The First Anniversary
One year ago today, my Mother passed away.
I remember my Father calling me to tell me. She died sometime between 11am and 1pm. He said she died peacfully, with a hospice worker by her side.
And I woke up this morning thinking about my own mortality. While my Mother was alive, I was in something of a state of suspended animation. She tended to often say, "you'll always be my baby..." and rarely validated my adulthood.
Both my parents were very keen on keeping me and my sister dependent on them--not allowing us to grow up. So, with my Mother gone, and no more obligatory phone calls, and no one to tell me how much of a baby I'll always be, I've had to deal with my own feelings about mortality.
Today I woke up worrying about things like health insurance and a roof over my head and whether or not my relationship is one of compromise and dependancy or one of love. I never saw love between my parents, so I never really knew what love looked like between two adults. And I've always ran away from the responsibilities of adulthood--in part because I was constantly told by both Mother and Father that I would never be ready to take on those responsibilities, and in part because I don't necessarily want some of the responsibilities of adulthood.
When a child has to fight a parent for independence and identity, the child has to pick and choose which battles to engage in order to win the war. I watched my sister, for whom material goods and family did not give the independence and identity she desired, and I chose a different route. Eschewing the material and the familial, I chose creativity and education--but only after I had, in my mind, failed at the familial and material.
I've often asked myself how and why I failed at the familial and material. I often try not to blame my parents for giving me very little that would help me succeed. I go back and forth with this. I understand that they had very little to give--they had been abused, neglected children who then fought each other in their marriage (which was more of a contentious business partnership than a love relationship) and I feel I should forgive them. Yet there is another part of me that is very, very angry that I never learned how to pick the right husband, that I was never given the chance to get an education and was pushed into a harsh, grown-up workforce that I could not negotiate properly, that I had no examples of how to be an adult who is a part of a community (not standing outside of it.)
There is a part of me that is very angry that my Mother was so needy and wanted her children always by her side, even if that meant crippling us in such a way that we would always be, on the inside, like pretty little dolls even while our outsides aged and lived on. There is another part that forgives her because all she ever wanted was love--and I know how a desperation for love will drive a person to do thing that he/she, if they were aware of them, would never do them.
I don't feel sad today--really. I feel a sense of mortality and panic on the one hand, and a sense of mortality and relief on the other. I feel relieved because the battle that raged for years over my identity and independence has been over for a year, and I've been able to pursue a writing life (managing a bit of success with it.) I feel a bit angry because I'm still struggling to understand how grown-ups do things like "networking" and how they negotiate the adult social milieu. How do I give a dinner party? How do I let people know who I am--what is enough and what is too much?
Do I know who I am?
Yes, in part--and a lot more than before my Mother's death. I've learned more of me in the past year than I ever did while my Mother was alive. Parts of me that I had to hide in order to keep alive--my creativity most of all--I don't have to hide any more. I take responsibility for my decisions--good and bad--and my mortality helps me understand that I'm at a point in life where what I'm doing might be my last shot at a lot of opportunities.
So, maybe it's callous of me to say that I don't have a heavy heart today on the anniversary of my Mother's death. And I don't miss her. I feel sadness for her, and that her life was so harsh. No one's life should be that harsh. I am still struggling with a feeling that I failed to give her the love she deserved in her life--and I'm slowly *getting* that I'm only one person and could not give my Mother the Mother-love she needed and wanted so badly.
I mourn the time I lost out of my life trying to give something it was impossible to imagine and didn't have to give.
I look at the clock, see that it is past 8am and know I have to stop all the ruminating and get to work. There is a small living that needs to be made, and more connections to cultivate and more writing to get done...
Death is an end. Life goes on.
I remember my Father calling me to tell me. She died sometime between 11am and 1pm. He said she died peacfully, with a hospice worker by her side.
And I woke up this morning thinking about my own mortality. While my Mother was alive, I was in something of a state of suspended animation. She tended to often say, "you'll always be my baby..." and rarely validated my adulthood.
Both my parents were very keen on keeping me and my sister dependent on them--not allowing us to grow up. So, with my Mother gone, and no more obligatory phone calls, and no one to tell me how much of a baby I'll always be, I've had to deal with my own feelings about mortality.
Today I woke up worrying about things like health insurance and a roof over my head and whether or not my relationship is one of compromise and dependancy or one of love. I never saw love between my parents, so I never really knew what love looked like between two adults. And I've always ran away from the responsibilities of adulthood--in part because I was constantly told by both Mother and Father that I would never be ready to take on those responsibilities, and in part because I don't necessarily want some of the responsibilities of adulthood.
When a child has to fight a parent for independence and identity, the child has to pick and choose which battles to engage in order to win the war. I watched my sister, for whom material goods and family did not give the independence and identity she desired, and I chose a different route. Eschewing the material and the familial, I chose creativity and education--but only after I had, in my mind, failed at the familial and material.
I've often asked myself how and why I failed at the familial and material. I often try not to blame my parents for giving me very little that would help me succeed. I go back and forth with this. I understand that they had very little to give--they had been abused, neglected children who then fought each other in their marriage (which was more of a contentious business partnership than a love relationship) and I feel I should forgive them. Yet there is another part of me that is very, very angry that I never learned how to pick the right husband, that I was never given the chance to get an education and was pushed into a harsh, grown-up workforce that I could not negotiate properly, that I had no examples of how to be an adult who is a part of a community (not standing outside of it.)
There is a part of me that is very angry that my Mother was so needy and wanted her children always by her side, even if that meant crippling us in such a way that we would always be, on the inside, like pretty little dolls even while our outsides aged and lived on. There is another part that forgives her because all she ever wanted was love--and I know how a desperation for love will drive a person to do thing that he/she, if they were aware of them, would never do them.
I don't feel sad today--really. I feel a sense of mortality and panic on the one hand, and a sense of mortality and relief on the other. I feel relieved because the battle that raged for years over my identity and independence has been over for a year, and I've been able to pursue a writing life (managing a bit of success with it.) I feel a bit angry because I'm still struggling to understand how grown-ups do things like "networking" and how they negotiate the adult social milieu. How do I give a dinner party? How do I let people know who I am--what is enough and what is too much?
Do I know who I am?
Yes, in part--and a lot more than before my Mother's death. I've learned more of me in the past year than I ever did while my Mother was alive. Parts of me that I had to hide in order to keep alive--my creativity most of all--I don't have to hide any more. I take responsibility for my decisions--good and bad--and my mortality helps me understand that I'm at a point in life where what I'm doing might be my last shot at a lot of opportunities.
So, maybe it's callous of me to say that I don't have a heavy heart today on the anniversary of my Mother's death. And I don't miss her. I feel sadness for her, and that her life was so harsh. No one's life should be that harsh. I am still struggling with a feeling that I failed to give her the love she deserved in her life--and I'm slowly *getting* that I'm only one person and could not give my Mother the Mother-love she needed and wanted so badly.
I mourn the time I lost out of my life trying to give something it was impossible to imagine and didn't have to give.
I look at the clock, see that it is past 8am and know I have to stop all the ruminating and get to work. There is a small living that needs to be made, and more connections to cultivate and more writing to get done...
Death is an end. Life goes on.
posted by Tish Grier at 8:23 AM
2 Comments:
You're not being callous--you're just protecting yourself. Or should I say, protecting your "self," which you have every right to do. It sounds like you've come a long way, and you should be proud. It's a shame your mom had to live life the way she did and sadder that she dragged your family into it. But that's what happened, so you deal. And it seems to me you're dealing really well. Be nice to yourself--no guilt!
thanks, AR!
Yesterday was pretty much a day of reflection for me...the good thing about it is I came out of it with the sense that I am still moving forward...that there's work to do and that I'm actually pushing thru to the Next Level of where I want to be. It's like pushing oneself up over a hill...and seeing FOG! ;-) well, at least I'm moving...
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