"Do you like your mom?" he asks me. He is 10 and we were just having an intense theological adult discussion when he pops up with that question. I am sitting on the edge of his bed saying goodnight.
I think for a minute. Do I like my mom. I notice first the semantics - "do you" versus "did you". How vast the difference. How lonely it sounds.
I say, "do you mean 'did' or 'do'?" and instantly he says, "Do!"
I wonder what brought this up. I never really speak of my mom. I can't remember the last time I spoke of her or why he'd be thinking of her.
"Well Buddy, she died a long time ago. I do like her, very much, but I like the memories I have and sometime the memories you have are a little different than what was really real... I think tho' that I would still like her now if she were alive. At least, I like to think that I would. We used to go out to coffee together and to movies and stuff. Those are precious memories to me." I feel a little spurt of bitter in my heart. I miss her so much. My momma.
"Are you like her? Like you say that my eyes are like yours or how everyone says that Chick is like your little twin?" And again I am silent for a moment. I don't really look anything like my momma. She was a tiny bird, an auburn haired green eyed petite fire-cracker. I am bigger, darker, slower. But I laugh like her. I hear it. When I talk to babies I hear her words and her speech patterns. I know her songs - "Poor little robin, walkin' walkin' walkin' to Missouri, he can't afford to fly..." and "How much is that doggie in the window, arf arf!" and "Put a hand on myself, what have I here? This is my topnotcher yes mother dear..." I have her hands - the deep scored wrinkled knuckles. I have her pinkie toes - oddly formed with thick weird 'parrot beak' nails. I have her tendency to speed, her erratic driving, her coffee drinking habit, her inability to sit still. But I don't have her.
"Yes, Buddy" I say. "I am like her in some ways. And I'm happy about it. When she died I was at the age where you spend all of your time trying to be different from your parents, but now that I'm my age, I would probably spend a lot of my time trying to be just like her. It's funny how life is like that." I smooth his hair behind his ears, rub a finger over his fine brows and along his cheekbones. My momma's cheekbones. I kiss his temple and inhale his boy-scent of sweat, soap, dog, and fresh spring dirt. I think of my mom kissing my brothers, loving them like I love my Buddy. I think of my mom and I know that Yes, I did like her, yes I do like her, yes I am like her. Yes, yes, yes. I miss my momma, even 13 years later. And oh how happy she would have been to be "Grammy" to my babies. The ones that are mine, the ones that I borrow, and the ones that I foster. I will love them all enough for the both of us.
4 comments:
I was watching super nanny (or some such show) last night, the mother of the family was too much like me.. and her kids not all that happy about it.. I do want my kids to think back and say yes, I like her! Thanks for reminding me...
A mother is always a hard thing not to have, I imagine, even if the relationship you had with her was/is complex.
Hugs to you and your buddy.
What a touching post -- and so glad you've come to this point where you can look back and see where you were then, why you acted the way you did, and what you would have done now. Such a beautiful post.
I wanted to come here tonight and say Thank You! When I first started blogging it was just to keep an on line diary (still my point) but for you to come over as one of my first visitors and say such encouraging words really did help me. A fellow Mommy Blogger made an entry about her frustrations in the moving experience an I remembered you...your kind words that had an actual impact on my view of moving. I do not remember if I came over to your blog and thanked you at the time since I was pretty new to all of this but I want you to know you really made an impact on me then and I thought of you when I read another blog about moving.
Your entry now, I think all children go through phases of loving, needing and hating their parents. I was such a child. I loved my mother when I was little. When I was a teenager I wondered why she dress the way she did, why she was always "on my case" and I did go through a period where I thought she was the enemy. After I was married and had children of my own I really understood what she was going through and why she did so many things for me (times I thought it was TO me)...it was all out of love. I finally understood her motives on so many things that I thought she was really against me.
If your mother was around today I think both of you would have similar feelings. Most children go through this process as your children might in the future. Just remember, they might not recall this one on one chat when they are teenagers but will remember it when they are older.
You cannot help but be like your mother. Many women the world over have tried and tried to be something more, something different but every mother you meet will tell you "I couldn't believe the words out of my mouth. It was not me...it was...my mother!" That is with out a doubt from all women, single, married and with or without children. Yes, even adoptive parents have a stamp on the children they love and raised.
Sorry my post is so long. I just had too much to say in just a little frame.
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