I’ve been talking to some mothers recently.
I called my own.
Such an odd experience, talking to a woman who is losing her memory but retaining everything else. The voice and the expressions haven’t changed. “Hello darling!” she says. She knows she misses me, but she doesn’t remember when she saw me last. She rarely forgets she has 4 children, but I’m not sure if she knows who I am, today. A few minutes into the conversation it becomes clear that she can’t remember what she just said, but that she wants to see me, whenever I can make time.
Her memory loss doesn’t prevent me from recognizing her as my mother but the idea is drifting.
I talked to my best friend.
We raised our children together, but she went on to have 3 more than I, meaning she’s got teenagers at home. I can’t remember what it was that prompted her comment, “Of course, that’s not something we need to share with the kids,” but I responded, “Oh, as I get older I feel like I have to get more honest with mine. That I protect them with truth, not by keeping quiet.” Or something like that. I was driving, so probably wasn’t speaking in whole sentences.
In fact, I’d just finished having a conversation with my son in which I explained to him my psychology, as best I can, around pieces of advice I give him. And then explained my psychology around telling him my psychology at all. Poor child. The standards of good care shift so much as my children grow up, and I have no model, no mother’s group, no data to guide my choices. I muddle along hoping that in a pinch truth and love are the right answer.
By the way, by truth I don’t mean full disclosure. Our kids are not our late night friends, for sobbing phone calls or confessions. I mean that whatever I do tell them, whatever advice I give, I make it as true and as free of my own agenda as possible. I suppose I mean we, and our.
I talked to some young women online.
Young mothers and mothers-to-be these days are forging their own course. As it happened, my generation didn’t set the template for the future. The answers we came to, so hard won – I’m going to use the word “forged” again – out of late nights, cracked nipples, pyjama standdowns and teenage disdain, those answers may not stand. Certainly they will not stand. I guess every generation needs to choose their own ways, and often will choose in reaction to those very things we thought our experience had revealed as truth.
I am a very cerebral person. I use logic to make my way through life. (Interrupted of course by emotions I can’t control, and the river of speech with which I am afflicted. Truth.) So I have thought a lot about bringing up my children and will continue to think about it for as long as I can.
But as time passes, time in which by default my mother ages and new mothers give birth, culture and frameworks shift. Duh, I guess, but always a surprise.
I anchor in the moment. I anchor in the blue of my son’s eyes, in the smooth skin of my daughter’s cheek, in their voices down the hall. Those might seem like superficial images, like the cover of a romance novel, but when I cast my mind’s eye over to them that’s what I see. There’s more of course, their text messages and plans, the spaces in which they live. And so on.
None of my thinking here is terribly brilliant, but even obvious stuff can feel like an explosion when it affects our particular lives.
They are short, those lives. Being a mother is one of the few inalienable loves. So I stay close to how I feel. From there I look back at my mistakes, my anxieties, my biases, my ignorance. I set my mind to work in service of my dear ones and report back when I must. That’s as true as I can get.
Have a wonderful weekend. It’s raining here, so we in the land of drought are glad.
42 Responses
I am so sorry about your Mother. And for my own Mother, I wrote this…
Kathy Lundy Derengowski 9/10
Butterflies and Moths
My mother had Alzheimer’s
Where was the poetry in that?
No rhythm, no reason, and no rhyme.
No cadence, only chaos.
No song, only sorrow.
The first signs:
A mind adrift,
An almost charming scatteredness.
Butterfly thoughts,
Fluttering away,
As she chased them, and then
….forgot to chase them.
Then, not so benign;
Mind moths
Ravenous and cruel,
And no way to re-weave
The tattered textile of her mind.
And finally, for her,
No sad remembering
And no regrets
Neither worry, nor anxious fears
– Not knowing, what she no longer knew.
She had already left of course,
It was so sad to watch.
There was no poetry in that.
But poetry was all we had, for help.
@Kathy, Thank you for sharing. The imagery of butterfly and moth resonates with me.
@Kathy, That is a true and lovely poem, thank you for sharing!
My grandmother-in-law has dementia and we’re so glad that she’s still at the butterfly stage. She’s slowly getting worse and we’re all really not looking forward to her not recognising us.
We make sure we see her regularly, but it’s hard knowing that even if we saw her every day, she’d still be lonely because she doesn’t remember. It’s hard when she talks about when she goes home from her care home. She’s so frail there’s no way she’s ever going home to her old house.
“I muddle along hoping that in a pinch truth and love are the right answer.”
Those two things will ALWAYS be the right answer.
@CindyM, :). That’s a good way to look at it.
I admire that you protect your children with the truth. I think that mine are too young to process some of my family’s truths, so I’m waiting a bit longer, but philosophies like yours encourage me.
@Miss Cavendish, I found your comment! My children are adults – I don’t think I started down this path until they were almost out of college.
Ah, what a lovely bond we mothers of grown children have. The love and warm feelings for them just continues to grow.
@Mary Anne, It’s kind of like the secret prize to the experience.
I too am sorry about your mother. My mother retained her personality even as her memory left her, and it sounds like yours is as well. I wish you all the best.
@MJ, Yes, that’s exactly how it is. Thank you.
Such a great and thought provoking post. I still struggle all the time about how much to tell my daughter, what to protect her from, how not to burden her with my stuff, keeping the mother/daughter boundary intact, while at the same time being very close “friends” with her.
An example being last Christmas. My mother got a cancer diagnosis on Christmas eve, and it was my daughter’s first Christmas as a mother, and she was so excited about Christmas morning when we were coming over, making Swedish pancakes, etc.
After much thought, I decided to hold off telling my daughter the news until the day after Christmas as I didn’t want to ruin her day.
These are the sorts of issues that I do think about more and more, as we’re all aging and inevitably problems will arise.
I think your thoughts about not using your children to for sobbing calls and confessions. My mother did use me (and still does) for that sort of thing, I truthfully, I resented it terribly, less so now, but I still do.
And, so sorry about your mom, so hard to watch parents failing.
@kathy, And so hard to get a diagnosis on Christmas Eve. I imagine your mother had her reasons for breaking the boundaries, but still, it would be hard to forgive that breech.
My mother too is the perfect Zen master living in a constant present.
As for other stages of motherhood, I came upon this the other day. It is very powerful, especially the confessions: http://www.scarymommy.com
@Babette, That’s an amazing way to look at it – Zen mastery. That post terrified me, BTW.
Beautifully written, Lisa.
I was just looking at some photographs of my mother when she was in her forties and fifties and realized how little I really know her.
@Leslie, Thank you. I think that many women of that generation had different definitions of self, and of intimacy, than we do now. Or so I have come to believe.
Raising our children as free of our own agenda as possible… not easy, but something that I strive for.
I love following the growth of your kids, as you know.
This is beautiful Lisa.
Thank you. <3
So well said, Lisa. Time and honesty are the most important gifts that adult children and mothers can share. One of my greatest joys was when we gave my mother an Ipad a few years ago and she began receiving photos and texts from her grandchildren, who were away at college. They played Words with Friends with her. The last personal communication between my youngest at college and her grandmother was when my mom sent her another great turn and the message, “I love you so much”.
Oh that’s so wonderful.
Having watched my mother through this, as you know, we’re now seeing my mother-in-law approach end-of-life with increasing loss of memory, although she still breaks into a huge smile when she sees Paul, and if I’m not with him, she still remembers to ask about me. Repeats herself, of course, often 6 or more times in a few minutes, but we just follow her cues and have that conversation again. . . .Endearingly, her default social contribution is “Oh, you are SO pretty. I love you so much!” (adjective changes to “sweet,” occasionally, or “handsome” for the guys, sometimes “smart”). But yes, watching her has me looking backward, looking forward, thinking about my mother(s), my own mothering . . . you put so much of it into words here beautifully.
Thank you very much. And yes, I listened to your experience with your mom, knowing even then that my mother was headed down this path. It was just too early then to write about it openly and still respect my mom’s character.
I always think your own children are rather lucky to have you. xx
Well that’s an exceptionally nice thing to say:). <3
Hi Lisa
I think of your mother, yourself and your family often and I thank you for sharing your thoughts and experiences. I admire your strength, good humour and perspective. Also, that your words of wisdom are never preached but rather gently offered like a hot cup of tea or bracing hug.
Take are and much love
SSG xxx
@Sydney Shop Girl, Thank you. I’d be hard pressed to preach, feeling as I do that I could always be wrong.
Did you ever hear the saying “there are no big deals”?
Well this is a big deal and you are handling it gracefully as always.
My heart is with you.
xo J
@flwjane, <3
I treasure my memories of my mom, even when she was not all there. She always knew she loved me even if she wasn’t quite sure who I was! I hope your time with your mom is peaceful and your time with your children is joyous.
@Marlyn Leslie, Thank you. That’s exactly how it is.
A timely post for me. My mother died 15 years ago, but we just lost my dad 6 weeks ago. The family (husband, 2 sons and daughter in law) is gathering for Thanksgiving in his home, and I’m having a hard time with it. How truthful should I be about that? Dad wanted no memorial service so this gathering is a chance to remember him and to take the things he left to everyone, but I’m not ready. I believe in truth and love, but how much and when?
@LL, I am so sorry for your loss. I think in this case you can be very honest. There is no shame in grieving, and surely no one would be surprised. Of course, I don’t know the people involved, so I could be wrong, but sometimes letting your children care for you is a good thing for everyone.
I’m sorry about your mom. My beloved mother-in-law has Alzheimer’s. It’s hard. But she broke into a huge grin the last time she saw me, so someone still lives in her Alzheimer’s space, behind her blue eyes.
@Patsy, Behind blue eyes. A song of my teenage years, but maybe even better sung now.
“..I use logic to make my way through life. (Interrupted of course by emotions I can’t control, and the river of speech with which I am afflicted. Truth.)” Oh Lisa, how true, how true.
@pamela gene daley, Thank you:).
Sorry about your mother. I went through that also…with mine. This is a lovely post and so well written. I see myself in your words. You have spoken for all of us.
Thank you. I am finding now that many share the experience, and experts expect many more soon will, as the Baby Boomers get older.
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