Making the most of our mothers
She was beautiful, brilliant, bold and brave.
She was warm, friendly, charismatic and always had the best wine and the best smelling house.
She was my mother’s best friend and mentor, my adopted great aunt, and she passed away, suddenly a week ago.
As I heard my mother’s voice shaky and attempting to be courageous, I felt a sting in my heart; unlike no other I’ve ever felt.
It wasn’t the torturous feeling of a broken heart, or a lover who chose
another. It wasn’t the feeling of failing a test I stayed up all night
to prepare for. It wasn’t the aftermath of a drawn out fight with a
friend, or a boyfriend.
It was worse.
It was the realization that I’m getting older. And with my age, and my
years, my parents and my mentors are only going to up their birthday
candles too.
Less than two weeks from now, I’ll turn 20 years old. While I feel like
I’ve experienced a lot more than many juniors I know, part of me still
wonders where the years have gone, and how I’ve reached this important
decade in my life.
When I’ve always thought of being 20, I’ve pictured living in the city,
strutting my stuff, traveling to foreign lands, experiencing adventures
I really can’t afford, but doing it anyways. I’ve pictured nights at a
pub, at theaters, and at some smoky bar in midtown.
I’ve always figured I’d meet my husband-to-be at some point in my
twenties, and planned on having a pretty solid career by the time the
big 3-0 rolls around.
I’ve planned a lot of things, but in the midst, I’ve forgotten that I’m not the only one getting older.
Nevertheless, here it is. I’m 20. And my mother will be 50 soon.
And while I know there is never a promise of tomorrow, why does it feel
like my tomorrows are coming much quicker than they ever have before?
I don’t want to wake up to an unexpected phone call informing me my
favorite teacher growing up has unexpectedly passed on to the other
life, and she’s no longer there to chat about her travels and where she
thinks my writing can improve.
I don’t want to think everyone I hold near and dear will have a morning
that turns into night, and then never see a morning again. It’s not a
happy subject, but it’s one that sometimes comes all too soon.
Watching my mother cry plump, genuine tears and squeeze my hand as her
friend’s children sang songs in commemoration for their own mother,
made me realize how precious this time is.
So make the most of your mothers. Or the adopted “mothers” who became
family in an instant because they were there and they listened. Take
care of your girlfriends. Enjoy their company, and embrace your sisters
–blood or water.
Ask them questions, pick their brains. Have a girl’s nights, or drink
the most fattening beer at the bar, followed by pizza at 3 a.m. Wear
shoes that are much too small, but on sale, and walk a few blocks just
because.
The next ten years of our lives will help shape us into the women we
will be one day. For most of us, into the mothers we will be. The
experiences, the lessons, the words of kindness and criticism we hear
will stay with us, and we will pass them on.
And if we’re lucky, we’ll have all of our special powerful women to watch us go through those changes.
Twenty may just seem like another birthday and the death of my mother’s
friend may just be the first of many unpleasant experiences to endure,
but it’s more.
It’s an opportunity to stop taking conversations for granted, and a chance to start living everyday as vibrantly as possible.
My mother’s friend believed in the power of the stars, the influence of
the planets and how together, in some magical way, the entire universe
works collaboratively to guide our daily lives, and our souls.
And in some way, I think she was right. Sometimes it takes the passing
of one, to invite a new pioneer to pave the way and to open the gateway
to the stars –or to the next influential woman in our lives to come
into focus.
I’ll always remember her with the twinkle of stars in her eyes and
warmness in her soul, and I can only hope, one day, I will be that
special woman capable of influencing a young girl, like she impressed
my mother.
Call your mother. Ask her about her day. Don’t let the stars of your
life fade away before you can ask everything you ever wanted to ask, or
gain all the wisdom you ever desired. Or drink that extra glass of
wine, and enjoy another hour of laughter.
Twenty is defiantly not too late to start learning. But it’s much too early to stop.
In memory of Barbara Morales.
Lindsay Tigar, a junior journalism and public relations major from
Asheville is the Associate Editor for Editorial Content and writes The
Ladies Room weekly.
For questions, comments or suggestions related to women’s issues, contact Lindsay directly at
This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it
Trackback(0)
 |
TrackBack URI for this entry
Show/Hide comments