Mother’s Day

My mom died in a car accident when I was six years old. That’s probably not the best first sentence, but I got your attention, didn’t I? My brother and I were in the car with her, and while my brother escaped with minor injuries, I had a broken orbital floor, massive swelling of the brain, and I wasn’t breathing for about a minute. My mom was dead on the scene, but an incredible bystander was able to perform CPR and bring her back. Both my mom and I were medevaced. She was pronounced brain-dead, and the decision was made to pull the plug. I eventually recovered physically, although I still see effects of the brain trauma in my life today and the psychological toll that took on me was all too discernable.
Mother’s Day has always been a hard day for me because of the loss of my mother. As a kid, before I really understood that what I went through wasn’t normal, it was just awkward because at school everyone would be making cards for their moms, at church all the kids would stand and sing for their moms, and it just felt wrong for me to participate. More often than not, I was forced to, but very much against my will. It was just weird to do all this for somebody who wasn’t there. As I got older, it only got harder and less awkward. Seeing everyone who had these incredible mothers, and even worse, seeing people take them for granted, stirred up feelings of jealousy and deep sadness. For almost 13 years, and for the rest of my life, I have always wanted that. A mother I could hug when life got to be too much, a person whose entire job was to love you no matter what. I had to grow up without that and I’ve learned to manage without it, but it doesn’t mean I dont want, and probably even need, it. I miss her every day, but Mother’s Day always manages to add a little more ache to the pain.
I have a medallion my mom got from church as a youth that I keep on a chain around my neck, but other than that, there’s not very many tangible items I can keep with me to serve as a memento to remember her by. One thing I do have though is stories. I moved to Utah mostly to find out about her from her family because talking about her with my dad’s family was kinda taboo for a long time. I suffered a traumatic brain injury in the accident, so for the most part, the six years I had with her are erased from my memory. But from the few stories I’ve heard from my dad and his family and my mom’s family and friends, I finally started to know her and who she was. She was incredibly kind to everyone, very service-oriented, and everyone talked about how amazing she was. In fact, one of the only memories I have of her was her taking me to this elderly deaf woman’s house and we would all write on a whiteboard to communicate. I can only hope to even come close to her legacy in so many people’s eyes, but I strive every day to try my best, to honor her memory. Another thing I have of hers is one of her favorite songs. I don’t know how much she actually liked this song, but I knew she liked it somewhat, and that’s good enough for me. It’s called “I Hope You Dance” by Lee Ann Womack and those lyrics have become powerful for me. I try to live my life by its words. If you get the chance, take the time to listen to it or even just look up the words. It says in the second verse, “Livin’ might mean takin’ chances, but they’re worth takin’/Lovin’ might be a mistake, but it’s worth makin’/Don’t let some Hellbent heart leave you bitter,” and those are words that have really motivated me considering I’ve been hurt so many times in so many ways that part of me just wants to play life close to the vest to avoid that hurt but miss out on so much as a result. I have made plenty of mistakes when it comes to love but they all taught me so many lessons, and I have a bad habit of letting bad and toxic people making me bitter, so those words hit close to home. It’s hard to remember her with physical items, but that’s not what’s important, is it? I have more than enough to help me know and remember her and it all makes me a better person, closer to who she was, in the process.
If you’re reading this, I’m not writing this for sympathy. I don’t mean for this to be a sob story. All I ask is that you go and serve your mom this Mother’s Day, tell her how much she means to you, leave little notes for her, do anything to make her day special. And lastly, hug her tight for me. Not even kidding, hug her and say, “that’s from Adam.” Not only on Mother’s Day, but every day, do something my mom would do. Serve somebody, make someone else’s day a little better with a smile, it doesn’t take much, and in the words of Ms. Womack, “may you never take one single breath for granted.” Live your best life, my friends. You never knew her, but Trudy would love to see that.