The Weeks Since

On December 24, 2010, I lost my mother to breast cancer.

On December 24, 2013, I found out that I was pregnant.

When the strip turned into a plus sign, a positive, a wordless life-changing message sitting on the ledge of the bathroom sink, I thought of two things: 1) oh my God, I’m pregnant, and 2) The date.

In the weeks since, I have thought a lot about this coincidence, trying, and failing, to understand it. Instead, I have accepted it as the work of a much higher power. I have accepted it as the work of my mother—giving me a sign. And a gift.

In the weeks since, I have thought many times about how I could possibly do this without her. I have thought, there is still so much advice she hasn’t given me yet. All that advice I was supposed to fight with her on and say, “Hey, I’m going to do this MY way.”

But really, how much of my way will in the end be her way? I am sure all of it will belong to her, from calming Baby’s cries, to singing lullabies, to rocking Baby to sleep, to healing sick Baby, to making Baby laugh.

All of it belongs to her, and now to me, passed down from generations. And generations. 

In the weeks since, I have thought about all the things I’m going to tell Baby about her.

She was an artist. And an architect.

She could make dream homes appear on forsaken plots of land. She made dreams appear.

She had a gap between her teeth she refused to close. It’s for luck, she said. Baby, I hope you have a gap between your teeth the size of an ocean, a valley, a sea.

She was patient. And kind. When I was overcome with stress, or grief, when I couldn’t sleep, my mother would take her finger and smooth the space between my eyebrows. It was a repetitious movement, her pointer finger against my skin, smoothing out the wrinkles, the worry, the fear.

Baby, I hope you see her best parts and pieces through me.

In the weeks since, I have felt her absence, and her presence, in equally intense waves. There is a hole in my heart, but my heart is full. There are words left unsaid, but I know everything she would have told me. This new beginning, this do-over, this birth, this re-birth, they are all reminders that the line of life is fine. And impossibly sweet.

They are all reminders that there are no coincidences, only signs. And eternal, never-ending gifts. 

Me and my mom, circa 1998(ish)

-Yaz
We are so excited to have Yaz as a regular honest mom contributor! To read more about Yaz, click here.