Seeing Mom

I drove to New Hampshire to see my mother today.  She lives in a nursing home because of dementia, immobility, inability to care for herself and a multitude of other health problems. The blank, pale faced woman who I pushed around in her wheel chair was an old lady whose spirit was long gone, a shell of the smart, busy mother from my past.  I'm not sure why it happened today, Mother's Day, but I'm finally getting it.  She did the best she could as a mother.

I have been mad at my mother for almost fifty years.  She was not June Cleaver, but Marjorie Anne Sherman Lawton Pyle, and despite the hellish start to her world, she did her best.  Mom was living in her own self centered world most of the time, seeking different ways to find happiness and never quite succeeding.  I was probably one of the few things that she found true happiness in and the more she pushed toward me, dare I say smother, the more I pushed away.  I'm sorry but the desperation in those hugs and kisses were too much.  Her personal pain was too great for me to take on.  I was already drowning. Where was she when I needed her? Getting another degree, trying to find love and happiness in men, and numbing herself with food. I don't know, but she was never there.  When I needed to be protected, she wasn't there either, instead she was on her family's side, still trying to get her Mother to be June Cleaver, instead of Helen Annie Holmes Sherman.  Fucking June Cleaver, tall, slim, fashionably dressed, the ideal mother who was always available to her children.

Some of the gifts I got from my Mother I'd like to give back, like being short and fat. I wish you had been taught, by your own Mother, that you don't have to be perfect in order to be loved, so that you could have taught me.  I wish you had not drowned your sorrows in food and I wish I didn't either.  She was a field hockey Mom, long before "Soccer Moms" existed and I will always remember her coming to my games. Thank you for my green eyes, they are just like yours and I love them.  Please keep the glaucoma though, I don't want it.  Thank you for my brains.  I'm not nearly as smart or driven as you, but I have more common sense.  Sorry, but it's true.  Thank you for introducing me to the ocean.  There is no comparison to the majestic beauty of the sea. Thank for the poster saying "you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince" when Ken Scott broke up with me in high school.  I have yet to find my prince, but I know I don't need one to be happy.  I wish you had known that.   You were a "Women's Libber" long before it was normal.  Good for you!  I grew up loving books and still do.  The trips to the book store were something I treasured.  Thank you for letting me read what I wanted, even though you were a literary snob.  Reading doesn't have to be about learning new things, sometimes it's just about losing yourself in the words.

Were you ever really happy?  I don't think so, nor do I think you ever made peace with who you are.
I grew up believing I was never enough to make you happy.  How sad.  I know I made you happy.  You were in charge of the rest, not me.  I'm sorry I was tough on you and I'm really sorry I was mad for so long. But I get it now.  You did the best you could and I wish I could tell you it was enough.  I love you Mom.  Happy Mother's Day!