Mother

In 1970, John Lennon released what many consider his most emotionally raw composition. "Mother" opens with the tolling of a funeral bell—four solemn rings that set the stage for a profound exploration of parental abandonment. This wasn't just another song in Lennon's catalog; it was the sound of decades of unprocessed grief finally finding expression through his art.

The story behind this powerful work traces back to John's complicated childhood. His relationship with his mother Julia was marked by separation. After his parents' marriage dissolved, John briefly lived with Julia. However, after just weeks of living together, Julia handed John over to her sister Mimi Smith, who raised him in her home at 251 Menlove Avenue in Liverpool.

Despite not living with her, Julia remained a significant presence in John's life. She visited him frequently, creating a unique mother-son relationship. She was more like an older sister than a traditional parent. Julia bought John his first guitar after he had "pestered her incessantly for weeks," igniting the musical spark that would change cultural history. Aunt Mimi, who provided stability, famously told John, "The guitar's all very well, but you'll never make a living out of it."

Then came the devastating loss. On July 15, 1958, when John was just 17, Julia was struck and killed by a car while crossing Menlove Avenue after visiting Mimi's house. The driver was an off-duty policeman. This sudden, traumatic loss occurred at a crucial developmental stage in John's life and left wounds that would never fully heal. In later interviews, John expressed the double loss he felt: "I lost her twice. Once as a 5-year-old when I was moved in with my auntie. And once again when she actually physically died."

What connects John and Paul McCartney beyond their musical chemistry was a shared experience of maternal loss—Paul's mother Mary died from an embolism when he was just 14. This common bond created an unspoken chemistry between the two young musicians that transcended their creative partnership. They channeled their grief into their art, though in markedly different ways that reflected their distinct personalities.

In 1970 John finally released the full emotional weight of his loss in "Mother." The song ends with John repeatedly screaming "Mama don't go, Daddy come home," each repetition more anguished than the last—the sound of a grown man giving voice to his abandoned inner child.

Today, I will acknowledge that unresolved grief doesn't disappear with time but seeks expression. Instead of burying painful feelings about family relationships, I'll find healthy ways to give them voice, whether through conversation, creative expression, or simply allowing myself to feel what I've been avoiding.

What unresolved family grief might you be carrying? How might giving it expression — whether privately or publicly — help transform your relationship with that pain?