A Day In The Life

I have written more than once about my less than perfect relationship with my mother- you can read about it here

I have also written about my choice not to become a mother- you can read about it here

This year I have decided to take a positive route in writing about my mother, and sharing some of the positive things she taught me.

My mother was not an introspective person, which I realized as an adult, was a major difference between us-  she moved through life doing what she had to do, taking care of what needed to be taken care of, seeing the world in black and white mostly. My world was more in shades of gray and color and that is where our differences stood out so starkly.

She was a creative person, which is most likely where I get it from. My father was musical and shared his love of music with me, along with teaching me how to sing, but it was my mother who sewed my clothes when I was a child, and always seemed to have a knitting project in the works. Our home was decorated beautifully, welcoming and cozy. It stands in contrast to how she presented herself to people and to me, she was so private and closed, rarely sharing anything personal, instead she seemed to express herself through these other channels.

Though I never became adept at sewing clothes, she taught me how to use a sewing machine and I remember making halter style tops as a teenager. You can see a bit of it in these photos- my mother had made herself a dress,  she is wearing it in the photo on the left-and I used the leftover fabric for the halter top- running the stripes in the opposite direction.

She made dresses for me and my sister for the first day of school ….I can still remember this one- it was corduroy and I loved it

I remember her taking a painting class when I was a child, only becoming aware of it because she was going out at night which was unusual for her. She was a very private person, rarely sharing any of herself with me, making the great divide even greater between us, as I was a sharer and very emotive. She didn’t talk about the class, I have a vague recollection of seeing something she painted, finding it on a shelf in the basement. I wonder now why she kept herself so closed up, what was it within her that didn’t allow her to share?

My birthday parties were legendary, the decorations, the party favors for my friends to take home…..here I am turning 7 with my sister and brother

I was a difficult teenager and she did not know how to “deal” with me, making for many challenging years. In my 20’s once I had moved into my own apartment our relationship improved. She helped me decorate,she always had a flair for it, that creative side of her coming out once again.

She was very bright and should probably have gone on to college but was expected to finish high school and get married. She became a secretary, later called an Administrative Assistant, always efficient at her job, organized, friendly and well liked.

The end of her life was sad, she ignored health issues and sank into dementia, not totally surprising as often she took the path of least resistance when things became too hard or too much “trouble.”  I gain more perspective as the years pass, have come to accept what was, was. I am able to recognize more of the good that was between us, her ability to talk about “nothing”- just simple conversation, not deep, not intellectual, just easy, and her ability to share a good laugh.

She died two years ago and I think of her when  I am engaged in something she taught me how to do.  Accepting of the limitations in our relationship, and understanding where they came from. In the words of Oscar Wilde -“with age comes wisdom.”