I am lamenting a death. A loss so deep inside of me, it takes my breath away. The one "illusion" I have held on to, clung to and refused to let go of, was the one of the "Perfect Mother". In all other facets of my life, I have had numerous deaths of ego, sometimes releasing these identities easily and sometimes after much drama and angst. This one is a long time coming and I fear it will be just as long and painful a journey home again. I don't know where the journey will leave me. I feel raw and exhausted already and the trip has barely begun. I know the dismantling of ego is a good thing, a quest I willingly and consistently pursue, day in and day out. But this dismemberment is rocking my heart and soul. Yes, it is good, it is necessary. Yes, it is also painful and it is gut wrenching.
I have always known my children will have their own versions of their youth and their parenting. I have even teased them about it. Agreeing with them when they called me "mean" and explaining they need something to tell their therapist when they grow up. Although part of me knew this was true, another part of me lived in a lovely rose colored world; truly believing I was a superior mother in every aspect. Believing my children would be so grateful for my sacrifices, my wisdom and my selfless love, I would never have to hear a "serious" word about my shortcomings however significant they may be.
My rose colored "bubble" burst this past weekend. My oldest daughter, Alexandra, came into town to be my date for an extravagant fashion function I was exhibiting at in Chicago on Friday evening before our drive to the Notre Dame game on Saturday morning. We had a fabulous time as we mingled and gossiped with the movers and shakers in Chicago's fashion world.
As the evening ended, we had one cocktail too many and her 21 years of emotions flooded the space between us. I was stunned, as if I were in a dreamworld drowning, thrashing for a life preserver. It took me a couple of moments to catch my breath. I knew these feelings needed to be heard and acknowledged. I was moving in slow motion, praying for grace and guidance. Praying for strength and wisdom. I stayed open and held her while she let her memories tumble out, helter skelter. I picked them up for her and gentlely handed them back, validated and unjudged.
Yesterday was the first day I could really "sit" with my own pain. I spent lots of the day crying and letting go. The bottom line has yet to be revealed but there is an air of freedom beginning to stir inside me. Maybe the facade of the "Perfect Mother" is ready to die, to make room for true healing and wholeness. Maybe this is the beginning of an even deeper and more intimate relationship with my daughter. One where I can let go of the need to be the "mother", perfect or not. Maybe this death of sorts will be the birth of a whole new life, one that will be revealed little by little as we remake our relationship into one of two grown and mature woman.
I will always be Alexandra's mother and I will always cherish that role. But roles are not who we truly are at our core. We are two people, two souls who lives will always be intertwined in love and pain as only can be when one is part of the fabric of another. I carried Alex in my body for more than 9 months. We are a part of one another. It is time for me to let go of my little girl so she can make her way in this world, on her own terms, with her own choices and decisions, her own pain and memories. It is time to watch from the sidelines and wait to be invited to participate. Time to let our past die to make room for a new life. A life that will carry us into the future with little rose colored sparkles thrown in for good measure.
Long live the imperfect mother. Long live the imperfect daughter. This rejection is such a painful yet necessary part of the metamorphosis. It comes all along in little pinches and prods, and then the ultimate killing blow from which you come to know everlasting love and peace.
Bless you.
Posted by: Karen Maezen Miller | September 30, 2008 at 04:51 PM
Oh, I understand. My daughter is 24 now and I remember moments like these. But now, as a nurse in the cardiac wing of a great hospital, she looks back and says what a wonderful childhood she had. Like you, we taught her to be strong and speak her mind. To be creative. Chase her dreams. I am sorry your daughter was so hard on you. I don't think she meant it all. I could go on but you will see! Roxanne
Posted by: rivergardenstudio | September 30, 2008 at 08:28 PM
My friend Kathy.... I know this happened to my mom as well, not the same way of course, but a day that came when it crashed upon her that things may not have been what they seemed.
Have you talked to Alexandra about it? I'm sure she may be feeling some similar things as well. You will be stronger from this. She will be stronger from this. It's good to get it out, but difficult to hear something that may've never occurred to you.
You are a great mom, please don't forget that. In my 20's I could've been so much nicer to my mom...I was a snot at times. Even when I moved back in with her to care for her when she was sick, I would come home from work and not want to talk. All my mom did was want to learn more about her daughter, the good and the bad. I wish I had those times back with me so I could demand a "do over" .... truth is, we really don't get many opportunities for do over's do we.
I am who I am ... the good, the bad, maybe the ugly... all because of my wonderful, beautiful, intelligent, amazing best friend...my mom...who I miss so dearly for almost 7 years now.
It is all good - you and Alexandra will be closer from this experience.
Posted by: Jennifer White | October 01, 2008 at 11:37 PM
It sounds as thought you really have a handle on how to appreciate and relate to your children in a way that is a true friendship. That is exceedingly wonderful, although, perhaps, difficult.
Posted by: Shirley Ende-Saxe | October 03, 2008 at 03:18 PM
Oh friend, we do the best that we can and the rest is left up to them. I sometimes think that this is part of the independence process for our children. We love them even when they realize that not everything we did was perfect.
Big hugs,
Deb
Posted by: Debbie W | October 05, 2008 at 06:16 PM
Oh,my goodness. I wandered over here from Debra's Angels blog and discovered this. What a blessing to read something so honest and real - something that makes all mothers feel less alone. Thank you.
Posted by: jenx67 | October 05, 2008 at 09:26 PM
I went through this with my youngest daughter...sometimes the bond is so close, the child has to violently sever it in order to become independent. And it has to happen in order to move into that other relationship waiting for the two of you in years ahead. Which believe me is even better!
Posted by: nikki hardin | October 07, 2008 at 09:58 PM
This is such a beautiful and authentic post. But how in the world did you validate her memories without judging? My daughter is only 15 and she hasn't yet . . . challenged me? How do you prepare for it? Good lord I'm not ready.
Posted by: Mayberry Magpie | October 09, 2008 at 07:22 PM
Dear Kathy, thank you for sharing such honest and raw emotions with all of us. I don't usually read posts that are very long, just too lazy I guess, but yours drew me in and wouldn't let go. Those sorts of emotional encounters bring up so much, don't they? Your stuff, your daughter's stuff, your stuff with your own mother... and yet I know, without even having met you, you did the very best you could as a mom, with the tools you had at the time. Don't beat yourself up... you deserve the same sort of nonjudgemental forgiveness and understanding you gave your daughter. This too shall pass and all will be right with your world, it will just be different. You are a really special lady.
Posted by: kathy McCreedy | October 13, 2008 at 10:58 AM