There is one thing every princess I loved as a child has in common: they are motherless.
No one discusses the brutal element of those princess stories– it’s grief.
It was a part of the movie that I never focused on and certainly one that no one was talking about. No one explains that the happily ever after of each and every one of those beloved princesses included a future without a mother.
I never comprehended that all the princesses I wanted to be, the ones I pretended to be, no longer had mothers. Motherless wasn’t even a word I knew. It wasn’t one I ever heard, certainly one I didn’t want to live.
As a kid, I was dreaming about the dresses and mesmerized by the castles and fanciness of the story. I was lost in the songs and theatrics. I was envisioning a handsome prince that would make all my dreams come true– the kind of love you see in every fairytale. I was too busy studying the royal families, the heroes, and the charm to notice the sadness, the void.
I always wanted to be a princess and, in my thirties, it felt like I became one. I found the love of my life and two months before my wedding, my mother passed away. I turned into all of those princesses that I admired as a kid. I got the love and the romance. I got the husband and the children. And, I lost my mother.
I never knew turning into a princess felt like finding one love and losing another. I gained the love of my life and lost the love of my mother. I never gained the true title of princess, but I gained the commonality they shared. I became motherless too. Crowned with a reality, title, and responsibility I wouldn’t wish on anyone, not even those fairytale villains and bad guys.
If I knew being motherless was part of being a princess, I would have wished to be someone different. I would have picked a character that still had a mother.
I guess I finally learned how to become a princess. And now I don’t want to be one.
