A baby.....

For the second time in my life, the birth of a baby is making me re-examine my relationship with my mother. 

When Megan was born, my relationship with my mother was simple.  I talked to her occasionally. We visited a few times a year.  We were not terribly close, but there was nothing troublesome about our relationship either.  I was living what some would call an unexamined life.  After enduring an emotionally, and sometimes physically, violent childhood, I thought of my mother the same way she looked at herself - as a victim.  I had never thought about my childhood below the surface, had never even considered the underlying reasons and decisions that created my own particular history.  I had never looked past my father's role in it.  He was a sick, evil man and my mother, my siblings and I were all his victims.  End of story. 

Five years later, a bad marriage had ended, a solid, stable one was underway and Dana was born.  I don't know why Dana's birth prompted something in me that Megan's didn't.  I think timing and circumstance had something to do with it.  With everything in my life in order, maybe I had the emotional stability to finally look below the surface - I don't know.  Maybe it was just time.  Whatever the reason, I clearly remember sitting in my hospital room, looking at Dana and it all washing over me like waves.  I didn't think of my mother when Megan was born.  When Dana was born, I could think of nothing else. 

I remember everything about those moments.  I was sitting on the bed, unwrapping her in wonder, much as I had Megan when she was born.  I don't know what triggered it, but out of nowhere, I was in tears.  I sat there looking at this baby and all I could think of was my mother.  I would imagine many women think of their mothers after having their own children, but this was not a moment of bonding, of understanding.  It was just the opposite.  Instead of understanding her better, I realized I knew nothing about her.  For the first time in my life I questioned her - not my father.  I knew without a doubt that I would lay down my life for Megan and now, Dana.  How did this woman give birth five times and not rescue us from the life we lived?  The examination of my life, and hers, had begun.  I was angry, conflicted and confused - and would remain that way for many years.  On any given day, I am still all of those things. 

As Megan's due date approached, I realized, that I was about to experience some of the same feelings again.  One of the many things I have learned about my mother over the years is that there is a missing piece to her - a mothering piece that simply isn't there.  And what isn't there in her mothering is also absent in her grandmothering.  She has been content to observe them from a distance, ask about them from time to time but never really connect with them.  With nine grandchildren, she would be hard pressed to name them in the correct chronological order.  Over time, while I don't know I can say I honestly accepted it, I did get used to it.  With the exception of her twice yearly visits, my frustration and resentment about her lack of attachment to my girls was relegated to the back of my mind. 

And then Della was born.  Short of the bonding moments with my own girls, there is no other feeling like it.  My bond to this baby was instantaneous.  I want to know how she's sleeping, how she's eating, what she is doing every day.  Megan sends pictures and video to my phone throughout the day so I can see her.  (What exactly did grandmothers do before cell phones with pictures?)  I can't imagine not hearing about her every move.  And here I am again with the same kinds of questions.  Not as angry but just as confused.  How did this woman have the opportunity to bond with nine grandchildren and miss it every time?  The emotion and reality of my own experience were in direct opposition to what I had observed as her experience.  Again - the missing piece. 

While there are many, many issues surrounding my relationship with my mother, it is these issues of mothering (and grandmothering) that are central.  It is a little disheartening to think that I sit here in my 50's still trying to sort them out.  Even more disheartening is that at the peak of some of these moments, I still find myself waiting for her to be the mother or grandmother she is not.  What is not disheartening is that in the absence of any significant bonding in my own relationship with her, I have created the strongest of bonds with my children and now my granddaughter.  Shouldn't that be enough?

beginning....

Two years ago, during my spring break, I started writing a blog.  I didn’t really know where it would go, but every week or so I would post my thoughts on parenting, motherhood, etc.  It has turned out to be a great way to clear the space in my head. 

Lately, it has been harder and harder to write.  It’s not for a lack of material.  My head is swimming – more than ever.  But my blog has become a semi-public forum for family and friends.  Lots of people read it, and the material that is currently itching to be written is not necessarily for public consumption – at least not now. 

During the last year, my mother moved back to the Midwest from Florida.  Specifically, about a mile from me.  It was time for her to live closer to family and, of the choices available, I live in the most affordable area.  I have not lived in the same state as my mother since I was 18 years old.  Our time together has been in week-long stints, twice a year.  We would talk on the phone once a month or so.  That was the extent of our contact.  Needless to say, ours is not an emotionally close relationship.

Living a mile from my mother and being involved in her daily life has been a huge transition for me – thus my head full of thoughts that need to escape.  With a complicated and often traumatic lifelong relationship with her now being front and center, I have come to the conclusion that I need to deal with it.  My first attempt will be this – a new blog.  I have no idea what form it will take.  I don’t know how often I will write.  It may be chronological and it may skip wildly from topic to topic and decade to decade.  All I know is that these thoughts, recollections and musings that are taking up huge spaces in my head need to be put down on paper. 

There are a few people in my life who know all or parts of this story.  You are the people who know me fully – and like me anyway.  You are the people who listen to the frustration and the anger that often comes of this relationship.  So here I am asking you to listen again.  For my sisters, it is our past and present, granted, from my point of view.  For my daughters, it is important to me that they know the full story.  I want them to understand how my mother and I arrived where we are today.  There is so much of me they don’t know and it is time they did.  For my friends, this may fill in some holes and explain a few things you might not otherwise understand. 

If you read it and want to respond, please do.  If you read it and see an ‘ah-ha’ moment I may have missed, call me out.  If you read it and decide you can’t or don’t want to read anymore, I understand.  In the same way I started my original blog, I have no idea where this will lead, I just know I need to start getting it out of my head.  Rather than send out email alerts that I’ve posted something new, I’m just going to post to the site.  If you are interested in keeping up, just sign on as a follower.  And if you decide to read it and follow it, thanks for listening – again.