Occasionally I’ll find a picture where I resemble my mother, and it makes me happy. Growing up it was always my sister who looked like her. And now that she’s gone, I desperately cling to any piece of her that remains. And sometimes, if I’m lucky, I find one.
A picture where the resemblance can’t be denied. A resemblance that proves I am hers and she was mine. A picture that shows the same eyes, the same smile, and the same nose. A picture that shows the beauty of being her daughter.
Who knew that after spending my entire teenage life trying to resist her influence and style, I’d desperately long for it years later into adulthood. Who knew that all that she was, I’d soon become. Even those things that had me rolling my eyes and dramatically stomping off. Even the things I said I’d never do, or say, or become.
Becoming like her would be the most beautiful transformation I’d ever make.
With each passing moment, I resemble her more and more. Maybe it’s because I always have, or maybe it’s because as she left this earth, pieces of her were sprinkled upon me in a new way. Either way, it’s a gift that I adore. Hearing the words, “You look like your mother.” and “You’re just like your mother.” have become the most meaningful compliments I’ve ever heard.
I resemble her, both her heart and her smile, and it’s a treasured gift. My mother is gone and yet I still find myself searching for her. I always will. I cling fiercely to the pieces of her that remain.
And sometimes, if I’m lucky, I find them in the best place possible. I find them in me.
