Thursday, April 16, 2009

Like Mother, Like Daughter -- Not Always


It's my mom's birthday today, but there's not much to celebrate. She is 74, has been completely disabled and living in a nursing home for more than seven years.


I've come to the conclusion that most of us never see our parents clearly or in three dimensions. The memories and perceptions of our inner child distort our views of mom and dad (and siblings for that matter) beyond childhood, and probably throughout our lives. In my case, I was a complete daddy's girl when I was young -- a tomboy, good student and brimming with ambition. Although neither of my parents went to college, I saw my dad as smart and self-educated. He was a successful business-owner and a prominent member of the community.

On the other hand, I had no respect for my mom -- a stay-at-home mother of three. She had planned to be a nurse, but dropped out of nursing school at 19 to get married and move to Minnesota. My brothers and I never fully appreciated that or any of the other hundreds of sacrifices she made to help us grow up to be whatever we wanted to be. We did devote a lot of time, though, to ridiculing her yoyoing weight, her hair, which changed color frequently, her non-existent cooking skills and her endless volunteer activities. And we gleefully participated in mom's addiction to shopping, a habit that afforded us every toy, outfit or gadget we ever wished for on countless indulgent afternoons at the local shopping mall, our favorite childhood and teenage haunt. I swore I would never be like my mom -- she was the last person I would have considered a role model either for motherhood or for life.

By the time I became a mother, my mom had concluded she could never live up to my expectations. True to my childhood vow, I had traveled a completely different path than hers -- college, grad school and a career in business. Mom was completely intimidated by me and our relationship was beyond dysfunctional. I didn't want her around when my first child was born; she didn't want to come and help me following the birth of my second or third-- when I really wanted and needed her to be there.

The funny thing is, I turned out to be a mom who is in some ways just like the one I considered such a failure. I have almost always worked, but for the past15 years my work has allowed me to be at home and available for my kids pretty much any time they have needed me. I stopped cooking several years ago when we moved across the street from Trader Joe's and within walking distance of more than 100 restaurants. I've devoted countless volunteer hours to my professional association ( a less altruistic pursuit than mom's work with the local hospital auxiliary and chapters of Jewish women's groups). And my children focus on my foibles more than my accomplishments; they never miss an opportunity to poke fun me. Like my siblings and me, they're not exceptionally mean, just self-involved and unappreciative -- i.e. over-privileged teenagers and twenty-somethings.

As my kids got older my relationship with my mom eased a bit. By the time my dad died 15 years ago (they had long since divorced) we were on pretty good terms. When she became physically disabled nine years ago my younger brother and I stepped in and eventually moved her from the west coast to a nursing home here in Maryland where we could visit frequently and try to keep her somewhat involved in our lives until she declined mentally a few years ago.

I'm surely still viewing mom through the filter of my childhood experiences, but I think I've gained at least some perspective. I now recognize that she was loving and generous to a fault with her kids; bored with the drudgery of housework and childrearing, and eventually fed-up with the ingratitude of her spoiled kids. The grandchildren were her reward for enduring the three of us. She was financially illiterate, but thanks to alimony, life insurance and inheritance she felt pretty wealthy and continued to love shopping until she was unable to get around. While she was mentally alert, Mom endured years of complete helplessness with more gratitude and grace than most able-bodied people demonstrate on a daily basis.

Mom's life now is extremely limited. She has not left her bed or her room in years, and if she recognizes me when I visit it's only as a friendly face, not specifically as her difficult daughter. My brother and I talk about her in the past tense since the mother we knew has been gone for some time. I'm back to swearing that I never want to be like my mom -- but this time I want to be sure I avoid her fate.

Annette

Copyright 2009 Money Dames

1 comment:

  1. Annette, I haven't cried in awhile, but this made the tears flow. It brought back similar memories of my relationship with my Mom. Thanks for writing this. "Happy" Birthday to your Mom.
    Peace. Anne

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