Love like a Mother

My Mama died in December of 2019. Covid hit Hong Kong just three weeks after returning home from her funeral in America. Several years passed before borders were fully open here and I was able to return to the United States. I spent those years grieving and longing to be in the presence of people who knew her, who would sit with me in that grief. Unfortunately, by the time I finally made it back, most everyone had moved on. Very few people were willing to just sit and tell stories about her or let me talk about how much I missed her. After a prolonged global pandemic, no one wanted to talk about death and dying, only all the new, fresh things they were up to. It was so difficult.

In 2024, Michael and I were discussing what to do about people rapidly changing the subject whenever I wanted to talk about my mother. He and I had gone to an outdoor activity on a sweltering Hong Kong day, then popped in for lunch at a place which called for much fancier clothing than our sweat-drenched shorts and tees. There was a heaviness about me that day, feeling so out of place in my family, my life, and even that restaurant. Michael acknowledged my feelings then started brainstorming things we could do about it.

One idea was to grab our videographer son Benjamin and take a trip to America where we would visit all the people who knew my mother, starting with her oldest, longest friend from high school and bridesmaid at my parents’ wedding. We could formally interview everyone on camera, ask for their best stories of her, and make a private mini-documentary as a kind of love letter. I adored this idea because it demonstrated the elaborate and extravagant way Michael loved me — I felt so seen! Heather is missing her Mama? Let’s make a film about her so she can feel close to her any time she wants! This idea (and several others like it) never came to fruition, primarily due to Michael’s battle with cancer, leading him to ultimately join my mom beyond the reach of this earthly realm.

It’s an ongoing surprise how losing Michael brings the pain of having lost my mother right back into the spotlight over and over.

The thing about my Mama was how she was incredibly attuned to my feelings and never said they were too much. Her protective nature surrounded me with an invisible force field, helping me take bigger risks and walk more confidently through this world, knowing I had this fierce unconditional love flowing toward me at all times. I never once had to guess how she felt about me (she told me all the time), or wonder how far she would go for me (she demonstrated it repeatedly all throughout my life), or question if she would stand by me while I was on the floor picking up all the pieces after a big fail (every single time).

Right now, while grieving the unbearable absence of my Beloved, I know my Mama would be holding on to me so tight, listening to me talk about him until my voice gives out. I wouldn’t feel the need to hurry any of this up to make anyone else feel more comfortable around me and this terrible sorrow. When she died and I couldn’t be with my Dad because of closed Hong Kong borders, Michael was the one who spent almost six years holding me tightly and listening to me talk about her when giant waves of grief would crash down onto me. Now that they are both gone it is really hard to hold it together.

This week a friend posted on Facebook how they miss the version of themself who still had their mom.

It stopped me short because it was such an apt description of the situation. Every time I think of having lost my Mama, I always say but I wasn’t done needing my mom. My friend’s post said they weren’t just missing their mom for all the usual reasons, like having someone to worry about them and take their call any time night or day, but they were also missing the version of themself who still got to be someone’s child, who felt safer in this world knowing their mom was there.

Just re-typing those words makes me tear up a little because it’s exactly right for me in this present season. I miss being the precious only daughter of my one and only irreplaceable mama. I was still navigating my new identity of being a motherless daughter when I found myself thrust into being a husbandless wife. I feel a bit like my best girl Alice when she was confronted by the hookah-smoking caterpillar in Wonderland, demanding an answer to his incessant query of whoooo are youuuuu. I don’t rightly know. I’m figuring it out as I go.

This week a small but good writing-related thing happened to me. My first reaction will forever be a desire to call my Mama because nobody in this world has ever pushed me harder or supported me more fiercely as a writer (Seriously, she once marched into my third grade classroom to give the teacher an earful when I’d joyfully submitted the twenty illustrated limerick poems I’d written instead of the five assigned, filled with awe over the new discovery that I loved to write, only to watch the teacher dump the excess in the trash bin in front of the whole class. I will never forget the way she stood up for me. No one was ever going to be allowed to squelch my creativity on her watch!). But upon the split-second realization that she is not here to tell my good news to, my immediate next thought was to turn to Michael and have a good cry over missing her. And then came the next split-second realization that I can’t tell him either. Michael, the person who celebrated everything large and serious or tiny and ridiculous because he loved me so well. Suddenly instead of joy over my good news, I felt a sharp little spasm in the middle of my back, the spot of an old injury from a terrible car accident back in high school. It’s been a few days but the spasm continues, perhaps a physical manifestation of the emotional pain which isn’t being contained very well.

I sat with my good news for a few hours, not sure who, if anyone, to tell.

I ultimately forwarded the formal announcement to my sons, which included a headshot taken when Michael was still alive and a little bio from an interview which captures me so perfectly I wish I’d written it myself. They were genuinely impressed and proud which brought a lump to my throat. And though there was no call to my Mama who would be thrilled but unsurprised over any recognition of my work, I had a vision of the lifetime of my mother’s love and support flowing into me, shaping and forming me into the woman and mother I became. The one who turned around and poured all the goodness I received into my beautiful boys.

I love my sons so much. I hope they have so many years of this version of themselves, the one where they have their mother to worry about them and listen to them talk about everything and nothing at any hour of the night or day. To rest securely in the knowledge that even though they have lost their Dad, they are still their Mom’s precious children. I know I can’t do much to make this world safe for them, but I will continue to be their safe place, free to be fully themselves, celebrated and embraced like the fearfully and wonderfully created one-of-a-kind humans they are. What a gift it is to be their mother.

If you are a daughter who has lost your mother, I want to recommend a book which has recently helped me a great deal, Motherless Daughters: A Legacy of Loss by Hope Edelman. It’s a deep, thick book packed with data and research but also compassion and care which really came at a time when I needed it most. If you want bite sized chunks of her content, I also recommend her Instagram account.

More soon.