“Hey, Mom. You got a minute?” That’s how most of our conversations started. Maybe it was incredibly good timing all those years, but I never remember her saying she’d have to call me back. I always had the same mental image of her topping off her coffee and settling in at the kitchen table as she replied, “Of course I do, honey. I’m glad you called.” I can remember her words so precisely, but sadly I can no longer hear the sound of her voice saying them. I’m not sure when it happened, but my vivid memories have become a silent film and I’d give anything to hear her answer that phone one more time.
It’s understandable to miss her this time of year, with Mother’s Day Sunday and her birthday on Tuesday. I still talk to her from time to time, but it’s really more like leaving a voice mail. As this Mother’s Day approaches, I find myself longing for the whole thing; the banter back and forth, the questions that get followed with answers. I imagine I’m not the only one on this Mother’s Day weekend that would love one more conversation with that most special person.
It helps me to think about the quality of the years I did have with her, because I know I came out a winner on that score. Not as a result of anything I did, in fact, it was more like it was in spite of me. On the outside looking in my childhood was completely average, maybe even tilting toward mundane, but it never felt that ordinary to me. What my family lacked in material possessions, we more than made up for in the peculiar way we found joy and amusement in the constant chaos and ever-present cast of characters – mostly extended family and friends – that filled our house. There was nothing idyllic about our family life, but there was more love and laughter than in most. And conflict; yeah, there was plenty of that too. As I look back, I realize I was all too often at the center of it.
It took me a while, like years, to settle on the word intense to describe my early relationship with my mom. Thankfully, things softened tremendously once I grew up. Or maybe it was when I moved out; a little distance certainly didn’t hurt our dynamic. But the real strides came when I become a mother myself. Suddenly our conversations were more frequent and dare I say more respectful. I think for the first time in my life I felt I was in over my head, and I sincerely sought her advice. It wasn’t lost on either of us, that finally after all the years of locking horns, she was my new best friend.
Some months later I remember asking her how she had put up with my irreverent attitude all those years. Her answer was surprisingly quick and what stunned me was she really didn’t seem to hold a grudge. She said fairly early on she realized there was very little she or anyone could do other than ride it out, because quite simply I was a child that refused to be parented. That characterization of my behavior was new to me, yet the moment she said it, it sounded exactly right. That was our issue in a nutshell. I didn’t want a parent, and she was in the unenviable position of being my parent. I had two of them, of course, but she was the one that took on the heavy lifting. And to her credit, she never stopped trying.
Obviously, there was no long-term damage to our relationship, and I’d say that’s more to her credit than mine. She said she stopped taking it personally when I came home on my first day of elementary school complaining my teacher wasn’t smart enough to possibly teach me anything. Yeah, I guess I had attitude. It was at that point in our conversation when I remember glancing warily at my own infant son and wondering if someday I would find myself in the same situation. It would have served me right, but lucky for me, we’ve since learned it skipped a generation. For those of you who’ve met my grandson, Caleb, you’ll know what I mean.
I was fortunate to share so many wonderful years with my mom. And I especially cherish those last few months before she passed when we found it easier than ever to speak not just what was on our minds, but also what was in our hearts. So, having parted on such good terms you may think it’s greedy that I want more. And yes, maybe it is. I keep coming back to wanting to hear her voice again, but mostly it’s that I’ve had a revelation in the last few years that I’d love to get her perspective on. If by some miracle, I was granted one more conversation, I suspect it might go like this:
Me: Mom, I finally figured out the missing piece to the puzzle; the reason why I found growing up to be so difficult. It was because of audacity. When I was a kid my audacity manifested itself in my refusal to be parented, or taught or any number of rebellious ways. I made better use of it as I got older. As a twenty-something, it was audacity that made me confident I could have it all – a happy family and a successful career. Audacity gave me the courage in my thirties to walk away from my accounting career because I was bored and dabble in hotel operations for a few years. And it was audacity that was behind my desire in my forties and again in my fifties to start businesses in industries I knew nothing about. And then audacity enabled this life-long math and science girl to think writing a novel, or three, might be a fun transition into retirement. I wasn’t a run-of-the-mill difficult kid, it was audacity all along. And that my dear, sweet, Mother, I got from you. And it wasn’t just me; you gave your daring, go-big-or-go-home attitude to all four of your kids.
Mom: So now it’s my fault.
Me: No, Mom, there’s no fault. And it’s not bad. It’s who we are.
Mom: It felt pretty bad living through it. And for your information it wasn’t as hard with the other three as it was with you.
Me: Maybe that’s true, or maybe you just got better at parenting audacious kids.
Mom: (smile) Humph.
Me: You know I’m right. It’s your fearlessness that allowed us to step outside the box Dad drew for each of us. He was the straight arrow; the play-it-safe, my-way-or-the-highway kind of guy. He had everything in our lives planned; for me it was being an accountant of all things. Since I was ten years old he told me that’s what I should do. What ten-year-old even knows what an accountant is?
Mom: It wasn’t bad advice, you did well with that.
Me: Not the point, Mom.
Mom: So, exactly what is your point?
Me: You were different. You were willing to take risks, you tried so many different businesses – some worked, some didn’t but you kept trying, and you’d take the detours along the way if they looked more interesting. It was obviously you I was watching and learning from. Don’t you see, I’ve become you. And living life more like you has made me happier. My whole life everyone told me I was so much like Dad, and yes, I have some of his traits. But I wasn’t happy in that box he drew for me. I don’t know if I’ve always been like you, or if I’ve become more that way over time; but our similarities are clearer to me every day.
Mom: Well, that’s nice, honey, as long as you’re happy. So what’s everyone been up to?
Okay, maybe it wouldn’t be quite as epic as I had hoped. Now I’m wondering who I got my tendency to over-think things from; it obviously wasn’t my mom. Well, on the bright side, I’d be able to remember the sound of her voice again.
Happy Mother’s Day to all the audacious moms out there – in heaven and on earth.
