For some reason, I have been missing my mother terribly over the past few days. Grief for all of my lost loved ones comes and goes, of course, but it’s been a decade since my mother died and it feels new now. I know it will pass. Just quite painful in the meantime.
My mother was an enigma. Due to her multiplicity, she could be sweet and loving or dangerous and angry and everything in between. I played many roles for her. At times, *I* was the parent to her younger alters. At other times, I was a friend to teens or older alters. Rarely did she seem like my mother, and rarely did the person who claimed to be my mother spend a significant amount of time out. For as far back as I could remember, our relationship hadn’t been the typical mother-daughter paradigm.
She brought some amazing things to my life. It’s through my mother that I met the first person who became part of my FOC and taught me what family was about. She taught me patience and how to be accepting of others’ difficult circumstances. She taught me respect. In those ways, she shaped who I am.
She also scarred me physically and mentally to the point that my therapy sessions sometimes remind me of Freudian satires. Through those injuries, though, I have learnt strength and endurance. I’ve learnt to guard myself, even to an unhealthy extent, but self-protection isn’t always bad. I try to draw strength from the dangers she sometimes posed.
My mother died in mid-Spring, just when everything was in full bloom. Winter is here, now, but I think about the promise of Spring and the promise of her life at that point. She was finally coming to the place where she might have had a chance to heal, but she decided to end her life instead. I will never understand that decision, even as I work to accept it.
There are so many things I miss about her and so many questions I have for her. I miss her both as a child misses her mother and as an adult who misses her friend. Her life ended much too soon.