I stare into the mirror, a place that has always reflected back flaws and imperfections but also glimmers of happiness and beauty. Since losing my mother, it reflects someone I don’t know or recognize.
I look. I stare. I see a woman who looks like me– same hair, same complexion, same identifying marks, and while I know this is a mirror and I’m looking at myself, it’s like I’m seeing someone else.
Someone different.
Someone else entirely.
This person doesn’t have a mother.
This person has holes that might seem invisible to others but when I look into this mirror it’s like they leak heartbreak and longing.
This person has eyes that no longer sparkle, instead they hold a new darkness that clouds the blue they used to be.
This person doesn’t have a smile, instead a stoic persona composed of survival and disbelief.
This person looks broken and tired and numb and angry and confused and devastated, all in the same glance.
This person is me but when I look into the mirror now, it’s like I’m seeing someone else.
Someone different.
Someone completely different than before.
I don’t see the woman I am, I see the woman I lost.
I don’t see the mother I am, I see the mother I lost.
I don’t see the accomplishments I’ve achieved, I see the ones she’ll never get to make.
I don’t see the things I’ve overcome, I see someone overcome by grief and loss.
I don’t see all that I’ve had and all I’ve become, I see all that she’ll never see again.
I see a woman who from this day forward will not be known by her mother, not in the way I want and need.
It’s like I’m seeing someone else.
Someone completely different than before.
And for months and months this is the only person I see, this complete stranger– the one that looks and moves just like me, yet someone else entirely. And for years I stare at this remade version of myself, desperately hoping to see the woman I used to be– a daughter, a woman with a mother.
For such a long time when I stared into that mirror I saw someone else, like a daily reminder that I wasn’t the same and never would be. Like a constant sign that I was seeing someone else because I was someone else.
Until one day, I saw less emptiness and more sparkle.
Until one day, I saw less exhaustion and more hope.
Until one day, I saw less of a woman who buried her mother and more of a woman carrying her mother’s legacy.
One day I woke up and again, it was like I was seeing someone else.
I was seeing her.
I was seeing someone else in that mirror and that reflection. I was seeing her, right there through me. And now when I look in the mirror, it’s a blessing to see someone else. In fact, I hope I always do.
I see her. Do you?
