On this fourth anniversary of my mother’s death, I am struck by how often I find her in my day-to-day, by how alive she still is in so many ways. Yet I am also struck by how badly I wish she could have met my son. He has met her, through photographs, recipes, lullabies, records, but she never got to see his face, much less hold his precious little body, and this is the one big thing I still grieve.
But when we lose someone we love, there will always be that one big thing. As I meditate by this glorious ocean, two waves crash into one another directly in front of me, their waters flowing through each other until it’s impossible to tell where either one begins or ends. Seconds later they reverse direction and glide away, disappearing into the vastness of the great water behind them. I think of how my mom and my son are like two waves splashing together inside of me, their waters flowing through each other through me, how really all of us are like waves in the same great glorious human ocean, crashing and gliding and flowing through one another.
First, my essay on nursing/weaning/postpartum insanity is up now at Mutha Magazine. Spoiler alert: I talk a lot about my vagina. Why? Because too many women feel ashamed and embarrassed about their bodies and as a result do not talk about their experiences, which is totally insane because our bodies are amazing and we need to support one another through sharing our stories. Please enjoy, share with all the prospective and current parents you know (yes, dads, too), and may my experience reach someone who needs to hear it.