Conversation Over Pancakes
This morning T made blueberry pancakes for breakfast. While we enjoyed the delicious pancakes, T wondered about the making of chocolate chip pancakes. At what point does one put in the chocolate chips so that they’re not too melted, but not too hard? I commented that my mom used to make me chocolate chip pancakes when I was little and also made Mickey Mouse shaped pancakes, which I loved. And then the following conversation took place…
Tiny: Who make you Mickey Mouse pancake?
r (me): My mommy did. Your mommy’s mommy.
Tiny: Where is she?
r: She’s far away.
Tiny: Can we see her?
r: No. You will never see her.
Tiny: Why?
r: (silent pause. glance at T.) We’ll talk about it another time.
I could feel myself about to fall apart. If the cat hadn’t raced through the kitchen, scared by the electrician who was fixing our front entryway light, making us all laugh, I might have had to spend the next few minutes in the bathroom with the water running.
My mother died eight years ago. One year before I met T. My mother suffered from depression for most of her adult life. I had never known until the summer of 2000 when she was let go from a job she loved, due to a merger and restructuring, and completely fell apart. Soon afterward, she attempted to take her own life, but was fortunately unsuccessful. The months that followed were full of ups and downs, but mostly downs. And two years later, she made another attempt. That time I lost her forever.
I know I will share the details of my mother’s life and death with Tiny and Buba eventually, but I was not at all prepared to do it today. Thinking back on the conversation, I am surprised that I answered “far away” when Tiny asked where she is. I know that Tiny and Buba do not know the concept of death yet, so maybe that was me trying to get around having to explain that today too.
The thing is, as bad as the last two years were, I have so many very happy memories of my mother and I together. I want to be able to share those memories with my kids, for them to hear how much we loved each other, but I was caught off guard by the sadness I felt sharing about the pancakes, even before my conversation with Tiny began. Because sometimes the realization that my kids will never know my mother hits way too hard at times when I don’t even see it coming.
Thinking of you…and appreciating Jessica’s comment, above.
Renae, I had no idea that you had lost your mom in such a painful way. I’m so sorry.
It feels like a nearly impossible thing to discuss with kids as young as ours. I hope you are able to find a good way to discuss it as they get older, though I haven’t the faintest idea what that would be.
I’m so sorry. It’s definitely not easy to explain death to children.. and it’s not easy to raise children without “mom’s advice.” My mom died 8 1/2 years ago and I’m constantly reminded that she’ll never get to meet my girls. Now that my girls are older, they understand “Grandma Karen” is in Heaven and when we talk about her they’ll ask if it makes me sad that she’s gone. I just say yes and talk about a fun memory of my mom. I wish I had some words of wisdom for you.
My dad took his own life too. I haven’t thought about telling my kids about my dad since my mom remarried. This makes me think that I should start thinking about making sure that my kids know about him too!
R, I’m so sorry that all these memories came to the forefront in such an unexpected way. I’m so touched that you put the manner of your mother’s death out on the blog. You’ve told me about it before, and I like to think that if my depression ever returns, I will think of you and remember to seek help.
You’re a wonderful mother. If “far away” is what you said, then “far away” is the right thing to say. When they are older, you can explain that you meant “far away” in time, or dimension, or however you choose to describe it.
For what it’s worth, I’ve decided that I’ll talk to my girls about my own depression when they’re older. I’d like them to know what the signs are and how to ask for help, since they are biochemically predisposed to depression themselves.
I had no idea either. *hug*
We’ve gone through this with Maggie recently. She asked about Mike’s mom – who is in heaven – and Mike didn’t want to lie to her. He’s not quite the best at holding back when necessary. Quite the night we had there.
I think it’s okay to be really vague at this age; but definitely think about what you might say next time … because there will be a next time. It’s not easy, but hopefully next time you won’t be as caught off guard.
Thinking of you!
Losing your mother must have been such a painful event, magnified even more now in the context of your own motherhood.
I think these are the things that we churn around in our minds and during our days for months and years before there is any sense of peace about how our children will handle it (at least that is how I feel about talking to Sarah about being adopted).
Ive always wondered what I would say to when the time comes. I’m very, very sorry to hear about the way you lost her….I can’t imagine how that must feel.
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I remember that period of time very well. I know it’s hard, but remember that your mother is not so ‘far away’ every time your kids laugh, or learn something new, or, someday, when you’re up for it, have mickey mouse pancakes. xoxox