My mama, Melinda Hope Myrick Brown, should have turned 77 today. Instead, colon cancer stole her 20 years ago.
Her death pretty much broke me. I was 25.
I’ve been trying to put myself back together ever since.
Parent loss isn’t fun.
A Love Letter to My Mama
In so many ways, this website of mine is a love letter to my mama. I’m trying to convince her to make time for herself, to fill her own tank, to not always put herself dead last. I believe in my heart — albeit with no medical evidence — that a lifetime of putting herself last contributed to the tumor that eventually killed her.
I believe this with such certainty because I followed in her footsteps. I followed the model I’d been given of what marriage and motherhood should look like. I’ll spare you the specifics, but it involved a lot of putting myself last. Which was having a profound negative impact on my health and well being.
I see you, mom. I get it. I understand.
The crazy calculus you were always doing in your head. The perpetual multi-tasking. The keeping track of everyone else’s everything all the time. The muting your own wants and needs because there wasn’t enough time or room or money or energy left over after attending to everyone else’s. I love you. Thank you. I’m sorry. You deserved so much more.
My mother was diagnosed with fourth stage colon cancer when she was 53. She had no family history. Doctors thought the tumor could have been growing for as many as 8 or 9 years when it was discovered.
A routine colonoscopy at 50 would have caught it sooner. But it would be another few years before Katie Couric would undergo one on national TV to help encourage their widespread early adoption. Even if she had, my mom very likely prioritized her own healthcare behind way too many things.
I’ve come to understand my mother so much more as a mother myself. My kids are 8 and 10, and they teach me incredible things about the world and about myself. On the regular.
They also teach me a ton about my mom and dad. About what it’s like to do this thing called parenting. How HARD it is. How often we’re trying to do our very best and somehow letting our kids down anyway. This sh!t ain’t easy. I’m making mistakes left and right. I’m trying. Just like I know my parents were trying, And yet I’m failing in ways I am sure I can’t even see right now. In addition to the ways I can.
And that was BEFORE coronavirus began infecting its way toward us.
Surely I’m not the only one who felt like I was failing as a parent half the time before. And before was not now.
Now I feel like I’m failing as a parent a lot of the time. While needing to be a parent all of the time, without any breaks. While also preparing every meal and juggling a crazy new set of challenges and responsibilities and limitations and uncertainty. And the fear. And the financial insecurity.
