Apfelkuchen (aka Apple Crumb Cake)

I just put my mom's "famous" Apfelkuchen (apple cake) in the oven, and as I was preparing it I reflected a lot about my mom, especially her baking.  I wanted to share my thoughts with you - I hope you don't mind!

I feel so lucky that my mom spent time typing out all her signature recipes.  She was well-known for her baking and cooking, and baking the Apfelkuchen flooded me with memories of eating her special goodies at holidays, birthdays, when we had visitors, at other people's houses, when someone was sick (she always baked extras for us), and basically anytime at the drop of a hat.  The Apfelkuchen was actually her grandmother's recipe, and so I have the added joy of knowing that I'm passing something on to my children that my mother, her mother, and her mother's mother all did.

But of course there's also a sad side.  Obviously my greatest sadness is knowing my mother will never bake for me again.  But there's more.  I wish I could call her tomorrow and ask how she did the streusel topping and how she sliced & arranged the apples.  I wish she could stand beside me in the kitchen again and teach me how to do it - and this time I'd actually listen.  And then there's the fact that all my friends went crazy for my mom's apple cake, her cheese bread, her Alexander torte, while I took them for granted and was sometimes slightly annoyed that she always baked the same things.  As a kid I was embarrassed about bringing Alexander torte on my birthday when my friends all brought cookies or cupcakes.  (At least I later learned to embrace and feel proud of the cultural differences later on.  Just not in 4th grade.)  Mostly I wish I were baking the cake for my mom, to eat it with her.

And of course the apple cake is a metaphor for everything about loss - the blessings I feel about what my mom gave me as well as the regrets I have.  We all have complicated relationships with our moms.  We all wish our moms could be a little different, a little more perfect.  It's easy to focus on the imperfections.  But this is a reminder that sometimes there's no "tomorrow".  The thing you plan on saying eventually ("thank you" or "I get it now" or "you were right" or "you are a great mom/dad/brother/sister") - it's best to say it now, because otherwise the time won't come.  My mom drove me crazy a lot, and that's just how it was, and there were times I cherished her and times I didn't.  I wish I had savored our time together a little more.  If you still have your mom, I'm acting as that little bee buzzing around you reminding you to savor your time with your parents, even when they drive you crazy.  It's fine to think about the ways they drive you crazy, but afterwards make yourself list the things about them that you cherish.  I almost guarantee it will be a long list.

And then come on over for some Apfelkuchen.  :)

Parenting Like A Grandparent

There are lots of types of grandparents; some are incredibly involved in their grandchildren's lives while others have distant relationships.  Our kids were lucky enough to have four grandparents who were actively involved in their lives and provided abundant unconditional love.  Each grandparent had his or her own strengths, and together they created a wonderful, balanced web of extended family.  And then one of them died.  When the kids' Omi Helga, my mom, died, she left an enormous void.  Each of the grandparents contributed something unique to the kids' lives, and in Omi's case it was a combination of German heritage and culture, an astounding amount of energy for excursions and adventures, and an intense love.

When my mom died, I realized immediately that her loss was going to leave a major hole in our lives.  My DH and I vowed immediately to find ways of filling that void; the tricky question was, How?

In a few days it will have been 5 months since my mom's death, and I ponder that question almost daily.  I've had to accept that no one will able to take her place and give my kids everything she gave them.  I've realized that the key to continuing my mother's legacy is to keep her spirit alive.  We're constantly finding ways of doing this, like sharing stories about her, mentioning her in our everyday lives, and carrying on her traditions.

It didn't feel like this was enough, though.  Of course these things keep her memory with us, but I still couldn't get over the fact that her presence was gone from our lives.  And then it came to me:  I need to parent like a grandparent.

What does that mean?  In the case of my mom, it means sitting down with the kids and giving them undivided attention: forgetting the housework for the time being, or the computer, or the to-do lists forming in my head. Simply taking the time to listen in the way a grandparent does, who has only limited time with the kids and makes the most of every minute.  It means every once in awhile forgetting I'm the Mom - the one who sets boundaries and teaches manners and sometimes has a short fuse - and acting like Omi - the one who had nothing but time, who hung on every word N said, who would walk to N's favorite burger/ice cream joint at the drop of a hat, rain or shine, who would spend an hour at the train table or throwing rocks into the creek or explaining gardening.

N & A are blessed to still have 3 grandparents who are loving and involved.  Nevertheless, we miss Omi like crazy.  I will admit that most days I feel like I'm in survival mode, and the idea of stepping into my mom's shoes seems like an unattainable ideal.  But I'm getting better and better at it, and I hope that in some way I'll be able to channel my mom and give my kids some of what my mom did.

Originally written 6/26/11

Introduction

I have come to realize that I need to find a grief support group.  Grief is such a complex thing, and one can only burden one's friends for so long.  The only problem is, I have two children and haven't even found the time to call about a support group, let alone attend one.  I decided to start this blog to have a forum for expressing my feelings and perhaps connect with others in the same situation.  Here goes nothing!

To share a little bit about myself, I am 36, am married, and have two children, ages 4 1/2 and 18 months.  My mother died 7 1/2 months ago after an unforeseen complication of a surgery she'd been recovering from for 3 weeks.  I was there with her when she died, but not when she went into the coma.  Every day since then has been a roller coaster of grief, anger, acceptance, questioning, and more.  It has been a struggle emotionally and sometimes even physically.  Affecting my feelings are the emotions of my son, who remembers his Omi Helga well and loved her dearly.

Why is this blog called Losing Omi?  My mom moved to the States from Germany when she married my dad, and "Grandma" in German is "Oma".  However, my mom did not want to be called "Oma" because in her mind, Oma was her mother.  After much deliberation we decided on "Omi Helga".  This calendar year has been defined by our coping with the loss of her, hence, Losing Omi.