Motherless Like Me

Remembering Uncle Dave

I don’t have any recent photos of my Uncle Dave—Mom’s older brother—but Mom had taken a lot of pictures of Uncle Dave when he was younger and of him and my Aunt Linda when they were dating. I looked through Mom’s old photo albums and picked a few good ones to share.

We’ll miss you, Uncle Dave.

Messing around with Grandma and Grandpa Baldwin
July 1971

August 1971

Uncle Dave and my cousin, Kim (Uncle Bob’s daughter)
August 1971

Uncle Dave & Aunt Linda when they were dating
May 1971

Wedding Shower
May 30, 1972

Wedding Day
June 10, 1972
Tipton, Ohio

David James Baldwin
December 13, 1948 - December 28, 2011

On Loving and Losing

Mom kept journals when she was pregnant with my brother and me. On February 16, 1981, she wrote to me about the love she shared with my dad. The entry read, “Someday I hope you’ll be able to experience a relationship like ours, but I know it’s a little too much for you right now. Someday though, you will understand all my grown-up talk.”

I wouldn’t be born for almost four months after her entry. And I wouldn’t begin to understand the sentiment she shared until nearly twenty-five years later when I met and married the man who is now my equal in every way.

My parents had been married for eighteen years before Mom unexpectedly died. I’ve been married to Ryan for a brief five and a half years, but it feels so much longer than that.

Yes, Mom, I think I know what you were talking about. I didn’t understand it for a long time. There was a part of me that didn’t want to know that kind of relationship because eventually, all relationships end. But I took a risk and chose to love him.

We went to New York a few weeks ago and I wrote this:

Brooklyn Bridge

I was moved inside and out, in
a sea of people suspended over
the East River.

I was swallowed by your lines,
by the architecture of your mouth,
by the weight of your history,
by the idea of where
you were taking me.

I was dumped into a city that
I’d never known, into a mad-
ness rushing and whirring by,
but I was not afraid this time.

I trusted you to carry me from
where I was to where I needed
to be, because I did not know.

You reminded me that we’re not
made to live so broken or alone,
so I dared to love all of you,
not just the idea of you.

Because we’re all walking on
bridges, moving into what we
cannot define or touch, but it’s
coming for us.

We’re all dancing with life and
death, reminded by our pain that
the time we have is never enough.

So when we say cheers, let’s drink
it down and make it count like we
don’t have any fear at all, even if
we do.

Because one day we’re going to
fly home from a place that used
to be familiar, a place that we’ve
since outgrown.

And we can only hope that what
we leave behind will be beautiful.

It seems that in every moment of greatness, every moment of intimacy, I am haunted by how fleeting this life is and by my own finiteness. Being in New York with Ryan reminded me of how small we are in a “sea of people.” But we have each other, Mom, just like you and Dad did.

I question it all the time. How would I live without the man I’ve come to know and love? He is too familiar to me. I know that one day we will be separated, even if only for a short while. I pray that during the time we have together, we will we be daring in our living and generous in our loving as we build something of lasting beauty.

My Mother’s Mother

Donna Dean Baldwin {Jones}
August 8, 1925 ~ September 20, 2000

{This photo was taken sometime in 1941. Grandma would have been around 16.}

I can’t explain the importance of being mothered. When my own mom died in 1991, it was a natural progression for my grandmother to step in as a maternal figure. We lived next to Grandma until I was in high school, so she was the woman I gleaned the most from during my formative years.

She nurtured me along as I grew, offering guidance and an honest opinion when she saw fit (whether I wanted it or not). She shared stories about Mom and celebrated birthdays and milestones with me. When she approved of me, it felt like Mom approved of me too. It was what I needed, to be affirmed as a daughter by the woman who had known my mother the most.

By the time I graduated from high school in June 1999, Grandma’s cancer had made her body weak. I still have the graduation card she gave me. In it she penned how proud she was of me and shared her regret in being unable to throw a big graduation party for me. Through the years, she had been there for the moments when I needed a mom, but now that was changing.

A little more than a year later, on September 20, 2000, Grandma passed from this life into the next. Once again, I felt utterly alone. Being around Grandma was the closest I felt to Mom while growing up. Losing my mother’s mother was like losing the last small connection I had with my own mother.

Maybe our bond wouldn’t have been so strong or special if it hadn’t been affected so deeply by loss. But regardless, Grandma was the woman who mothered me through the hard years that followed Mom’s death and I am forever grateful that she chose to be there for me. There are days I miss her dearly. Today is one of those days. She wasn’t here long enough and neither was Mom. But I am thankful for the memories we were able to make and for the legacy they left me with. I can only hope that if they were here today, they would be proud of the woman that I have become.