Letter to My Mother

Dear Mom -

You have been gone for a long time now - over 20 years - and yet I know you live inside me.  I  used to try to pretend that I could be entirely separate from you, but that wasn't possible in the end.  I miss you still, and remember our stormy life together.

You weren't prepared to be a mother - how could you be, raised by governesses and always been seen and not heard?  You went through the motions while dreaming of something much more glamorous and exciting.  I was a good baby, you always said that, but it wasn't enough.  My father wasn't enough either.  Being an artist saved you momentarily from dying of boredom and distraction.  You painted enormous beautiful abstract paintings and our house was filled with the smell of oil paint.  You brought home hard drinking artists and jazz music and we swam in the colorful chaos of all that.  We were always secondary my father and me, and eventually you forced him to go.  Me you had to put up with ... but it wasn't too long before you found a new mate to help you raise a plump, highly aware young child.  We went to live in Italy, became expatriates for a time, and I found my way, as I trudged the streets of Florence and Rome, learned the language, and began to feel connected to a larger world.  I fell in love deeply at 14 and basked in the attentions of a 19 year old Sicilian man whose kind eyes told me anything was possible.  But of course it wasn't.  You could have told me that, but you didn't.  You and I ended up having an easier time of it as I grew into a young woman and married the first person who was in the right place and the right time.  Or, maybe it wasn't the right time, but there was love and friendship, and then a pregnancy, and so ...  I suspect you were relieved to see me leave the nest, and you moved on to husband number three.

My entire marriage was haunted by a desire to be a better wife and mother than you were to me.  Sad.  I had no tools, for you hadn't given me any. The only way I knew about love and devotion was from Grandmother, whose devotion to my wellbeing made me safe.  My crusade didn't work in the end, for I never fully examined my heart to understand what I felt for this young man I married and whose children I had at such a young age.  He and I muddled through, because that was what was expected of you then, and we made a good show of being a vibrant young family for a time.  He worked hard at his scientist job and I applied all my will to tend for home and children, down to camping trips and bake sales and holding my daughter's hand in the night when she had nightmares.  I was determined to be good -- I guessed I thought someone out there was keeping score -- and I lost track of the fact that love was ebbing away from my heart.  I wanted to show you up, and strangely enough or maybe not, you never noticed.

It didn't work for me, as it hadn't worked for you through two marriages, but what I did do was try in my own bumbling way to love my two daughters.   There are some things we humans can do without haven't been taught, I think, and one of those is just to witness and to love.   I was inconsistent at best, but love never faded, and as I began to know these little girls, I discovered I was grateful for their presence in my life.  It wasn't always a smooth ride, to be sure, but one that affirmed one of the life's truths:  love wins out in the end.  Eventually my children understood the strength of my love and forgave me my inconsistencies, as I could never forgive you yours.

If I had made it to your bedside when you were dying, I think I would have asked for forgiveness for my judging and withholding from you.  I would have tried to close the circle so that we could come together in at least one moment in time.  But I didn't make it, and I was left with that hollow and queasy feeling of abandonment.  You had long ago abandoned me, and I eventually decided to slice you out of my heart.  You died alone in a sterile hospital room without anyone to hold your hand and remind you of your astonishing beauty, intelligence, life force, and wit.  This haunted me for years until you returned to me in a dream when I was traveling in Cambodia, and suggested I tell your story.  I did this, you know, and in doing that I was able to let go of much of the dark judgment, and just see you - and me - for the limited, fragile humans we are (were).   And you know what else I found?  Gratitude and love.

I see that you did the best you could, given the unnatural circumstances of your lonely childhood.  And so did I.  I really did love you, I want you to know that.