I feel gratitude. Compassion. Pity. Respect. Desire to understand, to help.
Even though I have had to distance myself from her for most of my teenage and adult life… heck, for MOST OF MY LIFE…
My mother has allowed herself over these last few years to soften and become more gracious and gentle. As wine and cheese, she has mellowed with age. Some of her rough edges, her defensive self-protective shields, have been set aside. As she has done this, I have felt to allow for more interaction with her. As I have been freer to extend love to her… as an equal… she has softened further, opened up more, melted into a grace that is becoming.
At 78 years old, Mom is remarkable in so many ways! Determined, hard-working, still active and doing as much as she can for herself. Though so much smaller now than she appeared when I was her child, she stands as straight and tall as her dwindling stature allows. Her seeking and application of health principles throughout her life has paid off in many ways. She has a tenacity and a resolve and a stubbornness to figure things out for herself.
My mother has always loved to read and I have benefitted much from this quality of hers. I am profoundly grateful for the hours and hours, books and books she read to me in my tender years. This trait assisted me in my own hunger and thirst to learn. Because so much about her did not make sense, having her as a mother fostered my craving to understand human nature, the malleability of the mind, and life itself.
I have felt greater curiosity to understand her life, specifically. What were her early experiences, remembered or not, which contributed to the characteristics she exhibited, especially while I was young? I remember often, even beginning as a tiny child, watching her react to various situations and vowing to be completely different. And I was. Even then. She was, for me, a profound example of who I was Not. In many ways, she was a great teacher to me as I resolved (in contrast) to always be in complete control of my emotions. Did she, thus, unknowingly and on a deep level, perhaps, sacrifice her peace and her life so that I could so earnestly learn another way? What a gift. What a precious, precious gift.
Having, myself, birthed and loved ten biological children, I have far more perspective and respect for the women, including my own mother, who have gone before me. I see their struggles in their respective cultures and times. I hear their unheard cries into their pillows at night when nobody appears to be aware… or care. I see their resolve to get back up in the morning and struggle on… anyway. I see their sacrifices for their children, including the unseen and forgotten child hiding within them. As I see the generational links, I feel more respect than ever for the life My Mom lived, in spite of and because of her challenges. In spite of her own mother and the challenges that she inherited. I feel deep gratitude for the sacrifices and the life my mom gave to me. Pregnancy, labor, birth itself. Willing to go nigh unto death to bring forth a new life, my life, warrants profound respect regardless of any other factor. My mom fed me. Clothed me. She did the best that she could with the reserves she had available. She gave me the best she had to give. Now, I can give my life, my love, my gifts to the world. Perhaps I can even “mother” my own mother in her old age as I help the hurting lost child within her to feel safe, heard, and grow up.
How do I feel when I see my mother getting older? I love and respect her more today than ever.
Thank you, Mom!
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