I was forced into reality this weekend.  It has taken fifteen years for me to admit this out loud, in my head, and to people I love.  I wonder why.  I believe it is because this mistake cost my mother her life and my siblings and I her love and protection. My mother was killed in a car accident New Year's Eve 1972, but not after midnight when all the drunks were out, it was around 1pm on the way to the grocery store.  Her son was eight months old, and my sister and I were three and seven.

When you lose a mother you lose a huge part of yourself.  Every day after school I would walk home wishing my mother was there to give me a hug and some cookies and milk.  I longed to here a mother say, "How was your day today honey?"  I couldn't stand passing milestones.  Every graduation, sport championship or accomplishment was only another reminder that I was motherless .  I never dreamed of a big wedding.  Why would I want that?  So I could realize once again that my mother was dead, and I was alone in this world.  

The births of my three children were miracles, I wept, for two reasons, that I was a mother, finally, and the realization my mother wasn't there to be a grandmother.  As my children have grown it pains me to see women with their mothers and their children at school plays, sporting events, and even the mall.  I so badly want that mother/daughter bond that I will never have.  I know I was not meant to have a mother, but that doesn't always make it easier.

It bugged me not to know how long her labors were, when she got her period, what were her beliefs, what made her laugh, and what made her cry.  What was her favorite food, her favorite flavor of ice-cream, did she like action movies or drama?  I hate that I don't know what her voice sounds like, or her laugh.  It is  devastating to not know what the color of her eyes truly were. A picture can't show me that.  I believe that is why I stare at my children's eyes constantly.  Even though, they have blues eyes like me and my mother had brown.  My brother was the lucky one that received the color of my mother's eyes, brown.  Sometimes when I see my brother I want to ask him to let me just look into his eyes for an hour, so I can dream.  It is too embarrassing though, so I catch glances of his eyes whenever I can. My poor friends, I still shove pictures of my mother in their face and ask, "Do I think I look her?"  I don't by the way, my sister does.

My mother is gone and I still hate it.I have accepted it, and have learned to love life as a motherless daughter, but my mind still wouldn't grasp the one mistake that cost her her life. I believe I have never accepted it, until last night at midnight, because I get angry when I think about her mistake that has caused me such saddness and grief. Last night my sister handed me my mother's baby book and told me to look at it and read the newspaper articles about her death.  I didn't want to. I don't know why my sister did this last night and nor did I ask. I just looked, cried and read. 

There are two separate articles in two different papers about the death of the mother of three, Mrs. Hogan.  "Wolff said he was driving east of Rte. 132 and was unable to stop in time to avoid striking the car driven south on Fairfield Rd. by Mrs. Hogan.  Mrs. Hogan was alone in the car.  Wolff and witnesses said Mrs. Hogan's car went through a stop sign."

The second article states, "According to a witness the Wolff car was eastbound on Rte. 132 when the Hogan vehicle, which was Northbound on Fairfield Rd, went through the stop sign in front of the Wolff car."

That is devastating for me to read, my mother would have lived if she didn't blow a stop sign. Next to the article is a dried rose from my mother's funeral that my grandmother saved for my siblings and I.  I have accepted that my mother made a mistake.  Sometimes, the mind can take over and not let reality in.  You might wonder why I couldn't accept it.  I couldn't accept it for all the reasons above.  I couldn't come to grips with the fact that mother's mistake cost me so much.  If I thought about her running a stop sign I would get angry and think to myself. "Why was she so careless? How could she not have been more careful when she had three babies at home?"

I was being unfair.  In the last four years I have come to love my life, and find peace.  In finding peace, I have realized I was not meant to have a mother.  Her mistake was not a mistake.  Who knows, maybe God, pulled that stop sign momentarily because my mother was meant to go through and be struck and killed.  For those of you who don't believe in fate, God, or things happen for a reason, might believe I am a bit looney.  I am not. We are all hear to learn lessons, and things happen for a reason.  My mother did not make a mistake, it all happened the way it was supposed to happen.

My mother's birthday is Tuesday the 24th of February. She would have been sixty three.  I miss you mom, and love you dearly!