On Turning 41
What you’re reading isn’t what I had originally planned but that’s how the cookie crumbles sometimes. I took a break from writing and by the time I returned, something else is on my mind, and heart, asking to be shared . I’d like to try to express it here, but please bear with me as this is more of an off the cuff piece than a revised one.
Two days ago, I started to write about my 6 year anniversary with my husband, and how because our first date was on the night before my birthday I like to call him my early birthday present. I wanted to tell you all about how wonderful this man is, as well as the origin story of The 10 Days of TiffMas (customized song included) that he so amazingly created, just for me. He knows this time of year, especially my birthday, is tender and bittersweet since the passing of my mother and he goes above and beyond every year to make sure I feel showered in love and spoiled rotten. I wanted to tell you how magical our relationship feels and how I don’t understand why I’ve been gifted this second chance in love when I know so many people who have been searching for their own magical love story, some their entire lives.
41 years ago (yesterday), along with my premature birth, my mother became a mother. I know the transition from “me” to “we” didn’t come easy for her. Not only was it her first time becoming a mother, but it was her first time living on this Earth as well and we all know neither come with instruction manuals. She had her struggles and her baggage, but we made a good team, enjoyed each other’s company, and became great friends.
I watched as she dated and married multiple times, falling in and out of love, searching her entire life for her soulmate but I don’t think she ever found the kind of love she was looking for. And yet, that never stopped her from trying, from loving. And I know she loved me fiercely, somehow always going above and beyond, even in the hard times, to make me feel special. She was my best friend, my biggest cheerleader, and she knew me better than anyone else.
The most painful part of grieving her loss is feeling that no matter how much anyone else loves me, they will never love me as much as my mother, or in the way she did. She always said she lived her life vicariously through me. In the almost 12 years she’s been gone I’ve tried to make the most of this precious life and the time I have left. I feel the void of no longer walking beside me on Earth, but I find some comfort thinking she helped guide my husband and I together from her side of the veil.
I read a phrase yesterday by author Jody Day that has lingered with me overnight and that I’ll continue to chew on… “stumbling toward elderhood without motherhood.” I’m slightly embarrassed to admit that I think I misinterpreted her meaning. I think she meant to convey the idea of entering elderhood without experiencing motherhood for one’s self, but I interpreted it as heading towards elderhood while no longer having the guidance of our mothers and their lived experiences.
This aspect of my grief has a new side to it now. I’ve been embracing my 40’s and have noticed that I’m longing for my elder mothering figures, especially my mom, in a way I haven’t until now. I crave fireside chats over tea with women I look up to and who have gone before me, who have already navigated this time of life and can offer their wisdom, comfort, and reassurance. With each birthday I feel I continue to level up and since turning 40 last year, somehow it all feels bigger, more important, and ever more meaningful. Here’s to another year of life, love, healing, and trying to figure it all out.