Mom

Sometimes I would just like to yell at some imaginary adversary…

“Look, YOU just don’t understand. SHE wasn’t like your mother. WE were different. There was no hidden rivalry, no insecurity, and definitely no pretense of affection. It was wonderful companionship, understanding and pure love. We were kindred spirits. Best friends. We spent all of our time together. She was my right arm. She was helping me raise my children.

I remember reading a poem and writing it down in July. It went like this:

A shadow flits before me,
Not thou, but like to thee:
Ah Christ, that it were possible
For one short hour to see
The souls we loved, that they might tell us
What and where they be.

But the broad light glares and beats,
And the shadow flits and fleets
And will not let me be;
And I loathe the squares and streets,
And the faces that one meets,
Hearts with no love for me:
Always I long to creep
Into some still cavern deep,
There to weep, and weep, and weep
My whole soul out to thee.
-Alfred, Lord Tennyson “Maude”

And no one, NOT ANYONE can possible love you like your mom. No one else has as much invested in your personal happiness and success, regardless of compensation, as your mother. No one in the world has any reason to care about what I do nowadays. Goodness knows, though I love him so much and I know he loves me, my patient husband does everything he can just to circumvent my constant emotional meltdowns.

So why does it matter? Who am I looking to for a pat on the back? Was I really THAT dependent on Mom for encouragement? Yes.

I was having a hard time being a stay-at-home mom. I felt not only like a crappy mother, but useless because of it. My mother was my own personal cheerleader, assuring me that my decision to be at home was right, and encouraging my stupid little happy homemaker activities. Now it all seems so frivolous and inconsequential. And all those feelings of crappy mothering keep hammering me over the head.

And it was so nice to have someone else (besides my husband) who wanted to talk about MY kids as much as I did, and who loved them so much and were so interested in their every milestone. The topic never got old. There is no replacing that.

No grandmothers. My mom’s dead, Steve’s mom’s dead. Just like how I grew up. And I was so excited for my kids to have that stereotypical grandmother who spoils you rotten and who always takes your side, etc., etc. Because she was that grandmother, and my kids were crazy about here. Sometimes Stevie will ask me “Mama, where’s grandma? I miss her.” And I won’t be able to talk through the tears.

It’s a certain way of thinking. Those of you with sisters know the difference between a sister and a friend. Sometimes you may even like your friends more, but your sister knows you and can communicate with you so easily. I guess it’s a little like that. My mother saw threw me and would politely point out my inconsistencies. Sure, I might get mad, but I knew she was right.

My role is just different now. I can’t be the taker anymore. I have to learn how to be the giver, like she was. I have to somehow morph from being the trainee to the being the mentor. I don’t know if I can bear it, but I have to. I really think it might be a part of what I’m supposed to be learning.