10 Years Without Mama

    • 315,569,159.991 Seconds
    • 5,259,485.9 Minutes
    • 87658.1 Hours
    • 3652.42 days
    • 521 weeks
    • 10 years.

10 years ago today that I crawled into my mother’s deathbed, gathered her up in my arms and sang her to sleep as she took her last breath. I sang to her, as I spoke to her in my mind.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.  You make me happy, when skies are grey,

Mom, Mama?  Not yet, please, not yet, I’m not ready. I know I said it’s ok for you to go but I need you for one more minute, Please Mom,  please just take one more breath, look at me one more time, OPEN YOUR EYES MAMA!. LOOK AT ME ONE MORE TIME!  My heart is breaking Mom. Please, Mom, please.  OH GOD!  Oh, GOD!  Help Me!  My Mom’s dying and I don’t know what to do, how to help her! OH GOD, HELP ME.

You’ll never know dear, how much I love you,

It’s ok, Oh, Mama, never mind, it’s ok,  I know you are hurting. I know you are ready. I can feel Him here with us, ready to take you home.  I’ll be ok, Mama. We all will.  You can go now, Mama.  It’s ok.

Please don’t take my sunshine away.

I love you, Mom.  I know I should feel alone, but I don’t.  I know He was here, and you are home now. I’ll miss you, Mama.  I miss you already. I love you. 

Goodbye, Mom. Goodbye.

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I see her in sunrises, and sunsets. I see her in my daughters cry, and my son’s laugh.  I smile when I hear my daughter tell her Babcia’s stories, and weep when my son admits he doesn’t remember her. When I smell cigarette smoke, smell coffee, hear old Dolly Parton or Freddy Fender music, eat an Entenmann’s cake, I think of her.  When I see a “red bird”  I feel her near me.   But most of all, I miss her. I still need her. Sometimes so badly that I ache with it.

In the back of the drawer where I keep my special things, there is an audio cassette.  On that cassette is the sound of my daughter being born. I love having a recording of my daughter’s first cry, but there is something even more precious on that tape. It is the sound of my mother cheering me on, supporting me as I struggled to bring my daughter into the world.

“C’mon, Wendy,  I know.. I know it’s hard. You can do this.  You can.   LOOK AT ME. You are strong, Wendy.  You can do this.  I believe in you.  GO, WENDY!  GO GO GO! OH!!”

There is a cacophony of noise and joy as we celebrate the birth of my daughter- Allyne- named after my mother’s mother.  Then, quietly, I hear my mother’s praise. ”She’s perfect, Wendy, You did good. I love you.”

You never outgrow the need to hear your mothers voice tell you that she loves you.  I love you too, Mom.


  1. Lovely post. We never outgrow a need for our Mother’s.

  2. I haven’t yet experienced the loss of my mom, but I know it’s going to be one of the hardest moments in my life, and don’t expect it to ever get easier with time. My mom used to sing that song to me too, and now I sing it to my girls <3 ((HUGS))

  3. I feel your pain. I lost my Momma twelve years ago. It is a feeling that is so hard to describe.

  4. Such a stirring piece of writing. Not an experience I’m looking forward to.

  5. I’m so sorry for your loss- I know it was years ago, but I am sure that type of loss doesn’t dim over time. What an amazing treasure to have that tape.

  6. I haven’t experienced this yet. I have no idea how I would handle this – my mother is a very real part of my life every day. I admire your strength and courage. Thank you for sharing.

  7. The pain will never leave.
    What really is fascinating is your amazing connection to your Mom. The stronger it is, the more felt the pain of her being gone.
    But she’s always with you, Wendy, like you say in your daughter’s laughter, in your son’s remembrance of her, and in everything you breath in your life.
    That is what makes us Super Human.

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