Anniversaries

Love for a mother is something so primal, so essential, it transcends all offense and harm.

The 15th anniversary of my mother's death is approaching. I don't think of her as dead. Her energy was present in every corner of every space she occupied, and I suspect that the 50 percent of my DNA that carries her energy keeps her living in my conscious and unconscious mind. And then there's the 25 percent of my son's DNA that carries her energy. Between the two of us, there's no chance I'll stop feeling her presence.

She did much harm. I'd like to think she couldn't help herself, but based on my own behavior and impulses, I think she could have helped herself a bit more than she did. A part of me is very angry at her, still. But the evolving mother in me is also deeply compassionate and empathic. She was tortured. I never really found out the truth of what happened to her growing up. I do know there was emotional cruelty, physical abuse, and an unconventional quality about her that seemed to make connections with others difficult and, sometimes, tortured. She was a soul in unfulfilled need until the day she died; this much I know for sure.

So I sit here and sob and say mommy, mommy, mommy over and over again and try to imagine a place for her energy in my life where the toxicity is instructive and the love is nurturing. Because the love I have for my mother is so deep and primal, it pushes beyond reason and into the hollows of my soul that are starved for unconditional love.

Happy anniversary of your liberation, mommy.