I was the sixth child to whom my mother gave birth. Her first words when she saw me were, “Each one gets sweeter.” It may have been the Oxytocin (the feel good hormone) but I don't think so. It couldn't have been the labor drugs affecting her thoughts, because she gave birth totally naturally to all nine of her children. I believe it was my mother's true feelings at the time. She looked at me as a blessing she had received from a Divine Creator who had given her a gift. My mother derived joy from watching children, especially her own, learn new concepts and ideas. She was a school teacher all of my childhood and most of my adult life, and although she taught me most of what matters to me now, I still have days when I just want her hug, and one more evening of sitting in her kitchen drinking coffee and talking to her about life. My mother is my concept of love. Her hug felt like no other hug I have ever received, and her frown or disappointment was enough to break my heart. I believe the most important lesson my mother ever taught me though was how to let go of someone you love so much and let life help you live again.

My mother gave birth to a son named Anthony when I was 11 months old. Anthony was an exact image of my dad, except he had golden curly hair (my father's was black). His birth meant my mother had three babies in diapers the summer Anthony arrived. She was exhausted, I am sure. Anthony grew as did I, and although I don't remember him there are photos of the two of us. On Christmas Eve, five months after Anthony was born, he developed a fever and was irritable. My parents had no money and seven kids, so they tried to do what they could to control the fever. It did not go away, and thus they took him to the doctor. The doctor gave him medication and sent my parents home thinking nothing out of the normal. I am sure he wanted to be with his family during the holidays. My parents gave Anthony the medication and celebrated Christmas morning as usual. I was only 16 months old at the time, so I cannot tell you what I remember from that day. The night after Christmas Anthony became very ill. He began seizing and my parents were frantic. We lived far away from the hospital and had no phone, so my mother ran across to our neighbors to call an ambulance. The ambulance came and they began CPR and drove fast, but Anthony died anyway. It is a grief that runs deep in my family and we all still celebrate Anthony's birthday. What is even more bizarre is that my mother gave birth to another son named Timothy on what would have been Anthony's first birthday.

I expected my mother to go through a deep depression, but she didn't. She told me she had no time for that. She had too many children, too much debt and my father needed her to be strong for all of us and for their marriage. I asked my mother if she resented that. Did she feel that she wasn't able to grieve it? She responded “NO.” She was grateful God had given her so many responsibilities to keep her from thinking about it. She explained to me that losing a child was the worst thing she had ever endured. She said when Anthony died she felt like she had too. But she didn't. She didn't die because she had faith that God would give her a way to get through this. I asked her what that was. What had God given her to get through? She said, ”The laundry, the dishes, dirty diapers, babies needing to be rocked, school work, and a husband who was grieving too, and so they hung on to each other.”

My mother never lived to see how my job progressed or what paths I chose to take. She knew I had become a psychotherapist, and when I would talk to her about some of the things people deal with in therapy she was always in awe. She was curious about why people spent so much time trying to heal themselves? Didn't they know when you have children you basically have to hang on tighter to keep the marriage healthy? What was it about becoming a parent they didn't understand? She couldn't understand why moms spent so much energy playing with their children when they were young, and then avoided all of the important issues regarding their health and sexuality as they grew older. Who did they expect would teach their children about sex and health? She was an advocate of parents, and she understood no one can ever teach your child about their body or their personal health as much as a loving mom or dad. My mother had a keen sense that what kept a child secure and helped promote their success as an adult was having a strong marriage and engaging the children in the family. Although she had nine children, she had sacred time for her and my dad scheduled into their daily activities. I don't ever remember not seeing them hug, and although I did witness them arguing, I also learned what it looked like for married people to “make up” and forgive. She wasn't trained in psychotherapy. She was a woman who left the Air Force and chose teaching as a career. She knew children from her teaching and from what she came home to every day of her life.

Watching her live as I grew up and learning more about her baby (my brother) dying, I learned that even though you love your children, you hang on to their father and your marriage. No one gets through parenting without grieving. Hopefully it isn't a child's death, but death of a close friend, your child's first heart break, that first bad report card, and numerous other disappointments. Grieving is easier if you don't have to do it alone. Mostly, she taught me that no matter what I ever did, it wouldn't be bad enough to be rejected by her. Mistakes were an opportunity to teach natural consequences. She got angry alright, but she forgave and let go. Her ability to let go helped her leave this earth when it was her time, and I doubt she ever looked back. Once again, she was following my dad.