My mother was involved in the shul, the school PTA, the Bikur Cholim… and she was also my mother
Some childhood experiences can truly only be understood as an adult.
It was only when I looked at my 11-year-old daughter that I realized how little I was when my mother passed away. My heart ached, for the girl who had so many needs that were completely overlooked, and for the adult who continues to live a life of adulthood without ever being able to say, “Look, Ma, I made it!”
Growing up in a small community, everyone knew my mother. Her passing left so many in the community bereft, missing the powerhouse who got things done. My mother was involved in the shul, the school PTA, the Bikur Cholim….
…and she was also my mother.
I remember being stopped in the grocery store or hallway by friends of my mother’s. Their face would crumple as they’d place a hand on my shoulder and sorrowfully tell me, “I miss your mother so much.” While this made me feel good, it also made me want to yell, “I also do! You miss her once in a while and I miss her every waking second of my life!” Sometimes I felt I couldn’t say that; their sadness made me feel I needed to comfort them and that my sharing would not be appropriate.
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