The Moms We Find Along the Way

***This story was previously published on Medium.com by the author***

You know what they don’t tell you about motherhood?

That sometimes moms need moms, too.

Our first love is our mother. She’s the first person to touch us, feed us, and love us. She’s the first person we trust. And somewhere deep inside, no matter how old we get, we carry that need for mothering comfort.

People assume that when you become a mom, you instantly get a download of wisdom, patience, and the ability to bake last-minute chocolate chip cookies for the school bazaar.

Spoiler alert: we don’t.

Sometimes we just want our own mom to come over, hold us, make tea, and tell us we’re doing okay, especially on those days when we’re barely holding it together.

My Mom

My mom passed in 2002, just three short months after my mother-in-law. Mom was only 69 years old.

She did all the “right” things — driving me to dance lessons, swimming, piano, Girl Scouts, and dropping my friends and me off at the roller rink and mall. From the outside, it looked like a textbook (normal) childhood.

But there was an emotional gap. I don’t think she ever really liked me. I mean, I know she loved me. But friendship, affection, comfort — those were harder.

There were no “Hallmark” moments. There were no hugs.

As I got older and saw how other mothers treated their daughters, I noticed something was off. When I went into early labor, she said, “You have your husband now; you don’t need me,” and sent me off in the ambulance alone. I needed her that day. But how could I tell her after what she just said?

My mom was caught between two worlds — the traditional expectations of her upbringing and the opportunities opening up in the late ’60s and ’70s. Much to my father’s dismay, she went to work in 1969. She worked as a secretary while attending college. She found her passion in community theater, performing in plays at Guggenheim Hall. It was amazing to see her on stage, transformed into someone else. She even started a Young Thespians group for kids in our community.

I remember her frustration after she and dad separated when she went to buy furniture for her first apartment. Despite being an independent working woman, she needed my dad’s signature to get credit. These moments gave me glimpses into her struggles, though we never discussed them.

She remained a mystery.

She was warm and friendly to everyone else’s children, many of whom came back to her for advice later in life, but somehow distant with my sister and me. I could see the difference in how she treated us compared to other kids.

We grow up thinking our moms are infallible, unshakable rocks. But they’re human. They have vulnerabilities, frustrations, and dreams.

Sometimes I wonder: Did Mom feel the same disconnect with her mother as I felt with her?

I’ll never know.

Some of the best moms I ever knew weren’t mine

Along the way, I picked up some surprise moms –

• The teacher who taught me to appreciate nature and find the hidden beauty in rocks polished to shine,
• The one who called me a “head cow” and taught me manners and dignity,
• The older friend who showed up at the hospital when I needed someone to tell me everything would be okay.

These women stepped into my life at exactly the right moments. They didn’t replace my mother, but filled the gaps I didn’t even know were there. They offered perspective, wisdom, and unconditional acceptance that we crave.

And, then there’s my stepmother

I was already an adult when she married my dad. At the wedding, the preacher asked if I would accept her as my mother — a moment so awkward that I didn’t answer. Later, my father apologized; he hadn’t known the preacher would spring that on us. But she never tried to “mother” me. She had three grown children of her own that I barely knew, and we simply found our own rhythm.

She took care of my dad’s aging mother with grace and patience. She was a true companion to my dad — someone who made him laugh, made him dinner, and made his world feel less lonely.

They’ve now been married for over forty years. I have a fondness for her, a quiet appreciation. She never filled the role of “mom,” but she filled a space that mattered.

And then there was my mother-in-law

She was one of those surprise moms.

I always knew she loved her sons above all else, and she missed my husband’s first wife (I know because she would call me her name), but I tried to be her friend.

When she could no longer walk through a mall, I pushed her in a wheelchair, though my lack of steering skills often sent her into racks of clothes. We laughed for hours.

We shared a heartfelt moment at lunch once, watching a group of kids pray before eating, shortly after the Columbine tragedy. Tears welled in our eyes.

She had her quirks.

• She’d forget to hang up the phone completely, and I’d end up driving 40 minutes to her house to check on her.
• She hoarded expired Pepsi's far past their expiration date, until they tasted like rotten wood.
• She carried a flashlight and magnifying glass in restaurants — something I used to roll my eyes at, but totally get now.
• She always took two pieces of bread and the last slice of anything.

These little habits formed her unique charm.

Shared experiences made us great friends.

A man never sees all that his mother has been to him ‘till it’s too late to let her know that he sees it.” W. D. Howells

In quiet moments, I still talk to both my mom and my mother-in-law.

Sometimes I see visions of my mother-in-law laughing, clear as day. I wonder if she ever knew how grateful I was for her. Or if she’d have rolled her eyes at the sentiment. I hope she knows I miss her and her lifetime of wisdom and kindness.

Mom stays in touch, too — mostly by scolding me in my dreams. “Vickie!” she says, stern and insistent. I even have a recurring nightmare where she rings my doorbell, insisting she’s not dead and demanding her house and car back. Some things never change.

Now that I’m older than my mother ever got to be, I’ve learned to mother myself in ways she couldn’t. I’ve learned to give myself the grace, the patience, and yes, even the hugs, that I needed from her.

Mother’s Day is complex when your relationship with your mother was complicated. It’s a day that can highlight what you missed as much as what you had. But it’s also a day to acknowledge the many forms of mothering we receive throughout our lives — and the mothering we give to ourselves.

When you’re barely holding it together — when you’re tired, overwhelmed, and wondering if you’re doing any of it right — it’s okay to want your mom.

Even if she wasn’t the huggy type.

Even if she's gone.

Even if you're older now than she ever got to be.

Because sometimes, even moms need a mom.