Losing and Finding

My mother passed away July 26, 1997. She was 49.

It has been almost 15 years since my mother passed. The hole she left still gapes and bleeds. That’s a long time for anyone to go without the strong guidance and love of the woman who bore you. Over the years, I have collected woman. Strong women – physically, mentally and emotionally. I have looked to these women, not as a replacement for my mother though I often saddle them with the title of “Mom,” or “Ma.” I look to these women as my life. This is my way to show my appreciation for the women in my life who I could not bear to be without.

Throughout the years I have had many women come and go. The friends and family who have remained true in my life, who have at one point or another supported me, advised me, loved me and been on the other line of a distraught phone call; have steered me into becoming the happy, healthy, wonderful person I am today. The people I chose to surround myself with are the people that reflect not only myself but Nancy Adele Arciero, my mother. There will never be a replacement for her, ever. I remember how she was, how she'll always be. She was always smiling, she danced hula, taught aerobics, was involved in our schools, was a substitute teacher and could light up a room. For some people who knew her, she stood as their only true friend. Our house had an open door policy, as my house does now.

To name off every person and explain why I cling to these women would be misleading and dishonest to all of the accumulation of women who have guided and shaped me over the years. It’s not one, it’s ALL. There are the constant women who I interact with almost every day either through phone, email or in person. Then there are the woman who I want to interact with everyday, who I know I can call on if I need it, who offer advice when I ask, who have taken me in when I’ve fallen, who have helped me up when my life was a smear on a highway.  

If you are one of my closest confidants, if I tell you “I love you,” do not take it lightly, because I don’t. I cherish every moment bathing in the glow of a woman who is different than me, who has shown me another way, who has struggled and shared with me their past, their life and their misfortune. To the women who have listened to my stories without judgment, without reprimand, without “notes,” I thank you.

Losing a parent is never easy, for me, losing my mother was like being lost in the woods. I didn’t know which turn to take to get me home. The paths winded and curled and some were mere circles. I still don’t understand the finer points of make-up, hair, clothing, shoes and even my own feelings and self. I can tell anyone the stories of my life without shedding a tear. I am very good at detachment. Losing my mother set my life down a path I wasn’t ready for, as losing a parent does for anyone at any age. It was only because of the women I found to carry the torches at night that I was allowed to develop. They let me make a wrong turn and find comfort in their arms. They pushed and prodded and moved me in such profound ways that though I am still in the woods, I can see the forest for the trees and I have made a home in the wilderness. I have forged myself from fears and missteps; heartache and failure. Being lost in the woods is no longer a prison, it’s a choice.

My father will always be my best friend and my first love. However, being a woman is nothing like being a man. I am not a man, so I sought out those to teach me. You all have given me pieces of yourself. Little jigsaw puzzle pieces. I have used those pieces to fit and form and create a mother. A mother who is spread throughout the world, who comes from all backgrounds, all walks of life and all experiences.  Throughout the years it is my friends and family, MY WOMEN, who have given me back what I have lost almost 15 years ago. I can’t express my gratitude, but this was my attempt to do so.