Sunday, February 7, 2010

Love of a Mother

Twins, Mom and me, the baby, in 1960.

Dear Mom,

It's occurred to me lately that you just may not be immortal. Besides depressing the hell out of me, this has  made me realize that writing a love letter to you just may be the best topic for me to write about for the Momalom Love It Up challenge.

I sat beside you on your lumpy couch this week and became concerned. Very concerned. First of all, you, who never stop talking, weren't talking. Second of all, your TV, normally blasting out old Westerns from the 50s, was on mute. One sister told me that you tried to change the TV channel with the phone. And even though we handled this little medical crisis with a quick change in medication, it brought to mind your fragile mortality; after all, you'll be eighty in June. So here's the deal:  I may be turning fifty in four weeks, but I'm not ready to be an orphan.

Flash back thirty-five years ago, to March 1st, 1975, six days before my fifteen birthday. Dad dies suddenly,  leaving you a forty-four-year-old widow. From then on - all the way till now - I am waiting, with paranoid anticipation, for the other shoe to drop, and you're the other shoe. One parent disappears around the horizon with no warning, no goodbyes, his clothes still hanging in the closet, his shoes just standing there, his wallet and keys on the dresser, his car in the driveway. Gone. Who's to say it can't happen to the other parent?

And, of course, it can. So I've guarded you these past thirty-five years. I've been your amateur doctor, calling you daily, living nearby, writing your story, trying my best to live this Jewish life. But I can't stop you from aging, can't stop little pieces of you disappearing one by one, and I can't stop you from eventually disappearing altogether. No matter how meticulous my care and that of my sisters, it will happen and then, when I reach for the phone each day to talk to you, ready to share my successes and my failures, I'll have to pull my hand back from the phone, remembering that you're no longer there.

I've written about you a lot on this blog. I've poked a lot of fun - at your wreck of a cactus-strewn acre in Scottsdale, at the way you pack, the way you drive, the way you talk on the phone. But when you strip it all away, the humor, the writing, the blog, there's only one fact that's left standing: I wouldn't be able to write about being a mom without having known the love of one.

Happy Valentine's Day, Mom.
From your number six daughter, Linda

Do you ever feel your parents' mortality like an oncoming train? Did you ever have a loss that made you wary, like things were suddenly very precarious? How much are you still and always a daughter (or son) and how much a parent? Or do you instantly turn back into a kid when you talk to your parent?

24 comments:

  1. Really lovely, Linda. And what a thoughtful reflection on the precarious transition from daughter to care-giver. I am still very much a daughter, calling often on my parents, especially my mother, for advice and for comfort. But I do see that change on the horizon and, like you, I'm not sure I'll ever be ready for it - almost as though nature has scripted us in certain roles that can't be swapped.

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  2. This is a very touching letter. Mama is 72 and her health has been precarious for longer than I'd like to remember. The worrying is so difficult, the watching so exhausting.

    I know that eventually, when that time comes, the loss will almost be too great to bear.

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  3. A beautiful letter to your mom.

    Those of us who are the sandwich generation, currently, often find ourselves caught between the needs of our children and our aging parents, in a society that prefers to view its older citizens as invisible. Difficult on everyone at times.

    When you have lost both parents, whatever the relationship may have been, it's rather like being set adrift. You are suddenly the "elder generation." Even if it hits in mid-life, there is a loneliness to being "orphaned," odd though that may sound. Having children for whom you are the anchor helps.

    It sounds like you and your siblings are doing a wonderful job of keeping your mother in your lives, your own families in her life, and making her very proud.

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  4. The thing is, there is so much love there you can't always fit it in words.
    There are things to say that are unsayable because the words I love you can't contain them.
    With my mom, I become chrissie when I call.
    The older I get, the less it bothers me.
    I am glad I had a mother.

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  5. This is beautiful, Linda.

    And this: "I wouldn't be able to write about being a mom without having known the love of one."

    My bond with my mother is so strong and so honest that I can't even entertain a day when she is not with me in this life. That said, she is youngish and in good health and I have not had any reason to worry. But after also losing my father suddenly one day 10 years ago, I know what's possible. My mother is a guiding light, a best friend and confidante. And the connections run so deep that I, too, know I would have much less to write if she were not in my life. My words would not take on the meaning that they do, my insight would not be quite as deep.

    I'm so glad you chose to write a love letter to a person and, more specifically, to your own mother. Thank you, Linda! Thank you.

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  6. Thanks, Kristen, for your thoughtful comments. It's like trying to hang onto gossamer - you just can't. And what I didn't expect? How it might just happen in tiny pieces or that it actually had been occurring without me noticing and then noticing in one fell swoop.

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  7. TKW, You're right, it will be too much. I know that the only comfort can be in being a good daughter, in carrying on with things that she cares about, but all of that feels doesn't feel quite the same as, um, Mom.

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  8. BLW, so true. What bothers me about being the next generation out is how quickly it seems to have occurred. In 1990 my grandmother died and I watched my mother being cast adrift by her own lack of a mother.

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  9. Chris, it is such a fraught relationship. There were times in my life where I couldn't have written a letter to my mom, times when I was in open rebellion, times when I've been so frustrated with her.

    Love the Chrissie!

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  10. Sarah, thanks so much for your comments. The sudden father dying thing is big. It took years before I even met anyone else who didn't have a father.

    And you are so lucky in your mom, and in your connection to her. She's the mom who made Sarah and Jen, after all. 'Nuff said!

    Thanks for the Love It Up Challenge.

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  11. Beautiful, heartfelt letter Linda. I am lucky enough to still have my mother and my GRANDMOTHER at 96 years old. Lucky in that she's still a part of my life and my kids life but UNlucky in that I'm seeing first hand what it is like for my mom to see pieces of her mom fall away. I see her missing the mom she had during her younger years and it just makes it that much realer to me, what I'll deal with as my mom grows older. Aging is such a hard thing. For the person who it's happening to, and the ones caring for them.

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  12. Becca, that's amazing, to still have your grandmother at 96. Great and yet, like you said, there's the hard part. I thought the hard part was the passing but now I can see that there's this fragmentation that gets harder and harder.

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  13. It is hard for me to see my parents (and in-laws who are an entire generation ahead of my parents and are showing a lot more aging) growing older. We only get to see them a couple times a year so the aging stands out more. Having all my grandparents into adulthood (with 2 still alive now), I've never dealt with losing a parent to death and when I try to imagine how I will deal with it, my imagination fails me.

    I have been reminded I need to call my mother more often. I am more a once a week or so caller (although she is young enough to see me on facebook, email, and twitter).

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  14. Linda - this piece is beautiful! I have lost all of my grandparents, with my grandmother who raised me having died over 15 years ago. My father died last year. I sometimes feel so overwhelmed to be 3000 plus miles from my mother.

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  15. This is so lovely and so true. I think I'm going to send Momalom's mom over to take a read!

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  16. My mother is still young. She also has 7 kids still at home. If she were to die, the world would crash down on me.

    I call my mom at least once a week. Even though she often bugs the he** out of me, she is always there to listen.

    Tear.

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  17. Charlotte, you are lucky to have so much family! I've spent half my life arguing with my mother, and now she's gotten mortal on me. What to do?

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  18. Nicki, I'm sorry about your dad. No matter where we are, close or far (and trust me, I'm close!) it's just never going to feel normal to not have a mom.

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  19. Jen, thanks for coming by and I'd LOVE to have Momalomalom visit (did I get that right?). I read her blog entries on your site and loved them.

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  20. Amber, I know the crashy feeling well. I've been either arguing with my mom or tiptoeing around her since my dad died! But of course your mom's young. Don't tell me because I'll get depressed, but she's probably younger than me!

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  21. Obviously that's my bubbe you speak of so I understand 1st person what you are discussing and she is like a 2nd mother to me. I have those moments where I think she may not be here in a few years. She has been an amazing bubbe to me and my childern. I want them to "soak" her up from the quirks to the heartfelt love. Your an amazing writer...you bring a smile to my face and a tear to my eyes nearly everytime I read your blogs...that's how great you are. Love you! Heather

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  22. Linda, came back to read your comments on the comments...just wanted to give you a heads up that MomalomsMom will indeed be posting tomorrow on our site. A note to her 62-year-old body as inspired by The Kitchen Witch's guest post this week!

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  23. Heather (my darling niece!) thanks for visiting and commenting! And thanks for your lovely compliment; I appreciate it. You know how much she loves being a great-grandma to your kids - that is something she loves best I think.

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  24. Sarah - I am so excited I get to read your mom again! And what a great idea! A love letter to her 62-year-old body (could it be? Someone in our world of bloggers is actually older than me???) I can't wait to read it!

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