She teaches us how the world should be, while preparing us to live in the world as it is.
She maintains a haven for us, should we ever need one, while instilling in us the courage to leave her.
Losing a mother is a difficult thing.
My mother died 15 years ago this August. These words were not written for her, but were part of a letter of condolence to a friend who had just lost her mother. I would not have written this about my own mother, but felt that my friend believed she had a mother for whom this should have been written. These thoughts were most likely what I wanted to believe motherhood was...what I hoped I would be able to do for my daughter as her mother...what I had wished for in a mother.
What a shame there weren't for my mom.
There is an exercise in Paul Chek's PPS Program that asks what lessons one has learned from one's parents. My first response was that my mother had taught me nothing. But, of course, that isn't true.
It's a fact that I never learned to cook or clean house from her; she felt that if she had to ask or make me do chores, it wasn't the type of experience she wanted either of us to have.
The lesson for me was never ask for help...and, if you do ask and help doesn't come right then or if the answer is no, never ask for help from that person again.
What a lost opportunity for me and for the other person, who might have genuinely wanted to help, but couldn't within my constraints of now! This is still a challenge for me, asking for help. But by not doing so, I might be depriving another person of the opportunity to feel they are doing something good and loving for me.
My mother was not very disciplined with her time or her health. She could get lost in music or painting for hours and then forget to eat, throwing her brittle diabetes into a tail spin.
I have been an undisciplined person, procrastinating, choosing immediate gratification over the long term goal most of the time.
But when my mother lost an arm and shoulder to a rare form of cancer, she taught herself to write with her non-dominant hand, to play the piano, to paint again, to balance her body weight without a part of her body...lessons in discipline and fortitude. She had passion for those things she loved, that brought her joy and she fought fiercely to be able to continue them in spite of her physical limitations and constant phantom limb pain.
My mother was outwardly cold, undemonstrative. Her one lesson about sex was when she told me that "rubbers squeak".
To this day, I don't know if she was talking about condoms or rain boots! So I was quite naive about sex, the opposite sex, a healthy sexual appetite, how to have rhythm and flow in my life.
My mother was actually a passionate, sexual woman who had been hurt and felt the only way she could protect herself was to turn a part of herself off. I have tried to protect myself from emotional pain by withdrawing a part of myself from life; it doesn't work. And you miss out on so much along the way. I now know that I would rather cry from having something not work out than from the regret of never having tried.
My mother had a gift for making a home out any place we lived. We moved every year at Christmas from the time I was in first grade until I was in the ninth grade...no we were not gypsies or in the witness protection program! Whether it was a basement apartment in Russell, Kansas or a rent house in Paul's Valley, Oklahoma or our own home in Midland, Texas, within days of moving in, drapes were up, pictures hung, books in the bookshelves...everything in its proper place so that there was continuity and a sense of home, even though she knew we would be leaving in less than a year.
I have created a home that is a haven for me, filled with things and colors that sooth me and bring me joy. But I never felt I had any roots...I was never from any place. I can't tell you what little podunk town I was in for third grade, don't remember the name of my best friend in fourth grade, can't tell you the name of one school I went to until I was in high school. I was adamant that my daughter have the opportunity to be in one school all the way from kindergarten through high school, if that was her desire.
What I never considered was the cost to mother in this nomadic way of life. She also had to leave friends each time we moved. It was her job to set up our new home. She did this every time without complaint and with love for me and my step-dad. I don't know if I could pull that off.
As Mother's Day approaches, I can see my mother through different eyes than even several years ago. The last year of her life, a gift was given me: the opportunity to care for her as she went through radiation for Non-Hotchkins Lymphoma. She and I mended some fences, actually kissed for the first time in our lives - she told me she had never kissed her mother or father - and I allowed her to be human, not holding her to such an unattainable standard of perfection because I didn't feel she loved me and my hurt had turned to anger. I am still grateful for that gift.
So, Happy Mother's Day, mama.
Losing a mother IS a difficult thing
And rubbers don't squeak!
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