
Dear Mom, Since I have been thinking about you all day, I thought I would give you a call to tell you so. It was a short but pleasant conversation, but at 91 and with dementia, I know you won’t remember the call or anything else that set this day apart from any other. So I’m writing this for you to read later, and also to express some thoughts that other readers may relate with.
Visiting Amy, Anna Grace and Charlie has afforded a number of opportunities for reminiscing. We have shared childhood memories, laughing about most of them. Having been a mother myself, and now a grandmother, provides a perspective that only comes with time and experience. Seeing Amy and Charlie as parents stirs up the memories as well. Being grandmother to a two-year-old is way easier than being a mother to two was! And you were mother to seven of us who passed through toddler-hood as well as adolescence. Bless your heart. Just thinking about it makes me want to go take a nap!
All the cards and flowers express sweet sentiments about motherhood. And no doubt about it, there are sweet aspects of the job. But more than that is a lot of sheer grit and determination and hard work. This morning I remembered vowing to myself and no doubt to any siblings who happened to be within earshot, that “I will NEVER do (such and such…) when I am a parent!” I had to smile at my certainty and immature self-righteousness.
Last week I was reading Geneen Roth in her wonderfully written book, Women, Food and God in which she describes the child’s formation of identity or ego. It is the refracted views of many messages from parents and grandparents that really come from their own internalized wounds and beliefs about themselves, not you the child. In other words, images and internalized limiting beliefs are passed on from generation to generation and then acted out, unless we become conscious of them and work on changing them.
Over the years I have come to recognize those internalized messages that have come down through the generations. Some of them are limiting and some are beneficial. And although I confess to squirming at the thought of unconsciously passing the limiting beliefs on, I also know that this is the human condition. I would have liked to do the motherhood thing perfectly myself, but that is not possible. We’ll have to settle for doing it “well enough.”
So here’s what I appreciate most about you, Mom. Your unfailing faith has been a beacon to me throughout my life. I could not have named or explained it in my youngest days, but I have always been aware that you had a strong and vital moral compass and a living faith that sustained you. There was never any doubt where you stood on ethical problems, and with your children you were crystal clear about what you expected.
I learned a lot of life skills from you that have held me in good stead, and which I in turn passed down to my kids. We know our way around the kitchen, and you would laugh at the notion that the “Slow Food Movement” is a new idea. Gardening, sewing, preserving and creating were all a part of your daily life. Amy and I were laughing at the irony that children who grow up eating well prepared, nutritious food probably have no appreciation of it until their adult years.
Although at times I wished that you would have had more play, light-heartedness and leisure in your life, I acknowledge and respect how hard you worked throughout your life. I understand from listening to your childhood stories and times in your married life that hard work was essential to the family’s survival. And although there were times when I sure couldn’t understand or appreciate it, (and no doubt complained bitterly about it), all of us were expected to do chores and to perform well in school and to have jobs as soon as we were old enough.
You know, I wanted to be one of those girls who got to go to Silver Slipper (dancing classes) and hang out for hours at the swimming pool (being cool) and after an all-night “slumber” party to come home and catch up on my sleep instead of having to get my chores done. I dreamed of trying out for cheer leading (certain that I would be chosen) but was bluntly told by you that no daughter of yours was going to be jumping around showing her fanny off to the crowd. (I was bitterly certain that you were ruining my life!) Instead I could take piano and cello lessons (no fanny showing in that!) and be a part of orchestra and chorus. You knew the limitations of the budget and you knew your values. And eventually I came to appreciate them too.
When I see you now it is often to assist you in some activity of daily living that you can no longer safely perform alone. I am sometimes amazed and humbled by your grace in accepting the loss of people you loved and also of your own physical and mental abilities. Our conversations are usually about the distant past and the early days of your childhood and sometimes of your college days. When we talk about the present you need a lot of reminders, but you are still interested in conversations about current topics. And your sense of humor, not at all tarnished with age, shines through, always making us all laugh.
As I finish my work with you, I am always touched by your appreciation and gratitude for my help. If you couldn’t or wouldn’t say these things, I know that (having internalized your values) I would support and help you anyway. This is really the least that I can do. Over my life time I have been buoyed by your support and encouragement. Some very difficult and painful passages have been warmed and lit by the expressions of your love and acceptance, even when I was sure that you didn’t necessarily understand or approve of how I had come to such a pass.
I guess this is the best example that I know of unconditional love. When I gave up wishing for the Perfect Mother and accepted my very human one, I recognized this. Isn’t it ironic that the Divine quality of Love (“with a capital L,” as my meditation teacher calls it) comes through human form of you as my mother? Words cannot really express my gratitude for you, the gift of my life and the Love that kindled it and shines through it. Thank you.