Remember.

Three years ago, January 21st, my mother passed away.  I’ve known for some time that I have never properly grieved her loss.  She was easily the most important person in my life, and I still do not know how or if I will ever fully recover.  It is only in recent weeks that I have placed her photo in my Akhu shrine.  Part of my resolve for this year is to spend more time honoring my akhu and processing my mom’s death.

To begin, I’d like to share a story, some gratitude, and a prayer.

I was 19 years old when I found out I was pregnant.  I was not expecting a pregnancy and I certainly wasn’t ready for a child.  I fell into a deep depression during the 9 months, broke up with my boyfriend, and moved back in with my parents.  My mom wasn’t happy that I was pregnant – she wanted me to get back on my feet after I had failed my first attempt at college.  She wasn’t angry with me, just… concerned.  She was supportive though, and after my daughter was born, she and my father did all that they could to keep me in school.

The truth is, they handled the difficult parts of raising my daughter in her early years.  I hadn’t connected with her entirely, thanks to my depression.  I cared for her as much as I was able – she slept with me, I fed her, changed her, all the normal “duties” a parent has.  But when she really needed someone, I found myself unable.  I was terrified when she was sick, I was too afraid to bathe her, and when she cried without showing signs of stopping, I fell apart.

One of my favorite series of memories is watching my mother bathe with my child.  It became a favorite ritual of all three of us.   My father would set everything up – the towels, the music, running the bath – my parents had a ridiculously large and unnecessary tub at the time.  I held little Abet until my mom was in the tub, and then I would sit in a chair beside the tub and watch and coo and sing at my little girl.  More than once, especially in the early weeks, she pooed in the tub, much to my father’s amusement and my mother’s horror.  It eventually became a family tradition of sorts – my mother bathed with all her grandchildren as they slowly appeared over the years, and we always played Disney music and sang to them.

Not every memory was happy and beautiful though.  Abet was three or four months old when she started crying constantly and desperately.  It was difficult to get her to calm down, and eventually is escalated to the point where, one night, I couldn’t get her to stop.  She and I were downstairs, in the dark, and I was pacing the kitchen while she cried in my arms.  I was also crying and making a bottle, wondering if I would ever figure out what was making her so upset.  I couldn’t stop thinking that I was an utter failure of a parent, that I would never be good at it, and how was I ever going to handle this on my own?

But I wasn’t on my own.  And, almost like magic, my mother appeared in the kitchen.  She flipped on a low light and took Abet from my arms without a word.  She didn’t stop crying, but I felt immediate relief regardless.  “I’ve been thinking, Bean.  What if she’s hungry?” my mother said.

“I’m making a bottle.”

“I think she needs more than that.  I bought some baby cereal.  Your brother needed heavier food earlier than most babies, and his doctor told me to add cereal to his milk.”

I didn’t know the first thing about babies, and at the time, I believed my mother was always right.  So I followed her instructions, and together we fed Abet a heavier bottle of formula and baby cereal.  And it worked.  My mother was right, and I was never more grateful for it than I was in that moment.

My mom is the reason that I have a daughter today – I don’t know that I would have chosen to keep a baby at that age without her influence.  She is the reason that I didn’t lose my mind in the early years, and I base all of my Parenting choices on my personal reflections of my life and my experiences with my mom and dad.  I will always be thankful for these things.

She was a beautiful person, and she loved family more than anything.

 

A prayer for you, my mother, may you rest peacefully, and always guide me true.

The sky is yours, the earth is yours //  the cemetery roads are yours.

Praise to you in peace!  // You will not be separated from the Lord of the West.

Aset spreads Her arms over you, She grants you peaceful rest forever.

O gods, grant that the Wesir Renee, true of voice, be among You in the beautiful West!

– From Rev. Dr. Tamara Siuda’s Ancient Egyptian Prayerbook