This great line, from Sara Nović’s True Biz, intrigued me. The author goes on to assert that being motherless was “primal, the archetype for human suffering, like losing the North Star.” It can’t be an accident that as I struggled to write this post, today, when I’m finally ready to post, I get to celebrate my mother’s eighty-third birthday with her. Happy birthday, Mom!

Both my parents are alive and well, an eight-minute walk between our apartments, and even though I recently spent an uneasy few weeks living with them, their place in my life fills me with gratitude. So, as thankful as I am to not have the experience of losing a parent to guide me, questions pinballed around my mind.

Is the author implying that “motherless” is more devastating than “fatherless”? What dictates the magnitude of the loss? The nature of the mother-child relationship? Basic biology? Is it the care and affection we assign to the verb “mothering?” Does growing a child in my body, with their survival dependent on my own, create that different connection?

Sharing Is Caring

Science gave me some answers. Sort of.

At conception, I learned, our biological mothers contribute half of our DNA and our biological fathers the other half—so why then would the loss of either parent not be equally “primal?” Because mother and child share pieces of themselves, their cells, way beyond pregnancy and birth. It’s called fetal-maternal microchimerism: “As early as the second week of pregnancy there is a two-way flow of cells and DNA between the fetus and the mother. Fetal cells have been found to stay in the mother’s body beyond pregnancy and in some case for as long as decades after the birth of the baby. The mom’s cells also stay in the baby’s blood and tissues for decades. In one study more than half of adults still had maternal cells in their blood,” (Click here for more information on micochimerism).

Okay, that is fascinating, and primal. Biological mothers and their children carry real pieces of each other throughout their lives. It’s not a statement about a person’s relationship to their parents or their family dynamics—it’s an undeniable, innate connection intrinsic only to a mother and child. That is different.

So what?

Well, that’s interesting. Does that mean only a biological mother can provide the North Star a child needs? I don’t think so. I’ve no doubt that children raised away from their biological mothers can survive and flourish. Successful adoptions and all types of thriving atypical families prove that without shared DNA or giving birth to a child, a person can still be a protector, nurturer, or guiding force—all attributes we assign to mothers and fathers. But I also don’t think a person feels whole without at least trying to learn what they can about the woman who birthed them. That’s a connection a father doesn’t have with their child. It’s not a contest for either parent to win or lose. It just is, and that’s part of what maybe makes the loss different.

Where’s Mom?

It’s also about the different roles played by each parent. In my house, I am both the biological mother and the “mothering” parent. I provide empathy, food, and unconditional support. When the kids lived at home, if they woke and couldn’t find me, they would go straight to my husband and without even a “good morning,” they always asked, “where’s mom?” Sometimes now, miles away at college, if they can’t reach me, they call my husband and ask, “where’s mom?” My husband has always said I coddle our kids. I don’t know that he understands. It’s not a choice—their pain overwhelms me with aches of my own. In our family, that’s my role. My husband’s role includes, but is not limited to, technological and mechanical challenges, safety, emergency preparedness and humor. At a very simplified level, the loss of either of us would be different because we are different.

Last week I thought about all of this while waiting for a call from my veterinarian. After we discussed Artie’s upset stomach and reaction to medications, he ended the call by advising me to “use my mothering instincts.” Funny, but I understood exactly what he meant. Artie is also a happy recipient of my mothering. He searches the house for me when I’m gone and doesn’t give anyone else attention unless they open the refrigerator. I’m not his biological mother, but he sure would miss me if I never came home—my husband, Artie may not miss at all.

Evolution

A motherless child is not doomed to a rudderless life, a life without the consistency of a North Star. While most orphaned animals either starve to death, die of dehydration or are eaten by a predator, we humans have evolved. People create families outside the confines of gender roles and blood relations. The primal connection to our mothers is something I believe we cling to and search for, but it can be substituted so that we can survive.

Outside the loss of a biological mother, with its obvious biological connection, it’s the loss of any mother figure—regardless of relation or gender, even species, that devastates. It’s about losing the unconditional love and support we associate with mothers. But that science stuff is cool, too.

Thanks, Sara Nović, this is one great line.

If you can relate to this great line, I’d love to hear from you! Please scroll down and leave a comment.

If you’d like to read more about True Biz, click here.

If you’d like to read about me, and why I started this blog, click here.