Shortly after my brother died in 2009 (it seems so long ago, yet so recently), I went through what might be described as an identity crisis. It felt as though part of who I was, who I’d always believed myself to be, had also died. From my earliest memories, I have been a big sister. Other than an album full of baby & toddler pictures to prove otherwise, I have no recollection of ever being an only child.

As Mother’s Day approaches, I feel a different – yet similar – type of identity shift. My nephews have been in my care for two years, and this is the first Mother’s Day when everyone actually calls me “Mom.” I’ve never pressured my nephews to call me that; I told them from the get-go that they are welcome to continue calling me “Aunt Angela,” if they prefer. The older started calling me “Mom” pretty quickly; I think he just fell into step with what my other sons called me. The younger one, though, seldom called me “Mom.” Last year, he started using that name about half the time, and I tried not to pay attention to it; I just answered him the same, either way. The past few months, though, he has started to make the switch, and now, he very seldom calls me “Aunt Angela.”

I know that may seem like an inconsequential step in the grand scheme of life, but to me, it means a lot. This coming Sunday feels less like Aunt-Mother’s Day and more like a “normal” (whatever that is, ha!) Mother’s Day. It doesn’t mean that the life we each led two years ago and beyond has somehow been replaced; on the contrary, I try to be very open about sharing memories and stories of my brother … I want those stories to become their memories, as their own memories of him fade with time.

This time, I don’t feel like I’m going through an identity crisis. I feel like I’m going through an identity renewal.