I wasn’t all that close to my mom. And yet, I was. I know that doesn’t make much sense and I know, I just know I’m going to cry as I write this. How honest can I be without hating myself? It’s Mother’s Day. I loved her. I miss her. And I am also relieved she has passed. Horrible to say. Horrible to write. Horrible to admit. She loved me unconditionally. I the same. But I’m not sure we liked each other all that much. My mom was a stoic. She was the eldest child and gave up her dreams early on to take care of her siblings. Her brother died very young. Her sister was the pretty and popular one. She wanted to go to college but instead “got stuck” taking care of her mom who had two nervous breakdowns. And then she married my dad and put her personal dreams away for good. The list goes on, including her choice to have me. She grew bitter. She was what one may call a pessimist. She was harsh. She was critical. She didn’t like me laughing too much. She often questioned my choices. Do you want people to stare at you? Aren’t those jeans a little too tight? Isn’t that skirt too short? Must you make such a fuss with your hair? You know you’re pretty, but you do realize your looks will fade? Aren’t you going to eat something else? Have you practiced this week? Can’t you be more like your brother? Still, I felt safe. Loved. Cared for. Thank god my dad was the complete opposite. Warm Fuzzy. Goofy. Affectionate. She didn’t like that at times either. My mom and I didn’t have that closeness my dad and I did. We just didn’t have all that much in common I guess. But I do thank her for so many things. I’m here. I’m thriving. I’m educated. And I have found passion. And in a way, I have her to thank for my love for reading and writing. I could get away from the nagging when I read. I didn’t have to worry if I was pretty enough or smart enough or good enough. I was the girl who always read and who carried her notebook with her everywhere to jot down things she observed: The woman smoking with her coat pulled tight against herself in the cold wind. The shy teenage boy glancing at me from under his long bangs, fidgety and nervous. The plump 3-year-old pulling on her mother’s pants in defiance to get attention. And I was the kid who would hide books I shouldn’t be reading under my mattress, where my mom couldn’t find them, books I had been forbidden to read. I was the teenager who couldn’t wait to sneak off, not to party, but to retire to my room where all my secret stories lay hidden. Stories or poems I had scribbled into my notebook or books I couldn’t wait to read again and again, earmarked, stained, and tattered. Maybe that’s why I like reading taboo subjects so much. I knew my mother wouldn’t approve. Heck, she couldn’t even talk about the birds and the bees with me. Raised Catholic, she was of the notion—“Hear no evil, see no evil.” If we didn’t talk about sex, surely it couldn’t exist, right? Oh. But it existed. And it was glorious to discover. But somehow over the years, and especially after I went away to college, I was able to find myself and slowly came to understand my mom. The one time I actually saw her cry was when I left for college and she tucked “Oh the Places You’ll Go” into one of my suitcases without uttering one word. I never for one second doubted that she loved me. I realized she just didn’t want me to suffer the disappointments she had. I realized she was trying to save me from getting hurt. I realized she was just trying to protect me from the heartache she had faced. I do still carry that fear of taking chances with me, but I have also learned that without taking them, I will experience very little. I don’t mind pain all that much I guess. For without it, I cannot know pleasure. I have experienced both on each side of the scale with vigor. I love you, Mom. I carry your heart with me…
17 Comments
Mystk Knight
5/8/2016 11:23:45
💚 Beautifully said, and written, RB.
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Tori Dean
5/8/2016 11:25:18
Oh what an honest and beautiful tribute. Continue to keep head high and smiling..you need to remember you are your own person.
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Christina
5/8/2016 11:35:40
Love your post R.B. I love the truth in your words and emotions.
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5/8/2016 11:52:16
People love one another in strange ways sometimes... I'm sure your mother did love you, even if she didn't show it often. I think you're right about her just being disappointed with her life and she pushed you to have a better one, when really what you needed was her warmth. But you learned from her, and she is part of what made you who you are.
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Gary
5/8/2016 14:41:07
How ironic we only come to realize the motivations and well meaning intentions that are mother had borne throughout her lifetime to be those very things we always knew were meant for us to accept as a blessing. I am touched by the true meaning you have exposed in these things and your recognition that they really were so very significant to determining who you became. Well told Rose! 😊👍
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Bianca
5/8/2016 17:37:00
RB,
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5/9/2016 01:37:22
Great post. Thanks for sharing what I'm sure was a hard post to write. :)
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Master
5/11/2016 22:15:32
Beautiful RB. Not many would be as honest. So it seems not as many are as hard on themselves as you are on yourself either. Keep growing, love.
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S.D.
5/13/2016 09:26:22
Much love to you. Keep reading and writing your taboo topics. I understand the conflict. My mom and I are the same. But I thank your mom for giving the world your writing. I love it. Forever fan.
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Fiona
5/16/2016 20:40:42
Love your post, really beautiful
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Nia Farrell
9/28/2016 07:55:01
Raw, honest, touching. I can relate to being my mother's daughters but daddy's girl. I love my mother but was always closer to my dad. Although my mother dispensed praise as well as criticism, I was well into adulthood before I was able to recognize and remove the mask she'd put on me, the one that was keeping me from expressing myself in ways that might earn her frown of disapproval. Strangely enough, she's never criticized what I write. Of course, she'll never read them either, but that's okay. We're okay, and that's a good place to be.
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Ashlee Shades
5/17/2018 18:04:43
Isn't it funny how we realize those things, those reasons, when we're away from the behavior? Growing up, we only see it all as stifling, suffocating, but when we grow and branch out, we see things a bit clearer. We understand the whys, even if we don't agree with them. And we have a deeper appreciation for what those teaching us went through even if we never exhibit the same behavior.
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I LOVE to write and read. I particularly enjoy reading erotic romance that has tons of emotion in it. I hope you will ask me questions and share your favorite authors and novels. I welcome all feedback.
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