As my precious mother was in the last months or years of her life, I found myself reflecting on our relationship together. I find great comfort in knowing that I have truly given to her from my heart. I also feel comfort in knowing that I have received the love that she has for me. As I look into her almost 90 year old wrinkled face, I can feel the connection that runs into the depths of my soul. I love my mother totally and completely, but this love has not been a condition of her being a perfect mother. My mother has made mistakes, some of which have hurt me very much. And I am sure that I have made mistakes that have hurt her, but we have a non-spoken agreement that we will just keep on loving one another, despite our imperfections.
A memory comes to mind of a time when I made a very important decision that helped me grow up in my relationship with my mother. Barry and I were visiting their home in Buffalo, NY. We were in our 30’s. We had just published our first book The Shared Heart. I had sent them a copy of it right away. As it turns out, my brother, who is a PhD electrical engineer, also published his first book at exactly the same time. He also sent a copy of his engineering textbook to my parents. They arrived within one week of each other. Our book was self-published, with a light blue cover that had a drawing of a couple meditating connected with an angelic being above them. My brother’s book was leather bound and quite impressive, though totally incomprehensible to non engineering types.
When we arrived at my parents’ home, there was my brother’s book in the living room proudly displayed on the coffee table. Our book was nowhere to be seen. The next day I found it, tucked carefully away so no one could see it, in the far corner of the back room. I asked my mother why our book was hidden from view, while my brother’s was in the living room. My mother hesitated a little then said, “Well that’s because I’m embarrassed about your book. I hope it stays in California and doesn’t come to the east coast. I think you should have stayed being a nurse and Barry as a doctor.”
Tears instantly came to my eyes and I said, “Mother that hurts me.”
“But that’s how I feel,” she responded. I quickly left to be outside and walk. That walk was a pivotal time in my life.
As I walked the streets of my old neighborhood, tears were falling from my eyes. I felt so hurt, and also angry that my mother could not see the vision of our work and that she was embarrassed rather than proud of the work I had chosen to do. . I wanted to go and yell at her and make her see how much she had just hurt me. I walked on and on, my anger and hurt boiling inside of me. I just hoped that one of my childhood neighbors did not spot me and come running out to ask how I was doing.
Finally my tears stopped and the anger subsided a little. I walked on and on asking and praying for help. Finally a small voice began to be heard above the angry thoughts, “Do you want perfection from your mother, or can you accept her love as it is given?” As I concentrated on those words, wisdom came to me. I saw that my mother just didn’t have a frame of reference for how open and honest we had been in The Shared Heart. Her mother died when she was only six years old and her father had worked long hours as a coal miner. My mother never had the opportunity to go to college. She had worked very hard long hours as a secretary so that they could pay for my college and nursing education. She saw our writing and workshop career as not using the gift she had sacrificed so much to give to me. No, she did not understand where I was going in my life right then, but her love was constant. Even when she was embarrassed by our career, and hurt me by her words, she still loved me.
I arrived back at the home and peeked into the kitchen. My mother was making cookies with our two little girls, ages 7 and 2. The girls were thrilled and there was cookie dough all over our littlest one’s face. My mother was very patient with each one, helping them to put the dough into the pans. I remembered with fondness how my mother taught me to bake and that each Saturday morning we would bake together. It was a very special time for me.
I walked into the warm kitchen and my mother immediately came and gave me a hug.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you too, mother,” and I meant it.
I sat down and helped with the cookies, grateful that I had not given into my anger an hour earlier and emotionally pounded my mother for not understanding our work. I saw her looking at me, and I knew that she was loving me in the way she knew how.
And so my mother and I have continued to love one another. This love was not based on perfection. We each have accepted that we are doing the best we can. We have “cut each other a lot of slack,” and allowed for imperfection.
Over many years, and several books later, my mother grew to finally understand the work that we do. She attended several workshops and even wrote a story for our newest book, Meant to Be. In some ways she has become our greatest fan. She and my dad moved right next door to us 14 years ago, and now I have the privilege of caring for her in her last months or years on this earth. She is very frail, is losing more and more of her memory, and when she is tired she often yells at me. When this happens I look into those tired old blue eyes of hers and remember the words that held so much meaning to me on the walk through my childhood neighborhood twenty-four years ago, “Do you want perfection from your mother? Or can you accept her love in the unique way it is given?” I give my mother a hug, help her into bed, and concentrate on all the love that she has always had for me. As I close the door of her room she calls out, “I love you.”
“I love you too mom,” and I know I always will.
No comments:
Post a Comment