Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

If My Mother Was Still Alive

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If my mother was still alive she’d be turning sixty-five years old today. As a middle aged woman of forty-two, myself, that seems so young. Since I’ve started living an RV lifestyle I am surrounded by men and women decades older, who are full of life and vigor. It doesn’t seem fair sometimes that a woman who loved life so much is gone. It doesn’t seem right that a lady who desired grandchildren so intensely passed away before she met even one of (now) seven grandkids. Most of the time, I just try not to think about it.

Have you ever had someone in your life become someone else? What I mean is, they change. One day you’re close, the next day, not so much. It’s usually some huge event that fosters change, but sometimes, I guess, people just evolve. They become someone new, and that someone doesn’t fit into your life anymore. It’s almost like they died, like they dropped off the face of the earth. Or even if you do speak, it seems like such a foreign conversation.

You ask yourself, who is this person?!

It’s happened to me before. Someone I love dearly moves on to a new life, with new friends, new hobbies, new interests, and it feels like the person I once held so dear is no more. Except for the moments.

I’ve discovered, in my own personal experience that you are sometimes given glimpses, or precious moments of time where the old personality of your friend or loved one emerges, even if just briefly. Just such a moment occurred for me recently, and afterwards I joyfully shared it with my spouse.

“Do you know what I wouldn’t give to have a moment like that with Mom?” I asked my husband.

As we spoke I explained to my husband that while it could make me sad to lose a relationship through distance or time, that when it was reunited it was even sweeter than before. Though the relationship I had once known was gone, those spectacular glimpses into our prior connection were a treasure. And though they were far and few in-between, they still were wonderful. Like a breath of a sweet fragrance your memory had locked away for safe keeping.

If my mother was still alive today I would cherish each second with her for the fleeting time it was. Because now I realize that even one, five minute, phone conversation would be like Christmas morning. Even one hug, one glimpse of her smile, one sound of her raucous laughter, that would be the biggest thing for me. One small encounter would mean the world. One smell of her perfume, one minute of advice, one session with her gentle, listening ear. What I wouldn’t do for that one moment of time!

I wish I could buy her a birthday card today, but even more, that I could watch her read it. I would scour the card aisle, reading every one, and even then I know it wouldn’t get close to conveying how much I loved her, missed her, needed to see her face. But I sure would love the opportunity to try and see.

I wish she could meet the girls. I would let them visit whenever she asked, and I wouldn’t complain when she spoiled them! I’d laugh about how ridiculous they acted when they came back home hopped up on sugar and leniency. I promise I would.

I would listen to her say, “you did that exact thing when you were little!”

In fact, I yearn to hear her say that. After all, she was the only one who knew those things.

Did I learn to crawl first or cruise?

Was I easy to potty train?

Surely I wasn’t as persistent as my second child is, or as independent as the third!

What do you think, Mom?

I think that if my Mom was still alive I could finally pick up the phone and tell her what’s on my mind, instead of intending to call for a split second, before sadly remembering I cannot.

I would ask her advice. I would share how wonderful life has gotten over the last ten years, even though she hasn’t been a part of it, and I’d let her know that’s the only piece missing. Her.

As it stands, I long for forever, to not have to wish for mere moments, but to enjoy timeless togetherness. For that will be a fine day indeed. But until that day I’ll enjoy every morsel of each one that exists for me here on earth. I’ll savor the moments that pass too quickly and fade into memories before your very eyes. I’ll enjoy every smile, every laugh, each and every one. I’ll cherish my relationships, my family, and all the in between.

To My Friend Who Still Has Your Mom on Mother’s Day

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Sure, I knew that Mother’s Day was right around the corner. I mean, I’m a mom. Of course I knew. Motherhood is one of my greatest joys, and I think it’s really swell to have a day just about me. But the thing is, it’s not. It’s not just about me. 

So when I started seeing the barrage of photos come across my Facebook newsfeed the heavy weight of Mother’s Day hit me. Like a lead weight it pulled at me, dragging me down to places I typically try to forget about. 

Photo after photo of beautiful mothers being celebrated showed up on my social media, and I honestly loved seeing them. But honestly, I also didn’t. 

When I saw the picture of you and your mom, and your child too, I almost lost it. That’s the thing about grief. It’s a tricky animal. You can be chugging along doing just fine and dandy when all of the sudden you are struck by sadness, and it comes up so stealthly unaware that it forces the emotion right out of you like an erupting volcano. Tears start pouring down your face, and you whisper to the non-responding sky above, “I miss you, Momma.”

I don’t want you to feel guilty for my grief. Not at all. My melancholy sadness it what it is, and it’s also accompanied by the peace of the hereafter, so most days I’m okay. I pitter-pat through an abundantly blessed life, and when I think of my mom who is gone, I smile at the memories that stir inside my heart. So don’t feel sorry for me, the motherless woman. I am simply a girl who was loved by an amazing momma; she just had to leave for Heaven a little earlier than we all bargained for. 

But there is one thing I would want to impart to you. As a woman who has lost her mother without getting to say goodbye, and as a mom whose own children never met their wonderful grandmother, I would say this. Make the most of this Mother’s Day. 

Don’t just grab a last minute card that looks okay. Find the perfect one that spells out how special she is. And if it doesn’t say it enough, then add your own sentiment. 

Take the time. Time is a thing we are always lacking in this hurried life, but I can tell you this. When she’s gone, she’s gone, and you’ll never get that time back. So make the most of it. Find the time to spend with your mom. One day time with her will only exist in the memories of your heart. 

Cherish her as your friend. Recognize the help she provides. See the amazing role model she is to your children. Even if she doesn’t do things like you do, realize that she’s present. She’s present and making an impact on your life and that of your children. I only wish my mom had met my daughters. 

When you hug your mom goodbye after church, or at the end of your Mother’s Day festivities, I want you to linger. Stay a while in her arms. Smell her perfume, soak up her laughter, and hold her tight. You just never know when that last hug will be. I still remember mine, and I beat myself up a bit for making it so perfunctory and lack luster. Hindsight. 

Hindsight is 20/20, but don’t let it be the only way you see your mom clearly. See her now. Whatever her quirks, whatever your differences, it matters not. See past that into her heart for you, straight through to her sacrifices, kindness, and undying love. See it now while you can still say thank you in person, rather than whispering it later in blurry-eyed, tearful prayers. 

When I see the pictures of you with your mom, the one who’s still here on this earth with you, I’m happy. I’m happy for you when I see how blessed you are to have her presence in your life, and my prayer for you this Mother’s Day would be that you see it also.