I explained in an earlier post how scary and strange it is to approach the anniversary of my mother’s death (December 17) being the age she was when she died (51). As many other people have described in podcasts and publications, it’s definitely a thing to look at this date and imagine the imminent possibility of your own death at that age — even on that actual date! I know, it’s weird! But I’m not the only weirdo.

Let this author tell you all about it in her straight-to-the-point titled piece, “I’m the same age as my dad was when he died. No one talks about how much that messes with you.”

Or this one, also titled bluntly, “Today I’m the Same Age As My Mom Was When She Died.”

This author brings up the scary reality of this weirdness: the fact that reaching the age of your parent’s “cut-off,” makes you think about aging as “uncharted territory.” This is truth!

So I’ve been expecting uncharted emotions during the past few weeks — little private pity parties about not having back-of-the-brain modeling anymore for womanhood after age 51. And though I do not really expect to kick the bucket on December 17, I have a smidge of fear that I just might. I’ve also been introspective about how my mom felt and looked at age 51, and how I compare in her absence. I wonder if she knew she was going to die from that tummy ache she tried to ignore. Did she know? Was she scared? Should I be scared?

While I imagined I’d be drowning in self-contemplation these past few weeks, another — much, much better — state has emerged: relief. I have begun to feel grateful I no longer must subscribe to a manufactured measure of motherhood, this fictionalized version of how my mom must have been doing life during her 30s and 40s and that first year of her 50s . That vision I’ve tried to hold so sacred all these years is falling away. And that makes me breathe a little easier, surprisingly. Withering, too, are those ugly thoughts of comparison and declaration that no one — including myself! — can demonstrate perfect motherhood like my mom could. This has been a dang heavy load to carry around for the past three decades. And, embarrassingly, it has soured my opinions of many people over the years — mainly women — whom I didn’t feel measured up at all to the ideals I imagined my mom would embrace if she were alive.

Also freeing is the thought that I can finally design my own definitions of excellence when it comes to be a mom, a daughter-in-law, wife and friend. I can do things my way now! And instead of feeling like I’m not measuring up or being bound to the way I IMAGINE my mom would have been, I can just be — me.

Instead of holding my mom up as the only perfect example of everything femme, I can let all the other gracious women I know and adore hold the candle. It’s time for other female models, friends and family to let their light shine in my closed up, mommy-missing mind.

All that to say, if you’ve lost a parent and are going through any of the weirdness above, please know there’s a strange and beautiful twist of experience that happens when you release expectations. A new chapter emerges.

Now, let’s just hope I live to see December 18, lol.