The Dead Mother painting by Edvard Munch
I was talking to a woman in our county seat day before yesterday. She’s is an older woman and she seems to be of a very like mind to myself politically, which puts both of us in the minority here in the county where I live. So, she enjoys having someone who speaks her language to talk to. We really don’t communicate with one another that often but as I was leaving it came out that she had lost her mother at the age of 9.
I was almost finished reading a book by a woman, Mary Sue Rabe, that I met at Jean Houston’s home in August of 2016. Her book is titled “Stand There and Look Pretty Darlin’: Don’t You Worry Your Pretty Little Head ’bout Nothin'”. An important segment in her book was about losing her mother at age 9.
Back in my original grandmother’s childhoods in the early 1900s, mothers dying seems to have been a rather common phenomena – at least it happened to both of my grandmothers (one at age 3 mos and one at age 11). Also, my husband’s great-grandmother died after giving birth to her third child. That child was turned over to an unrelated couple to raise. His great-grandfather could barely manage the two older children he was left with in widowhood, one of whom was my husband’s grandfather.
Just after my older son was born, my mother-in-law made it her mission in life to get a memorial stone for Edith Morgan Yemm (my husband’s great-grandmother). Her husband was an impoverished coal miner when she died and so she was put into a pauper’s grave without a marker in the cemetery across from the church. He moved to another state after she died.
Not long ago, I read a book Motherless Daughters by Hope Edelman. The impact of losing one’s mother during childhood upon a daughter is profound.
Missing Mom 