She was so slender when she was young and, except for a few brief years after bearing two children while in her thirties, she remained that way. She was painfully shy but, as the years went by, the softness in her face became a hardened look that belied her vulnerability. For as long as I can remember, that hard look induced fear in me. I feared her, I hated her, and I loved her. She was my mother.
Four years ago today, I made this post. I wondered if there was any way my mother would ever look at me with approving eyes. I wondered if she could or would ever be proud of what I had done with my life. So many of my readers at that time (of which there are probably none left these days) gave me such encouraging words that I became determined to stop wondering and start doing.
I wrote a very long letter, detailing what we had accomplished with regard to our ruling. I caught her up on my life, the lives of my kids, and the lives of my grandchildren. I sent newspaper clippings and a DVD with the television coverage of us. I opened the door and decided that, regardless of whether she chose to step through that door or not, I had done all that I could do to make my peace with her. Months went by, with no response. I had my answer. I tried to tell myself that it didn’t change anything with regard to my life, but deep down inside the reality was that it was one of many crushing blows that I had endured from her.
When the holidays rolled around that year, I was long past it. I had spent most of my adult life without my mother in it, and I had grieved her loss many, many years before. When I got the mail that day, and saw the Christmas card addressed in familiar handwriting, my heart nearly leaped out of my throat. With trembling hands and racing heart, I opened the envelope.
Time in Florida is on fast forward for all of us old ladies. I really meant to answer way before this. I do not write to anyone but do email so if you want — my address is xxxxxxx@xxxx.com. Fox news kept me posted on your success – glad things are going well for you. Belatedly, Your Mother.
Over the next three years, we emailed a lot and often, in those emails, I detected a bit of melancholy in the tone of her texts. She commented recently that she had returned to the Catholic Church, having fallen away from it decades ago feeling as if she was unwelcome. Not only had she returned, she was attending mass every single day of the week and, twice a month, delivered the Eucharist to the sick and homebound in her parish. She confided that, while she felt comforted in the church, there were still some other issues that she needed to work through, but those were “…between me and God.”
I enjoyed having my mother back in my life again, and always looked forward to her next email. The picture you see here came in the last email I got from her. A month later, she was gone. I didn’t find out about her passing until 17 days afterward.
I was heartbroken that my half-siblings could be so cruel to not notify me. I wasn’t surprised, but I was heartbroken just the same. My mother’s obituary said that she was survived by her TWO children, Sue Hillman and Kevin Ludden and FIVE grandchildren. No mention of me or my older brother and no acknowledgment of her other four grandchildren or nine great-grandchildren.I suspect that I was my mother’s dirty little secret and that, in all likelihood, nobody in the family knew that she and I had been corresponding.
I wrote a more fitting, and more accurate memorial for her here. I won’t insult anyone’s intelligence by attempting to canonize her here. She was a lousy and abusive mother. She made a lot of mistakes and would not take ownership of those mistakes. But when you strip away all the bullshit on our lives, in the end, she was my mother. Nothing more, nothing less. And I loved her.
Four years ago, I wondered if she could ever look at me and say “I’m proud of you.” She did just that in one of her last emails to me. I don’t care that I wasn’t mentioned in the will – her greatest gift to me at the end of her life was her acceptance and her friendship.
Today my mother would be 78 years old. I’m saddened at the loss of my mother, but saddened more by the distance that was between us for so many years. I’m saddened that we couldn’t find it in ourselves, while she was alive, to just put behind us whatever it was that we felt we couldn’t resolve that led us to be so estranged from each other, that neither of us would likely have recognized each other had we seen each other in person.
I’m not going to spend the rest of my life with regrets – I have none. At the end of the day, I can look in the mirror and know that, in my heart, I did the right thing. I made my peace. Besides, I don’t think she would want that.
If you’re estranged from someone important, don’t let it become a regret. Making “first contact” is as simple as sending a card and waiting to see what happens. It’s not a matter of who did what to who because, as long as you live in yesterday and let yesterday dictate your life, you can never move into tomorrow. Reach out. Today.
Happy Birthday, Mom. Miss you. Love you.
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