So I can sort of imagine how she would have done that with me. Like, I saw her care a ton about certain details of my sister’s wedding, so I imagine how she would have had the same opinions about mine. I probably would have felt annoyed with her (and her with me) during some of that process. (But I do think she would have loved my dress. Mainly because I found it at an outlet store when my sister and I were shopping for flip flops, and it cost $89. Right up my mom’s alley.)
I saw her with my oldest nephew and nieces when they were toddlers and babies. So I can picture her with my kids as little babies or toddlers. But I feel sad that I don’t have a clear imagination of her with my almost-7 year old. I didn’t get to see that. So the template isn’t there to insert my older kids into now.
I saw my mom navigate having adult kids who did grown-up things like buy houses and get real jobs and stuff. So I can insert myself into that, even though I had neither when she died. But I didn’t see her watch her child turn 40, or see a grandchild through a big surgery, or welcome a grandchild from the other side of the globe through adoption. I imagine her into those situations, but don’t really know how she would have navigated them.
Would she have fussed and prayed and worried around me during his surgery at Johns Hopkins? Or stayed in Loudoun and met with her bible study group that morning to pray? I don’t know. Probably whatever I asked her to do, but I don’t get to really know the answer. No template.
Here’s a template I do have for my mom; one that I thought of yesterday. I was particularly snappy with my two oldest kids last night. We talked about it and I told them I was sorry, and asked their forgiveness. That is a page from my mom’s book. That is me, stepping into what I remember of her.