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In my 49 years, I’ve learned there are many levels of female friendship. There are those who you call friends and spend time with, and those who you have a special kinship that you spend your life with. “Kindred Spirits”. There’s a bonding process that takes place, and often, in the center, there’s an event or a commonality that draws you together. When I became a mother nearly 30 years ago, I found that this distinction was often at the center of most of my friendships. This year, as Mother’s Day approaches, I am aware of a special kinship I have made with one woman that initially was formed because we are both mothers. However, this friendship has developed on the basis of something more, Motherhood. It came at a time of devastation in my life. The loss of my oldest son, Seth.
It was one year ago that I met Ava. I’ll never forget the moment, and not only because it was at the heart wrenching gathering of a visitation for my son. I sat there trying to be strong and proud as hundreds of friends, family and supporters filed past me, taking my hand and telling me of their sorrow for our loss. As his mother, I was still caring for my son, in this, another phase of his existence on earth. Honoring his memory and listening intently to the many stories and thoughts from those who came to pay their respects. I looked into many tear-filled eyes that day, but it was the eyes of Ava that interrupted my stare. Something told me her eyes held a difference, and I was right. She reached down and put a card into my hand, saying, “This is for you. When you are ready, open it, and contact me if you need to. I lost my son too.” Both of us were mothers, and both of us had endured the ultimate loss. I could read it in her eyes.
Nearly a month later, after everyone else had gone back to normal life, as it should be, I sat alone in my sunroom, and wondered what was next for me. In all my years as a mother, going through almost every imaginable crisis and joy, I felt I could always find a roadmap somewhere. Not just a book or pamphlet, of which I had many given to me by well meaning folks. I would find a person or a group that could help me understand what was expected and how I might handle the challenge. But here I sat, completely lost. I needed someone to understand how I felt, but I also knew that I was a reminder to many of my friends of the horrible reality of mortality. I didn’t want to cause those I loved to be afraid or depressed. So, I sat in my sunroom and decided to start going through the hundreds of cards we had received. Perhaps somewhere in these messages I could find some wisdom to help me get through the days ahead. It was then that I found the sealed card from Ava, and I remembered her words, “I lost my son too.”
Raymond, a mutual dear friend to both of us via the U.S. Army, had first seen the potential connection between Ava and me. I recall Ray telling me about Ava and her son, Lucas, who had been killed the previous year in Iraq. He had told me that we were a lot alike, and he thought I should contact her. Of course, at the time, I wasn’t ready, so I didn’t take his advice. As I found the sealed card, I realized that this was the same person Raymond had mentioned, so I opened it up, finding her email address and phone number. Still too tentative to call, I sent her an email and asked if she’d like to have lunch sometime. Within an hour, she responded, suggesting we meet the next day. I gladly accepted, and secretly hoped I’d found someone who could help give me some insight into what to expect and when.
We met at a local sandwich shop. The way many of my friendships have gone in the past is that I become the listener and the other person does the talking, looking for advice. I wasn’t in the mood, nor did I feel capable of giving out any sage wisdom right then. Neither did I feel like talking much, so I wondered if we would both just sit there and stare at each other. After a bit of small talk, the first statement out of her mouth was, “Look, I know you probably feel completely lost right now and numb. I just wanted you to know that I understand.” For the very first time in the short period since Seth’s death, I believed the statement, ‘I understand’. I looked into Ava’s big brown eyes, and I saw complete understanding and compassion. She had walked in my shoes, and she was still walking…strong, confident, and seemingly healthy.
Over the next two hours that flew by, we shared stories about our sons, our other children, and our husbands, in that order. We were constantly amazed at the parallel lines that ran through our life circumstances. Both of us were raised in similar ways, both had re-married and added more children to our lives who we loved, both were professionals – and, we both were devastated at the loss of our oldest sons. These two also had tremendous commonalities in their personalities, tastes, and how the Army had literally saved them from negative and destructive circumstances. They had both found the thing they excelled at, only to have it end abruptly.
Ava said that when she saw me on the local evening news, saying how glad I was that Seth was doing what he enjoyed when his life on earth ended, she knew we needed to meet. Those were her exact feelings when she had lost Lucas. That’s what we both feel mothers do: Raise their children to find the way through life that will make them the most fulfilled and satisfied.
That’s the common thing that seemed to underlay all of the surface ways Ava and I were so much alike. We loved more than just being mothers. We loved Motherhood, and we worked hard to continue to learn about what Motherhood was, even in the depths of our aching hearts. We didn’t stop being mothers and finding a way to excel at Motherhood just because we had suffered loss. We didn’t even have to verbalize this reality that day at the sandwich place. We saw it in each other’s eyes and we heard it in our stories about our families.
Motherhood is a state of mind and a passion. You don’t get to enjoy Motherhood just because you have a child. You achieve it through your actions, word,s and motivation. When you find Motherhood, it can be shared with many others, not just your own biological children. It’s the ability to nurse a wounded soul back to health and the insight to know when a soul needs healing. It’s the courage to face your worst fears without regard to personal need. Ava and I enjoyed Motherhood because even with the risks involved, which we knew so well, the outcomes were worth it. Regardless of all the other activities, positions, and jobs in our lives, this role, Motherhood, was our primary profession. It motivated nearly every part of our beings.
I’ve learned this year that I could survive and continue to grow through this awful trial because of Motherhood. Ava said to me early on in our friendship that we would get through this, “because that’s what we do.” That’s what we do in Motherhood – we steadily remain the constant in the lives of those who need us. We take every challenge, pain, and disappointment and convert them into a way to be even better at our Motherhood. That’s what Ava did for me that day she came to the funeral home, where just a year before, she had sat with the reality of her loss. Motherhood required she be there for me.
Ava and I are nearly the same age (separated by a few months, which gives her the right to refer to me as ‘Kid’) and it seems that our generation of females has forgotten the importance of the role of Motherhood. We describe ourselves as what we do professionally before we state that we are mothers. And yet, when our families are in a crisis, like the one mine endured this last year, it’s the Mother who steps up to the plate and is required to take control. Ironically, this is still the case, even in this age of women being able to do whatever they want (except become President). Motherhood has become more of an underlying role, not at the forefront. Perhaps it takes some kind of crisis to remind one of its precedence and importance. The least I can do is attempt to remind others to consider it.
Last year’s Mother’s Day is a blur to me. It was painful to go through it without a call from my soldier boy. But thankfully, because of the gift of Motherhood, this year will be different. This Mother’s Day, I will celebrate all those in my life who excel in the role of Motherhood, and especially those who have mothered me this year. Jean, Doris, Sheena, Kay, Cathy, Betty, Elaine, and especially Ava – I love you all. You have shown me that I don’t need a map for every challenge that comes into my life. I can reach inside and find the way in my Motherhood.
It took two sons to bring two mothers together to discover how Motherhood was at the center of the best friendships. Thank you Seth and Lucas, and please try to stay out of trouble?
