The Power of a Mother's Voice

Not long ago, I found myself walking in circles

inside a Walgreen's. I went in because I wanted to buy

a couple of sympathy cards for friends, but I ended up

avoiding the card aisles because they were filled with

Mother’s Day cards.

This is my first Mother’s Day without

my mom. People say that when you lose

someone you love, the firsts are the hardest

— the first birthday, the first Christmas,

the first Mother’s Day. Last year at

this time I was terrified that my mom

would not survive her recently diagnosed

cancer, and this year that fear is

my reality.

After finding a couple of cards near

an end cap, I wandered over to the Easter

candy aisle thinking that some chocolate

might make me feel better. That’s when I saw the

marshmallow Peeps. Those were my mom’s favorite,

and I always bought them for her at Easter. Now they

have hollow milk chocolate eggs with a marshmallow

Peep inside: my mom would have loved that.

Before my mom died, she said things like, “I will

always be a part of you” and “You’ll always have me in

your heart.” I couldn’t imagine then what it would be

like to not have her here anymore, but my relationships

with my daughters help me to understand what

she meant when she said those things.

When my youngest daughter was in kindergarten,

she went through a phase where she felt disproportionately

guilty after she had done something wrong.

Her dad and I were over it, her sisters were over it, but

she couldn't get past her guilt—she couldn't move

on. She would say, “There is just this voice in my head

telling me I’m bad, that I never do anything right,

that I’m not good.” Finally, I thought to ask her whose

voice it was in her head telling her these things. She

looked at me like the answer was obvious.

“You!” she said. I laughed and cringed at the same

time. I had never said those things to her, but she had

picked up on my frustrations and disappointments,

and that translated into negative self-talk spoken in

my voice. It was a good reminder that as a mom, my

voice is powerful.

We joke about hearing our mothers’ voices in our

heads, and when we are younger that may feel more

like a curse than a blessing. But we are lucky if over

time that curse turns into a blessing as her voice

becomes a part of us.

In pretty much any given moment, if I quiet myself,

I can imagine what my mom would say to me. I can

still hear her voice, feel her love. Now I know what she

was trying to tell me.

Our oldest is learning how to drive, and in a few

short years she will be leaving for college. Sometimes I

look at her — in some ways she is like me and in other

ways she is so different—and I know it’s happening.

In the day-to-day mothering, I am becoming a part of

her and she, well, she has always been a part of me. It

is what it means to be a mother.

My mom, Carol Stephens.  1941-2013

I think I will go back to the store and walk directly

to the Mother’s Day card aisle. Even though it will be

hard, I will search until I find the card that best says

what my mom means to me, and then I will walk to

the check-out and buy it. And even though I don’t

care for them, I might even buy a package of marshmallow

Peeps — I think I’ll hear my mom’s laugh

when I do.

• Becky Baudouin lives in the Northwest suburbs with her

husband and their three daughters.

reprinted from the Daily Herald, April 16, 2014