Dear Mother,

I’m sitting tonight in the darkness of night and quiet of my home. I am content with my life, and I wonder how you felt about yours. It’s something I’ve often wished I had asked you when you were alive. Did the life you ended up with have any resemblance to the life you dreamed you’d have when you were, say, 16 or 17, or even 18?

I am thankful for the photos I do have of you in your younger years, and of your early years of marriage. At one time, there was a Clarence in your life – I see him in a photo with you, and he has his arm around you. Who was Clarence? Was he someone you remembered wistfully in later years? What happened with him? Was he just not the right man, or was he the right man, but that realization struck too late?

Life was different when you were in your teens than when I was in mine. In my teens, we pretty much flew on emotions, without a lot of common sense or reasoning happening. At least that’s how it seems to me now that I am older. I see pictures of you posing in a bathing suit, smiling, posing like a model. But there was nothing of that attitude that I ever saw in you when I was a child and you were my mother. There wasn’t a lot of room in your life, it seemed, for fun.

Did you love my father when you married him? As years passed, was he the man you thought he was when you married him? In my memory, he behaved as he was born – the youngest child, the only boy in the family. A bit spoiled, a lot egocentric. You married before World War II, and I was born one week before World War II. My memories of those years when my memory begins were after the war, but I have a photo of you and my father with him in uniform. I know after the war both of you worked in the potato fields of North Dakota. At some point, probably about the time I was in second grade, he changed professions and became an asbestos insulator – a career that later became a death sentence.

That job meant frequent moves – we travelled to where the work was. Did you grow weary and begin to hate the constant packing, moving, unpacking in a new strange place where you seldom knew anyone? Emptying boxes, setting up a household, only to have to start the process over in a matter of months. I remember waking in the night in a new home, seeing the shapes of boxes in the darkness and thinking they were something other than boxes, something to be feared.

I cannot imagine living your life now. The constant upheaval, the lack of roots. I’m sure you bore the brunt of the work involved in moving. I think you got little in the way of thanks from my father. Dealing with his moods, his binges – alcoholism seemed to be a problem in his family – always the newness. Was this anything like you had imagined?

I suspect not. I suspect you anticipated a quiet life not far from your family or his. One in which you moved on, you raised your family, you developed your roots, your security. But I don’t know this for certain, and I wonder. I wish I had had the wisdom to ask the questions, to delve into your emotions and your mind.

You were my mother, and I loved you, yet there was never that closeness, that softness of a relationship with your mother that I can recall. I think you were weary and beaten, and I think you did mot receive the love and support one needs from a partner to relax, to be, to enjoy, To embrace. To ward off the bitterness that can come with the years.

I wish I had asked questions. I wish I had been more receptive. I hope you are happy now, and I hope your afterlife is all of what you want it and need it to be.

About Carol

I'm me - nothing unusual, just me. Widowed, 2 grown children who are my best friends, 1 dog, retired, loving being retired. I am woman, I am strong.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

11 Responses to Dear Mother,

  1. Textricator says:

    Carol, What narration. You had me with every word, every description, every question. Every human emotion. I’ve asked similar questions to the matriarchs in my life, in my mind. I seem to have this underlying belief that if I found answers to these questions, I’ll understand my life better, but that does not make sense, does it?
    Hugs to you.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. dawnkinster says:

    I’ve been wondering some of the same wonderings about my mom. I wonder, now that I’m stuck making meals every single day how she felt about being responsible for that with 4 kids and a husband, none of which really helped. And how she felt about dealing with my dad’s moodiness and temper. And why she stayed, even though I know it was because there were 4 of us. And I wonder why we didn’t ask more questions when we were adults and could have had those conversations.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Carol, this was wonderful writing, and extremely thought provoking. I’ve surmised many things about my mother’s life, her reactions, her thoughts, buut will never know, because I did not ask. Regrets. I also am sorry I didn’t ask questions of my grandparents, to have a bit of insight about their lives, and how their lives shaped my parent’s lives. So many questions without answers.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. That was beautiful, Carol.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Ally Bean says:

    You speak for many of us with this post. We wonder, don’t we? There are many questions about my parents’ lives that I’d like answered, but I only thought of them long after they were gone. Also, coming from the era they did, with reserved personalities, I doubt that I’d get straight answers so maybe it’s for the best that I never asked.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Robin says:

    This is wonderful, Carol, and you ask a lot of questions I would ask my mother. Again. When she was alive, I asked, but she didn’t want to answer. The same with her mother, my grandmother. I asked and asked for their stories, but neither wanted to share. I don’t know why they were so reticent.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. I’ve written a letter and some poetry for my parents. I lost my Dad the day after my 40th birthday and Mum two years ago. I was closest to my Dad and could talk to him about anything and everything. Mum and I had a special relationship, though different to that between her and my sister. I’ve written posts for them too, and every time I look in the mirror, my Mum is looking back at me!

    Liked by 1 person

I'd love to hear from you!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.