Thirty-nine Years

Thirty-nine years. 

Thirty-nine years ago on December 27th my mother died. She had been diagnosed three months earlier with lung cancer, and although in 1978 lung cancer was technically a death sentence no one told her children she was going to die. 

Two days after a very sad Christmas she left this earth, and left behind a grieving husband, and six children ranging in age from eight to twenty-two. I being the oldest had known her the longest, and perhaps was the luckiest for having done so. 

As I look back on those thirty-nine years I have come to the conclusion that although, I was fortunate to have made it through my childhood years with a mother, I and my siblings really missed out on not having a mother during our adult years. 

Of course, the no mother at your wedding or at the birth of your children are obvious reasons.  However, it wasn't until my own daughter was an adult that I fully grasped the depth of my loss. 

I remember reading a book long ago by Hope Edelman entitled Motherless Daughters. Her book stressed the fact that no matter what age you lose your mother each age brings its own set of consequences. 

I had really only known my mother during my girlhood, and had entered my adult years on my own with no one to offer any advice or guidance. As my adult daughter turned to me with questions I realized for the first time that I had never experienced that. I pretty much had maneuvered my way through my adult life on my own. 

This year was a little sadder than most because it was the first year that both of my parents were gone. I found myself on the verge of tears several times as I reflected on that fateful day thirty-nine years ago. I can honestly say it was the single worst day of my life. 

A broken heart eventually mends, but it seems to want to protect itself from further harm. Thirty-nine years is a long time.