Five years ago today, my mother took her exit from this earth. When she left, it hurt, in so very many ways. I write this not for those who knew her, nor those who stand on the sidelines, but for those who have been in these same painful shoes. Those who will understand that a loved one does not disappear after five years, nor does her presence dissipate by any measure, but rather remains so uncannily real through each and every moment of your life. For those who have lost someone, this one’s for you. Because five years ago, my mother died, and then…then I lost my cheerleader.
You see, as poignant as this sounds, I don’t consider myself an overly emotional person. I made it through an entire season of Hallmark Channel Christmas movies without shedding a tear (true story!). But two weeks ago, when Randall bade goodbye to his birth father, William, in This is Us, I crumpled. Randall’s adios to his father so uncannily paralleled my own aching parting from my my mother, I physically ached to reach through the TV screen and hold Randall. You see William meeting his mother after he dies; as my own mother lay dying, I said the words, “Now your mom can take care of you.” Too evisceratingly close.
As far as my personal experience with loss, I no longer cry and sob at the drop of a hat when thinking of my mother, nor do my feathers ruffle when those around me don’t get it, but I do I hurt and ache–every single day.
I wish I didn’t, so many times over, as it would be so much easier–easier for me and easier for the world around me. I wish I didn’t remember her. I wish I didn’t hurt for her, ache for her, and feel my heart flip over every time I became acutely aware of her absence. I genuinely wish I could operate in the current world always and not mourn that which has been lost.
My mother was a beast, a force. I always loved her. There were times appreciating her was another matter. Regardless, she was such a force, such a realness in my life.
Last week, unwittingly, frustrated over a task I was working hard to tackle, I heard myself utter the irked cry to my husband, “I don’t have a mother or a boss! I need you to say the words!” That’s not fair, you see. He is my husband. He is part of so very many things in my life, but he isn’t responsible for being my sole cheerleader.
In fact, there was one person who was this cheerleader in my life, and she died five years ago. So I am left with pieces and shards in my life; pieces and shards of hope, of encouragement. I work hard to call on my faith in God to see me through the rough patches and appreciate my friends who are very good friends, but if I’m honest, nothing is the same as having a mother on this earth. Those moments when you need to call someone when you’re shaky, when you need a leg up, when you need someone to simply say, “you’ve got this”–those are the moments when she’s most gone.
Someone once innocently referred to the “space” left behind by my mother, but it’s not a space, or a gap, or a blank, it’s a hole, a missing piece, a void. Something that is supposed to be there that is not.
That something for me is a cheerleader. A cheerleader who encourages and celebrates the good without cause, presupposition or reminder; one who supports and encourages as natural form with unconditional good will.
For me, on this earth, no one will ever do this as well as my mother. And she’s gone.
There are so many things I want to share with her, for her to cheer on. My son learning multiplication in school, (she was a math teacher!), our new sweet pup who adores me, our newly finished basement…I want to hear the words, “You’re acing this.”
Five years ago my mother died and then…then my cheerleader left. And me? I’m still here.
I lost my mother, then I lost my cheerleader.
First image credit: depositphotos.com, image ID:21484185, copyright:khorzhevska
Second image credit: depositphotos.com, image ID:21813871, copyright:Jaykayl
Third image credit, depositphotos.com, image ID:10966844, copyright:sjhuls
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Janine Huldie says
Aw, Meredith I have no words and just know that I am thinking about you today more than ever. So much love and hugs now, my sweet, dear friend <3 <3 <3
Meredith says
Janine, your constant support and encouragement means so very much. I love you.
Stephanie says
Thinking about you today, my sweet friend. I wish I could have met your mom.
Meredith says
Steph, she would have LOVED you. She would have thought all the boss, cool things you do were so wonderful 🙂 xo
Snarkfest says
Ugh, you know this one hit me in the feels. Really hard. As I sit here and cry as I read this, I think about my own cheerleader that I lost just 3 short months ago tomorrow. So here’s to us. WE DO HAVE THIS, as hard as it seems. Thank you for writing this, it’s good to not feel so alone.
Meredith says
Oh honey, I have just now started crying thinking about how fresh your loss is…my heart hurts for you. Love and hugs.
Sisterhood of the Sensible Moms says
You know your words help me, I hoped it helped you to get them out. Much love, Ellen
Meredith says
It did, so much, Ellen. Thanks for this. I worried with being so raw and with the element of hopefulness it would feel defeating, so knowing that it helped you means a lot. xo
Sally Decker says
Your words hit home… the loss never goes away….your words spoke to my heart😢
Meredith says
That’s the thing of it…it’s always here. Love and prayers, Sally. xo
Sheila Qualls says
As we live, we experience more, and those experiences are what connect us as humans. I understand not crying at Hallmark movies. At one time, I wouldn’t have cried at them either. I cry at more things the longer I live because I experience more stuff: children growing up, parents dying, marriage trouble. I see more people’s pain and experience more myself and that connects me to what I see. I love This is Us for that reason. It uses everyday experiences to connect us. I am sure your words spoke to many of us.
Meredith says
Oh Sheila, this is gorgeous–it is the everyday experiences that connect us all. And that’s what allows us to be human together and love each other. Thanks so much for sharing this.
Emily says
I lost my mom almost 4 years ago and I get EVERYTHING you said. My mom was my biggest supporter and I really miss my cheerleader too. Thank you for writing this – it made me feel less alone with how I feel without my mom.
Meredith says
Emily, I’m so sorry for your loss–I know how much it hurts. And it’s nice to hear that this helped you feel caught a bit–it’s sad and lonely, but you aren’t alone in the loneliness, if that makes sense. xo
Corcaigh says
I’m in tears reading this. You’ve just put into words exactly how I feel. My mum died a year and a half ago and I get that aching for one of her hugs. She was my cheerleader too and I took it for granted. Now she’s gone and it’s impossible to describe the loss. Thanks for your post, it helps to know I’m not the only one who feels this way.
Meredith says
Thanks for sharing this! It helps me too, so much, to know I’m not the only one in these shoes. So sorry for your loss 🙁
Corcaigh says
Thanks for your reply Meredith 🙂
Meredith says
Hugs, Corcaigh <3
Vanessa Madrid says
Thank you for sharing! I lost my 63yr old Mom this year after a 4 week battle with Pancreatic Cancer and my Father just suffered a mini-stroke last week. I feel like my whole cheer squad just collapsed.
Meredith says
Oh Vanessa, my heart aches for you. I can’t even imagine the shock, not to mention all the logistics and details you are trying to sort while grieving so acutely. You must be so very exhausted, love. Please know how very much you are in my prayers. So much love and hugs…
Cynthia says
I have lost my oarents, though it left avoid in my life, nothing can compare, so far in my life, as the loss of my younger sister. We were best friends, got I not trouble together in high school, I helped her break free from a cocaicaine habit, spent endless hours on the phone together, happy times together in the keys. She could be a lion & breakdown over an injured lizard! She helped anyone who was in need, never expecting anything in turn. The other day I opened a box that she had kept hair accessories in & smelled the nasty scent of her cigarettes & just lost it. Sorrow will strike when we least expect it, to me it just is the love we are sharing with our lost one! I would never want her to live with the pain she was enduring & feel blessed to have been able to help get her on hospice, she lived less than 10 hours after that. She peacefully left us on Friday the 13 th, my birthday. I have always loved when my birthday fell on Friday the 13th with a full moon! Now I will ever love it more. Her gift to me was leaving me knowing her pain was gone!
Meredith says
Oh Cindy, this is beautiful–not just in the gift you found from her escaping pain, but from allowing yourself to miss and love on her fully after she is gone. Thank you for sharing and I’m so sorry for your loss. xoxo