Mother’s day, two and half years on
[again, resuming blogging via baby steps.]
It’s odd experiencing Mothers’ Day from my mother’s home without my mother. There’s a strange quality to living here. It’s her house. She is simultaneously more present, here, but also more absent, in the same place.
I’d been avoiding going into the closet with the memories all this time, but I’d found it so dreary seeing everyone else’s “mom” pictures on FB. So I determined to find a few and post them. The response has been gratifying — I’m not the only one who still misses her — and I feel less motherless, somehow, which is good. I also was reminded how many times she was photographed smiling. Well, it’s a trope. But she was often genuinely happy.
Another consequence of living here again: I’ve had a lot of occasions lately to hear or observe how others viewed my parents’ marriage and my mother in particular. I’d had hints of it before but it’s taken on intensity in the last few months. I had a long exchange yesterday with a schoolmate whose father was close friends with mine (they have since moved away), and I was frankly floored to hear some of what she said. The picture of anything from various degrees of “outside” has to differ, I suppose; I wasn’t in my parents’ marriage, but I was in their house. What I came away with, though: even as my picture of mother changes, it’s very important not to disturb others’ picture of her. Especially, apparently, those who saw her as an ideal.