She called me ladybug

My mom passed away on Monday of this week, and I have spent the majority of time since then figuring out how I am feeling. I don't process anything until I write it down. She was in pain, and it was her time, and she went peacefully. All of that checked the boxes of how it is supposed to be.

What has plagued me all week has been how to frame her life and death. My mom grew up in a horrendous household with an alcoholic dad and abusive mom. It makes sense that she escaped that as soon as possible. They lived in rural North Carolina, and she had known my dad since she was five years old, and she swore she remembered making mud pies with him then. She married my dad at 14 years old. She was not allowed to return to school, so she never set foot inside a high school. She moved in with my dad's family, where she became the mom-figure to my dad's three younger sisters. My grandma had to work to support the family since my grandpa drank it away, so my mom was a great help.

My parents saved up and bought a house at 19 years old. Soon after, they had my oldest brother Nelson, and my mom was no longer just playing mama, but she'd had lots of practice. I know very little about life for the first three kids in my family. There is a ten year gap, and I am the oldest of the second set. My older siblings were always more like aunts and uncles. Caroline, my brother Nelson's wife, was pregnant with my nephew when my mom was pregnant with my youngest brother, Erick. Erick was an uncle before he was born. If it all sounds surreal, it really wasn't. We just had a lot of family around.

When I was little, apparently, I would not leave my mom alone for one second. I literally hung on her leg. I was so enamored and attached with her that they were worried that I'd freak out to go to kindergarten. My mom decided to take me to story hour at the library and let me practice being left somewhere. I cried for weeks when she left me, but eventually I got used to it. I was a very timid little girl.

When I'm told about how obsessed with my mom I was, it always seems impossible. As teenagers, and later as an adult, I was not close to my mom. We were not oppositional, but we had never grown together. Zoey and I , when we talk about her childhood, frequently lapse into "When we were little" because we did grow up together. I don't remember much about my youngest days, but I know a few things about my mom that I've been thinking about this week.

• She never sat down. I don't remember her eating because she was busy cooking, serving, and cleaning. I'm sure she did, but I don't remember her sitting at the table with us.

• Reading was her escape. She'd read several books a week, laying in our backyard oiled up and lying on a towel on a lawn chair in our backyard.

• She did not lecture or give advice. She tried to keep the peace. I find myself doing the exact same thing, and it always surprises me how much easier it is to smooth things over than anything else.

• She was adamant that we get our education and never have to rely on anyone. When I was very young, before I ever needed it, she took me to the doctor for birth control pills with next to no conversation between us. She reminded me to take it every day.

• My dad was a lot of good things as a father, but he was a crappy husband. He was controlling and possessive, and my mom was generally shut off from the world. She didn't have friends, a job, or any way out of her very small world.

• She stretched money. We always had the clothes for the next season on lay away at Kmart, and we had no idea why. We just thought it was a fun thing we did together. I definitely inherited this from her. When we have struggled, our kids always thought of it as an adventure because that is how I sold it.

All of these things have been running through my head. But, there are two things that I've been thinking about the most this week. The first is that she named me Amber Rain. It sounds like she was a boho mama, much like I am. That could not have been further from the truth. She'd be what we call a Trad wife, though not by choice.. However, the whimsy and freedom of my middle name alludes to something about her that she never revealed to us.

The thing I've been literally dreaming about is ladybugs. That is what she called me when I was little. Of all of her mysteries, this one won't leave me. It has occurred to me this week that I don't know how she saw me. I'm almost entirely the opposite of her in every way. She kept a meticulous house, and I can see the dust particles in the ray of sun coming in the window right now. She was much more selfless than I am, though it is clear to me now, as an adult, that she didn't have much choice. Both big readers, and yet we never agreed on books either. I am the first person in my family to have gone to college, and as you know, she didn't go to high school. We never really grew together, and in fact, the more I grew, the further apart we became. This was never named. This was never discussed. But, this was always there.

I'd like to think that there was a part of me--the Rain part, the Ladybug part--that my mom was wishing into existence for me because it would never even be conceivable for herself. At some point, when I was younger and trying harder to understand the things that are never spoken, I determined that all of the things I do are wishes she never even spoke aloud.

I travel. I am madly in love with my husband. My daughter is my best friend. I have stood on stages and spoken to thousands of people about my expertise. I have my sixth book coming out next week. I make great money. I can fly away, any time I want, because I have the freedom that education and financial independence bring. Her wishes for me, it seems, have come true,

As I look around me, as I feel patriarchal overreach oozing its way through the cracks, I am determined to appreciate the distance between my mother and I, and though it was sometimes painful, it is a constant reminder that I owe it to my daughter, who I also call Ladybug, to make sure that she can always conceive of things beyond my wildest dreams. I didn't know my mom very well, and she did not know me either, but I know that somewhere in her was a woman who named me Amber Rain and called me Ladybug.