(56 Weeks)
Tomorrow is the 97th anniversary of my mother’s birth. She died almost 12 years ago. I shared her eulogy here in 2015.
To be clear when I say, “Mom”, I am referring to my adoptive mother. She is my mom. The only one I have, really. When I refer to my birthmother, I simply say that: “birthmother” or maybe “biological mother” or “bio-mother” If I am specifically addressing her, it’s by her first name. When speaking with my siblings, I also refer to her by her first name or as “our mother.” Never Mom. I’ve tried it a few times and it feels awkward. Maybe a bit disingenuous. That’s just not the relationship we had or have.
Growing up I always felt closer to my father. Part of it may have been that she was more of the enforcer of rules and dad came off as the fun parent. Or maybe it was because she forced me to eat vegetables. Maybe my personality just aligned better with my father’s.
Another theory I read about as an adult is that as an adoptee, I lost the connection to my mother right after birth. Then in the first two years of my life, my caregivers (the Sisters of Mercy) were all women and upon my move to the US and adoption, I lost them too. My dad was the first male with whom I had a relationship and history showed that my relationships with women were temporary.
Regardless, I was aware of this, and I think felt guilty at times, with no clear understanding of how to fix it.
Mother’s Day weekend 1990 was also the weekend of my 25th Birthday. Although I was living on my own by then, my parents planned a long weekend family trip to the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York. I’m not sure why, but I embarked on that road trip without a Mother’s Day gift for my mom. My dad probably reminded me about a gift for her like he always did. I may have fibbed and told him I had something figuring I’d find something appropriate in the hotel gift shop.
It was often like that with my mom. I’d plan out the perfect gift for my father’s special occasion and then be at a loss when it came to my mom. Often it wound up being some Jean Nate from the drug store and a homemade card.
My mom always said she like the card the best. “Home made gifts are always the most special,” she’d say.
Remembering that, what I wound up doing that weekend at Cooperstown was writing her a letter. I told her how much I appreciated her and all she had done for me over the years. I let her know how I understood the difficultly she must have faced waiting for me for almost two years. I shared many of the things I learned from her and how she inspired me. It turned into the greatest gift I ever gave her. Until my dad died.
My mom and I got to spend almost 6 years with lots of one-on-one time after he passed. Those were difficult years. I have lots of regrets and often beat myself up thinking I should have done more. But mostly, in that time, we created memories that just belong to her and me.
Did you really think this wasn’t going to include a fundraiser? It’s me. Of course it is! Over the course of these 60 weeks, I am hoping to raise $6000 for the children of Mercy Home for Boys & Girls (that’s just $100 a week!). To learn more about Mercy Home and my why, please visit my fundraising page. Thank you.
