Today is my birthday, and it’s one that stands out among all 63 birthdays I’ve had on this planet. It’s the first birthday I’ve celebrated since my mother passed away on Christmas Eve, just 11 days ago. My younger sister also died a little over a year ago, and I wrote back then about how my practices helped me cope with the grief. Today though, I don’t want to focus on grief. Instead, I want to reflect on my feelings of relief and gratitude that my mother didn’t have to suffer longer. Her last days were difficult, and things would have only gotten worse.
Typically, my birthdays have been all about me—another year older, another trip around the sun. This year, however, I find myself more focused on the “birth” part of my birthday. It’s the anniversary not just of my arrival, but of the day my mother gave birth to me. This birthday feels more about her than it does about me.
My mother carried me inside her for over nine months (I was a bit late). From a single cell, I grew into a baby, nourished entirely by her; I was a part of her body. Today, I feel that in some ways, I am still a part of her, like a piece of her that has continued to live on in the world even after she is gone. My life is a continuation of hers.
As I mentioned in my book, “Living as a River,” parts of our mothers live on within us. During pregnancy, some cells from the mother enter the fetus, and vice versa. These cells have been discovered in various parts of the body—like the pancreases of diabetic individuals and damaged heart tissues, indicating an attempt to repair. It’s possible my mother’s cells are still within me, working to keep me healthy. (Although, these cells can sometimes trigger autoimmune diseases.)
My mind and brain were deeply influenced by my mother. My first experience of love was through her. We know from the tragic experiments by Harry Harlow on baby monkeys that maternal deprivation can destroy one’s sense of self. Harlow’s work also shows that maternal love is vital for developing our humanity—not just biologically, but in making us feel connected to others.
One of the greatest gifts my mother gave me was the gift of language. Much of our early linguistic learning comes from our mothers, and my ability to communicate today is a continuation of her influence. She also passed on many character traits, some good and some not so much, through unconscious imprinting rather than deliberate teaching. This means that my life is yet another continuation of her life in many ways.
Character traits are handed down from generation to generation. While not all of them are positive, it is my life’s task to amplify the best traits and try to eradicate the worst. By doing so, I can pass on the best parts of my mother to the world—not just to my children but to everyone I interact with.
My mother passed away on Christmas Eve, so I’ve now experienced one Christmas, New Year, and birthday without her. There has been grief, and there may be more as these anniversaries come around again. However, the love and gratitude I feel will remain long after the grief fades.
Her name was Eleanor Dorothy Stephen, born on March 16, 1938. Her birth certificate lists her family name as Tragheim, though she went by Tragham, a change my grandfather made during the war for a less German-sounding name. Part of her, as I mentioned, continues to live within me.
Happy birthday to me, and here’s to the wonderful woman who brought me into this world. Mom, you raised a compassionate person, and for that, I am eternally grateful.