Charlotte, Not Char

My mom died 2,688 days ago. Living after the death of a loved one is such a unique experience; she's missed so much and yet, still feels so present. Right after she died, I was due for new glasses. Somehow, this rattled me. I had always loved shopping for glasses with my mom, trying on an endless amount and relying heavily on her feedback. Even when wearing glasses that SO weren't me, she'd make me feel beautiful. And here I was, about to change to something she wouldn't see.

Now, almost eight years later, there have been so many things, big and small, that she hasn't physically been here for. There are major people in my life who haven't had the honor of knowing my wonderful mom. So, let me tell you about her.

My mom was a napper. You could bet that if we were home on a Saturday afternoon, Mom would be napping from like 1-3. My dad worked on Saturdays, so it was just us girls at home. We'd fend for ourselves while Mom rested, and she always had a cup of coffee after she woke up. My mom worked so hard and so often, and it was so powerful that my mom took those few hours a week for herself. She loved wine and delicious sweets and always took the time to enjoy them after a long day. Like a weirdo, she often mixed in a little milk with her ice cream that she'd enjoy standing at the kitchen counter. She celebrated her last few birthdays with homemade truffles and wine on the patio. As a mom now, I hope to grow in my ability to take care of myself in order to take care of my girls and to show them that's not selfish.

My mom was a shopper. We had iconic shopping trips growing up. We'd get cash before leaving town to spend the day browsing and buying. It was so intense that the employees at our favorite stores knew our sizes and would help family members shop for us. I don't remember the specifics of what we got or how my mom managed keeping things fair between my sisters and me, but spending the day out and about together was so special. I think my mom had phenomenal taste. She had an eye for how things would work together and an appreciation for fancy things. My dad once explained the difference between my mom's shopping habits and his own by saying he goes to the store, gets what he needs, and leaves, whereas my mom would wander around until she found what spoke to her. It was always an experience with mom.

My mom was a goofball. She was unafraid of being silly and imperfect. Despite singing "Tomorrow" from Annie OFTEN, I'm not convinced she ever actually knew the words. My sisters and I think of her whenever we see people with curlers in their hair because Mom would always sing, "Curlers in your hair? Shame on you," an alleged jingle from an old advertisement. Our mom went ALL OUT with Halloween and would cackle at all the spooky decorations. She would say, "Oh siiiick" after a bad joke. A good prank would make her positively giddy. One April Fools Day, she and I thought we'd really get my dad by parking his truck the opposite direction in the garage. We thought it was so genius, despite my dad being relatively unfazed. I miss the sound of her giggle terribly.

My mom was independent and fearless. Maybe it was the farm girl in her or her maternal instincts, but she tackled everything head-on. Living on the river, we once had a beaver in our yard that she scared away with pots and pans wearing galoshes. She ruthlessly "took care of" rabbits and any other creatures that invaded our yard. She loved a project, often scouring thrift stores for furniture she could refurbish. Again, she didn't worry about perfection. One time, she redid old hotel lamps for me, accidentally spray painting the power button into no longer working. Mom would borrow (or buy) power tools to fix any problem and didn't wait for my dad to do anything for her. She occasionally fell victim to the mindset of "If you want something to be done well, do it yourself." I love how well she modeled being powerful and independent for my sisters and me.

My mom was honest. She never shied away from hard conversations and openly talked about difficult topics and feelings. Through her vulnerability, she made people feel like they could come to her about anything. And knowing she was always sincere made her encouragement so meaningful. I was so lucky to grow up having my mom authentically building my confidence. She helped me to view myself realistically, aware of my downfalls and areas I needed to grow but not defined by them. She didn't have many secrets. If she was going through something challenging, she talked about it. I was 23 when she died and just barely getting acquainted with adulthood. The rest of my 20s included a lot of learning about how adults don't actually have it all together, but, thanks to my mom, I knew I didn't need to. Because of her willingness to be vulnerable and always honest, I knew I could be, too. I never felt like I had to be anyone or anything I wasn't, which is a true rarity, especially in a world of endless teeth-whitening, makeup tutorials, and "fake it 'till you make it." This fearlessness didn't mean my mom didn't have worries or wavering faith; she just had this sheer confidence that she wouldn't be controlled by them. She invited others into her struggles and made them feel like they weren't alone in whatever they were navigating.

The infamous "Berry Puff" was a beloved product of Mom's year of new recipes.

My mom was creative. Her creativity shone in immeasurable ways, cooking, gardening, painting, decorating, and problem-solving. She was known for her cooking and baking. She would auction off home-cooked meals during charity events, teach friends and colleagues how to cook, throw elaborate parties, and serve our family delicious meals every day. One year, she tried to make a new recipe every week, which was a seriously delightful time to be a Burchill. When she died, she had over 2,000 plants on our property after a few summers spending hours every day with her garden. It was such a gift to see the perennials return even after she was gone. Mom would dabble in painting, especially when she was feeling big feelings and didn't care about perfection, just expressing how she felt. My mom beautifully decorated our home. She had an eye for design and made our house welcoming to everyone.

My mom was loving. Oh, was she ever. She had an unbelievable ability to make people feel seen and known. She would make sure she had our favorite foods on hand, and not just ours, but our friends' favorites, too. She gave wholeheartedly in any way she could, coordinating parties, where she went above and beyond to prepare elaborate events for graduations, weddings, appreciation days, etc. Working at a nursing home, she was in the habit of reading the obituaries regularly. She would fearlessly and selflessly show up for people in heartbreaking situations, always knowing what to say and what to do to meet people both in their sorrow and their joy. Her impact and absence have been acutely felt by many in good times and bad in the years without her.

Sometimes, I look at my girls, and I'm so mad. I don't know what bothers me more, that they don't get to know my mom or that she doesn't get to know them. Or that I'm having to navigate motherhood without my mom. But the anger usually fizzles quickly, knowing how lucky I am to mother having had her example. To have the stronger, deeper relationships with all the women in my life, my incredible mother-in-law and aunts who continue to step up and love my girls and me as my own mom would have. Something I'm finding to be true the older I get is how our understanding of the world continues to evolve. It wasn't until I lost my mom that I realized the ways I was loved and mothered by so many more incredible women all along. So, happy mother's day to all the women whose maternal instinct and care span beyond traditional motherhood, the women who fill in for the mothers separated from their children by immeasurable distances and intangible ways.

- J