I have Become my Mom

I know, I’m early.

Sunday is Mother’s Day, so I’m outing myself.

I have become my mom and I don’t mind. 

I hear her words coming out my mouth and 99% of the time, I’m like, oh wow, that sounded like my mom, but now I understand why those words came out her mouth. 

It’s a strange feeling, and being a writer, of course, I have to obsess over it. One theory is that when the family matriarch passes, the mantle—with all those familiar phrases—passes down to the oldest daughter. 

That would be me. Matriarch in training? Matriarch in place? 

The funny part, okay, one of the funny parts, is that I didn’t fully feel like the Matriarch in my family, to my kids, until my mom passed. 

She was still the Matriarch-in-Chief. I was still the daughter who could get dressed down without warning. 

I miss that. 

So, in honor of my mom this month, here are some of my recent mom things I vowed I’d never say:

• Kids today have no [fill in the blank]
• That’s not real music, not like what it was when I was young
• What’s wrong with [fill in the blank] these days
• Someone needs to wash her mouth out with soap

Okay, these are just a few, but they make me smile when they come out my mouth. For a minute I can see my mom, and she might be shaking her finger at me. 

I miss that, too. 

There is one thing I’m trying not to do. My mom hated having her picture taken, so there are not a lot of pictures of her. In fact, when I went through my pictures, I found one picture of us together. Usually, she as behind the camera, taking the pictures. 

My mom and me

She didn’t know that every time in her life was “prime,” because she loved and was loved. I loved my mom every day, at every age, and no matter her shape. 

She was my mom, and what mattered wasn’t those well-earned wrinkles and the stoop in her shoulders, but the never fading love in her eyes when she looked at her children. 

If I can look at others with that much kindness and love, if I can impact others’ lives for good like she did, then I can truly say I’m like my mom. 

Perilously yours,

Pauline