I miss mom. But I’m glad I have dad
When the author couldn’t visit her mother’s grave, she found her elsewhere
The day before what would have been my late mom’s birthday, I went online to see whether or not the cemetery she is buried in would be open for me to visit during COVID-19. It turns out the Jewish cemetery is closed for the foreseeable future and only open for small funerals.
And just like that, I had to deal with another loss.
Her birthday this year was on the first Monday of May, less than a week before Mother’s Day and two weeks shy of my parent’s wedding anniversary. May is often a hard month for me, and this one in particular has been heavy on my mind as this year marks half my life without her. Despite all the time that has passed since she’s been gone, I find comfort going to the cemetery each year on her birthday to lay by her side with my journal.
Sometimes I talk out loud to her and update her on my life. The grandchildren she never got to meet. How my father’s getting by. Successes and achievements. Losses and disappointments. I find it cathartic being alone and I like to think she’s there watching over on me. It is there, laying on a blanket next to her headstone where I feel closest to her. Many times I catch a ladybug sitting on her stone, even if it’s raining or chilly, and see it as a sign.
Finding out that the really rather large cemetery in the suburbs has been closed because of the pandemic has been heartbreaking. Though I’ve been home with my dad for over eight weeks, haven’t gone out and abided by all of the mandated advice to stay home,
I thought I’d make a trip to the cemetery that often sits empty, especially on a weekday, far from the city. Dealing with loss is a tricky thing and being able to find some semblance of solace, especially while we’re all dealing with heightened stress and anxiety, is so rare.
In an attempt to pivot, seeing as that’s something we’re all doing these days, I decided to use her birthday as one of celebration.
I woke up, made a tea in the most adorable teapot my mom used and I greeted my dad with a big hug. I complained to him a bit about not being able to go to the cemetery and he listened to me then asked me if there’s anywhere else I feel closest to her. We spoke for a bit and I held back tears, and he listened to me as I shared what I was feeling and what was on my mind.
As I looked into his green-hazel eyes, I started taking everything in. The way there are different hints of colour in them. The consistent tone of his voice. His smile. The part in his hair. His beard. Tears came as I realized that though I have faced a huge loss, I still have a living, breathing parent who I adore in front of me. Being isolated at home with him has only deepened our bond. I am the youngest of three and though my siblings now have spouses and children and dogs of their own, I still have my dad. We have each other.
I went to Instagram to do a tribute post to my mom, something I do on social media annually to keep her memory alive. But instead of posting a photo of her, I posted one of my dad that was taken last year celebrating the Raptors championship at the parade that shut down Toronto’s streets.
We so often focus on what we don’t have. We look to our losses to define us and while doing that we often lose sight of what’s right in front of us. I am so grateful to have the luxury of this time with my dad. I am so lucky that the sun decided to shine on her birthday. As I sat down in the backyard, with her tea cup, I looked up to the sky. “I’m in good hands,” I said out loud. As I went down to reach for the mug, a ladybug landed beside it.
“In an attempt to pivot, seeing as that’s something we’re all doing these days, I decided to use her birthday as one of celebration.”
JEN KIRSCH ON NOT BEING ABLE TO VISIT HER MOTHER’S GRAVESITE