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Post both of it, Farmgirl ! By the way, Derrell, am I being rude if I ask you how old you are ?
Posts: 3526 | Registered: Oct 2001
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Derrell, yes I did know about Mormon Country, which is a great book, but I didn't mention it because it, like all the other great Stegner books I didn't mention, isn't about mothers. Read them all anyway.
Posts: 1652 | Registered: Aug 2003
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Growing up, I told my elementary school friends that I had no mom.
That wasn’t true, and looking back, it as a horrible thing to say. But it was the way I dealt with the fact that my mom spent most of my childhood locked in her room, with me bringing food trays to her. I was ashamed of her. I was jealous that my mom wasn’t like other people’s moms.
Here’s how it started. Mom probably always had some problems, but after divorcing my dad (when I was one), she really stressed herself trying to work and raise two daughters. She is the opposite of a social butterfly, and she absolutely couldn’t stand being in the city and working a full time job and being around people all day. So one day when I was about five, she snapped. Back in the 60’s they called this a “nervous breakdown”. She went to the nearest Looney bin, and I abruptly, in the middle of the night, got moved into my grandparents’ home.
Now, this was great for me. Grandma & Grandpa (my mom’s folks) lived on a farm (the same one I live on now). Actually in retrospect, it was the best thing to ever happen to me in my life. But I didn’t understand that back then.
I don’t know how long she was in the mental hospital before they released her to come live with us at the farm. I do know that since mental health science at that time was infantile, they did things like electric shock to her, and put her on tons of tranquilizers. She was diagnosed as “schizophrenic”, which was kind of the catch-all mental health phrase of the 60’s. She was forced into group therapy (she was deathly afraid of other people). When she came out of the hospital, she locked herself in her room for months at a time. I remember taking food trays up to her. I also remember episodes of extreme anger on her part, where she would scream and yell at us for no reason – attack my grandfather for no reason, and attempt suicide. We walked on eggshells every day. She often told me – “I hate you – you are just like your father.” When she would take the tranquilizers, she would be a walking zombie or sleep all the time.
So grandma was really mom, and although I would like to make this post a tribute to her, I think it is more important to tell you the transition between my mom and I back then, and my mom & I now, 35 years later.
One day, grandma had “had enough” and threw all the tranquilizers out. (Yes, there was quite a “coming down” time for mom). Then grandma started sneaking vitamins into mom’s food – mass quantities of B-complex, etc., to promote calming, etc. All mom would eat at the time was beans – that was it. And coffee. So we “spiked” her beans. I remember helping with that.
Very slowly, mom started to kind of come out of it. She got up more – went outside. She still wouldn’t go to town or to my school events, or talk to others, but she had more normal days, and less panic attacks. The voices in her head stopped. The trouble is, the more she came out, the angrier at her I got. She had no right to suddenly act like “mom” after all this time. I resented her terribly.
Then grandma started dying. She got cancer, which spanned over 6 years as we watched her begin to waste away. Weird thing is, the worse grandma got, the better Mom got. Like she knew she had to. She began to get up and do some of the housework. Help with the chores. And our anger to each other got worse. I didn’t want her suddenly telling me (I was around 13-14 by this time) what to wear, where to go, etc. etc. I didn’t want her as part of my life at all. I hated her because she was everything that I saw as weak. I tried SO hard to be un-like her that I went to the extreme the other way. Mom hated men (all men are evil kind of thing) so I loved men , she thought liquor was the root of all evil, so I began drinking WAY too much. I wanted to make myself the total opposite of everything she was, because I was SO afraid of being like her. I didn’t tell many people about mom at all, because I learned quickly that if people find out you have a mentally ill person in your family – then it might be in your “genes” and you might be whacko too! I hated that stereotype. And I hated mom for making people think that about me. I tried to over-excel at everything. I was the absolute opposite of the shy person my mom was – I never knew a stranger and talked to everyone. I learned to be entirely independent. During my teen years, between the people in my house caring for my grandma and adapting to mom, no one really even noticed me at all. I was pretty much on my own.
I was working a job when I was 16 at a local care home for the elderly. Working second shift. Mom suddenly decided that she didn’t like me driving home late at night from there, so she applied for a job there as well (remember, she hadn’t work since I was 5 at this point). She got the job. I threw a fit and insisted we never work the same floor together. Eventually I quit – but Mom kept that job up until about 3 years ago. She worked there over 20 years.
I wanted out of the house so badly that I got married the month after I graduated from high school. Grandma died a couple months later, saying she was “so glad to see me married because she knew now I would be taken care of.” Like she needed that before letting herself go. Less than a year later, my marriage fell apart, and then my dad was killed. Then I fell apart. The two deaths of the two closest people in my life was more than I wanted to deal with. I left the state of Kansas – tried the geographical cure. I won’t go into a lot of details on this part, but I got heavy into alcohol and other things.
But eventually I got homesick. And also I knew that grandma would be sorely upset with me, because she had CHARGED me with the duty of taking care of my mom once she was gone. We had talked about it. Right now grandpa was helping mom some, but their relationship was very strained, and he was planning to get married again and move out. So I moved back to Kansas to help mom.
Kinda fast forward – I got married again and had three kids – stayed nearby most of the time. It was a strain trying to manage my own home and my mom’s too. (I realize now, which my own personal study of mental health, that mom suffers from OCD, not schizophrenia, and well as some anxiety disorders). Mom hates making any decision at all, so I get to do all of that for her, whether I want to or not. My husbands/boyfriends have never understood that when Mom and I fight, they need to just stay out of it – we have our way of fighting. We yell and scream at each other for awhile then suddenly cool down and act like it never happened. Such as, we would yell at each other, maybe say horrible things, and I would SLAM out the door toward the car to escape for awhile, and the she would open the door and say “don’t forget to get a gallon of milk while you’re out” and I would say, “okay, will do” and everything would be fine.
When I got divorced from the kids’ dad, my only option was to move back home to the farm. I was taking care of it as manager anyway, and Mom wasn’t able to keep up with the upkeep. Grandpa died, so he wasn’t around to help anymore. It was up to me now to continue what grandma & grandpa started. Sometimes I resent when people say “oh, you live with your mom” because it isn’t like that – she isn’t able to survive without me there. It is like having another child, but also having to show respect, because she is mom and because it is important for my kids to see my respect her if I want them to respect me. Becoming a mom myself made me a lot mellower in that way. She has fewer and fewer bad days, and a lot more days when she laughs and is fun to be around.
And I finally came to terms with who and what she is. I know she has problems, and I now accept them as part of her. I don’t resent her. I still get very frustrated, but I’m more understanding of our differences. And so is she. She retired and I now am sole support for all of us (she gets a little social security), so we have grown into this kinda-comfortable almost husband/wife relationships (without the gender thing) in that I bring home the money, make the decisions, fix things, do the upkeep, and she helps out during the day with regular chores, some of the laundry and dishes, and tries to do what she feels she can (and I try to not criticize her job).
As I read Derrell’s post about his mother having cancer – and I think of that in terms of my own mother, it doesn’t make me sad. I have always said that if mother were to pass away, I probably wouldn’t cry. I don’t think I’m lying, but I may be. Too many years I kept my emotions shielded from her in order to keep from getting hurt like I did as a child. Never did she say she loves me, nor will she hug or show affection. I accept that now, although it is still hard. She just can’t do that. She has made it clear that when it is her time to go, she is looking forward to it. She’s not really fond of ‘this” world very much. In some ways, when she dies I will be very sad because my life has revolved around caring for her emotionally for so long, but in other ways, it will be such a release – not just for me, but for her, as well. I hope in the next life she can truly be happy.
That is why I will never marry again. God gave me certain responsibilities in my life – first my children, and secondly my mom. I will never again try to force a male into third place – it isn’t fair to him.
As strained a relationship as it has been over the years, it has certainly made me grow in character and patience. Just as some people talk about having a handicapped child, and how it changed their outlook on life, having a mom like her has made me the fiercely independent person I am. I guess when all is said and done, I have to thank her.
Farmgirl :editted because some of the Word characters didn't translate right::
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See Derrell? I scared everyone out of your thread. Maybe it didn't read like a tribute, which is was really suppose to be. The last paragraph kind of says that.
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You see Farmgirl, I'm still here - just needed time to read your post. You're right about the experiments which make you grow. Growing is not a question of age, it is about what you lived and how you lived it. To my opinion, of course. Posts: 3526 | Registered: Oct 2001
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You haven't scared anyone off. It just takes a while to come up with a reply to a powerful post.
Posts: 9866 | Registered: Apr 2002
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It would take me a big time to write about my mother, especially in English, but I guess I'll try tomorrow. Will your food offer still be there ?
Posts: 3526 | Registered: Oct 2001
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I think you should go for posting your other post Farmgirl, whatever it is. I also feel like this one is landmark ish and hope we can get Papa Moose to save it. It offers powerful insight for the rest of us into why you are who you are.
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You know, Derrell, a thread won't die if nobody posts to it for an hour or two. That's the difference between a forum and a chat. Posts: 1112 | Registered: Jan 2003
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Both my parents are alive and well. Until a year ago I would have had nothing much to say about them - I love them, our family was great - we had stupid arguments from time to time but that was about it.
Last April, my parents decided to separate. It turns out my Dad had been having an affair on and off for 5 years - Mum had found out Christmas 2002 that it had restarted, and they tried to talk things through. Talking didn't work in the end, and they separated in April.
Dad is now living with his girlfriend and her 17 year old daughter. I find the fact that this woman has a daughter the hardest bit: while she is younger than me, and I was living out of home when the separation occurs, it does seem sometimes like Dad left our family (and me, as his eldest daughter) for a new family and daughter.
Overall though, things are ok - Mum and Dad are amicable, Dad comes around to look after my little sister a lot - it could be a lot worse.
However, this post is about my Mum. Since last year my opinion of my mother has changed a lot. I always loved her, always knew she was clever, but Dad was the 'academic' one. This year I've realised how incredibly intelligent she is, and how amazing she is at her job (a doctor who practices as a GP and teaches medical students). I've seen her give a speech for a colleague's retirement and it was one of the most eloquent speeches I've ever heard. Basically, I've just been impressed!
I've also come to realise how strong she is, but also how fallible. I've seen her project a lot of the failings of her relationship with my Dad onto my relationship with Tony. I've begun to realise why she used to say some of things I always hated when I was a teenager. An example - you know how some mothers push their daughters towards finding a guy, getting married etc? My mother was the exact opposite. Even when I was 14 (and in *no* way thinking about marriage), we'd see a film with a sappy ending, the protaganists getting married and Mum would turn around to me and say 'Well, you won't be doing that for at least 20 years'... When I got older and people I knew started getting engaged, Mum would always react by rolling her eyes, and, if the proposal was "romantic" by making vomiting actions. It used to really bug me.
And then I realised a lot of her anti-marriage stuff was because she knew her own marriage was not good (Mum and Dad had, I found out, been having big problems for at least 7 years), and I guess she was scared.
Knowing this means I see her more as a person in heself, not just a Mum - strong, inspirational and amazing but also fallible. And this has helped our relationship, because it means I can be more forgiving, tolerant and generally a nicer person to her. (When you view your parent as infallible it's almost impossible to forgive them when you first find out they're not).
So, that's my Mum. She's great and I love her a lot. And I'm very proud of the way she has managed to get through the last year.
Posts: 4393 | Registered: Aug 2003
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quote: Even when I was 14 (and in *no* way thinking about marriage), we'd see a film with a sappy ending, the protaganists getting married and Mum would turn around to me and say 'Well, you won't be doing that for at least 20 years'... When I got older and people I knew started getting engaged, Mum would always react by rolling her eyes, and, if the proposal was "romantic" by making vomiting actions
Oh my gosh! I do this to my daughter!! (I just SO don't want her to get distracted from her goals of being a vet -- I don't want her to meet some sweet guy, drop out of college, and never realize her dream).
quote:(When you view your parent as infallible it's almost impossible to forgive them when you first find out they're not).
Hatrack has been particularly insightful this week, and this is one of the most insightful things I have ever seen here. I'll have to try to remember it when I get around to writing myu landmark post.
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Well, that's true. Because they have godlike powers over their children (including the power of creation), they also have godlike responsibilities, including infallibility. And of course no human can possible measure up. We can only do our very best, with humility and grace, being willing to start over and try harder again and again, and pray that our shortcomings will be compensated for.
As for forgiving our own parents, it becomes possible to do that once we stand alone and are no longer under their control. This can happen in early childhood or much later on depending on the people and circumstances, but it is often a painful process.
One thing I particularly honor parents for is their faith in the future. It takes great courage to be a parent. I am not sure if I live up.
Posts: 5509 | Registered: May 1999
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Thanks Icarus, Farmgirl and aka for your comments.
aka - I know that parenthood takes an immense amount of courage, faith and hope to tackle from the parent side of things. Of course, as you said, from the child side of things there will always be the worshipful/creator element.
Which, I guess, would make parenthood so hard - you go from being your own person (with a partner) to being simultaneously worshipped by and devoting your life to your children - one of the hardest, but when it works I guess one of the most rewarding, relationships existing.
Posts: 4393 | Registered: Aug 2003
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She sits in a rocking chair, surrounded by a bit of clutter, an off-key canary, and the man in the wheel chair. There is a bag of popcorn, not the microwave kind, but he big deep kind you can only find in stores, the kind where you hand gets coated in fake butter and salt just reaching to its bottom, and it sits half empty on the table to her right. She watches TV, but doesn't really focus on it. Her focus is on the knitting she is doing, creating a warm blanket for the daughter-in-law she has come to love.
The two children that remain at home, a Daschund and a grumpy dalmation colored chiuahau, fight over an overused chew toy that was once her shoe.
She is happy.
The man in the wheel chair has been there, next to her, for fourty three years now. He used to be stronger. He used to be louder. He used to have both legs and be free from diabetes. That doesn't matter. He still talks to her, in his limited way. He is still there for her. His laugh still makes her smile.
Then again, she used to be something more than his care-taker. She was head nurse for the Malinkrodt Institute of Radiology. She was also head nurse in several other places. From her time at the state mental institute to just a few years ago, she has been healing others and fighting with doctors. Now, she does the same, but for the man she loves.
There house is cluttered and over large for the two of them. Yet it is too small for the grandchildren that visit dailly. She shows them the same love and the same protective care that she showed her children.
She is brave.
When other nurses that had graduated with her in the early 60's found husbands, they became mothers. She fought to keep her job.
When others questioned her about marrying a man of Jewish blood, she did not hesitate.
When his family pushed to have the children raised Jewish, she did not hesitate.
She would let her children search for truth on their own, with her guidance being the simple statement--"I don't know."
When the doctors did stupid mistakes and refused to take advice from a meer nurse, she stood her ground and showed them how to heal.
When other parents blanched from talking to their kids of the dangers of smoking or drinking or sex, she held no well rehearsed speach. She spoke of these things often and bluntly and her children were safe.
When computers came to the hospital, and the older nurses fought with the techies, she strove forward to bridge the gap and fought to make each system Nurse friendly.
When her husband of almost 40 years had several strokes, and they thought he would not last the night, she staid with him. She pulled him back.
When others may have shuffled off their partially dead husband to some institute, she said NO.
When others would have been content to spend their lives taking care of this man, she did one of the bravest things of all.
She opened up her history and her heart and she began to write.
Today, when she's not knitting in front of the TV, or walking the dogs, or eating the popcorn, she is in front of the computer, writing poetry or the story of her husband, or the story of her life.
She does not do this for fame or for money. She does it for her grand-children, so they will not forget.
I am a very fortunate man. This is my mother. She is so much more, the gardener, the jokester, the singer and artist. From her I have recieved my sense of humor and my sense of justice and my work ethic. But more importantly than all of that are two things. She has given me my sense of wonder, and the stoppable knowledge that no matter what I try, she will be there to push me on.
Posts: 11895 | Registered: Apr 2002
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I though a lot about my Mom and how she used to show her love for me. And the most important thing she did for me when I was a kid had to see with handkerchiefs. When I was very little (2 years old or so), if she had to let me with someone else, she gave me a handkerchief she had put in her bra for one day, so that I can smell her odour and remember she would come back to take me. When I grew older, about 6, she never let me go to school without two well-ironed handkerchiefs. “One to blow your nose, one if you fall down and hurt yourself, or if one of your friend needed it”. Love lives in small details. It has been a very long time since the last time she gave me my handkerchiefs with these words, but it’s something I will never forget. You feel very secure when you’re a little girl and you know that if anything happen, you have your handkerchief and it’s as if your Mom were with you. Sorry for the brevity of this, but it’s hard for me to express well how I feel or felt about my Mom.
Posts: 3526 | Registered: Oct 2001
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Farmgirl, I don't know if I will show this to my mother, but it may end up going out on a mothersday note.
Thanks for the compliment. Mark Twain once said something to the effect that to make a writer like you, just say you've read his works. To make a writer love you, just say they were good.
Anna--Yours was great. Its brevity gave it a power that you will find missing in longer things.
Now, where's the food. I want Chocolate.
Posts: 11895 | Registered: Apr 2002
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Dan, you're right to remind me : where is the food ? I know I was late, but black forest doesn't disapear that way ! Posts: 3526 | Registered: Oct 2001
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((((((((((Dan_raven))))))))))) Your post made me cry. Do you have any idea how beautiful that was? Thank you so much for sharing that, it really touched me to the core. ((((((((Anna))))))))) It really is the little things that make a difference! I've noticed that too.
Posts: 7877 | Registered: Feb 2003
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Anne, I read you post to my wife. We are in the midst of adopting. She is going out this afternoon and buying some good hankies.
Posts: 11895 | Registered: Apr 2002
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I think my mom needs a little bit of loving on this thread. (thinks)
I had a whole post written out that told a bunch of stories about my mom that she told me. But then I realized that the best way to tell is to show, so here's one of my most cherished childhood memories about my mom.
I'm asthmatic, and though it's not great now, it was much worse when I was a kid. I only very faintly remember ever having to go to the hospital, though I know I did once or twice. When I was about five, my mom and dad got together some money to buy a Nebulizer, which is a kind of machine that turns medication into a mist for you to breathe in. I remember the salesman coming to our house with all his brochures, and knowing vaguely that my parents were spending a lot of money on me. It's interesting to know that even as I child I had a guilt complex about people spending money on me. (laughs)
I slept in the basement room, a room refurbished from a storage room to be fairly hypoallergenic. My mom slept up two flights of stairs and she usually kept the door half-closed. I remember those times when I was sick or not feeling well, sleeping fitfully, coughing in my sleep. I was a deep sleeper usually, and wouldn't wake myself up with coughing. My mom was a light sleeper.
There were many nights when I'd go to sleep feeling miserable, suffering from nothing more than a minor cold that decided to take up residence in my lungs, coughing myself to sleep and then I'd wake up in the middle of the night on my mother's lap with the nebulizer humming along on the shelf above us. Sometimes she'd turn on the TV, sometimes she'd doze, sometimes she'd just smooth down my hair and hum low under her breath.
I wasn't a small child. I was probably 8, 9, 10, and getting to be almost as big as my mother was. But she was still able to rouse me enough to get me to walk, and half-drag me out of my bedroom and onto the couch in the living room next door. She still sat me on her lap in the wee hours of the morning, when she had to get up for work or whatever the next day, and gave me my medicine so that I could sleep.
I've never really talked to my mother about this, and who knows? She could have been lying up in her bed half-asleep every time, listening to me coughing and halfway wishing I'd just stop and she wouldn't have to do this ever again. Even though I'm sure if I did, she'd come down to check on me. Maybe she was thinking about how much she hated having to do it, every single time. Maybe not. I don't know that it really matters. Waking up in the arms of my mom made me feel loved, like it was really worth all this trouble just to have me around. And I knew that after I was finished taking my medicine, I could sleep.
Anyway, thanks mom. Thanks for helping me breathe easy. (smiles)
Posts: 4816 | Registered: Apr 2003
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((((Ryuko)))) Your story is beautiful. Dan, what you wrote nearly made me cry. I'm sure you and your wife are going to be wonderful parents. (((((Dan))))) (((((Dan's wife)))))
Posts: 3526 | Registered: Oct 2001
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, she thought liquor was the root of all evil, so I began drinking WAY too much. I wanted to make myself the total opposite of everything she was, because I was SO afraid of being like her. I didn’t tell many people about mom at all, because I learned quickly that if people find out you have a mentally ill person in your family – then it might be in your “genes” and you might be whacko too! I hated that stereotype. And I hated mom for making people think that about me. I tried to over-excel at everything. I was the absolute opposite of the shy person my mom was – I never knew a stranger and talked to everyone. I learned to be entirely independent. During my teen years, between the people in my house caring for my grandma and adapting to mom, no one really even noticed me at all. I was pretty much on my own.![[Cry]](graemlins/cry.gif)
(((((Farmgirl))))) That's so beautiful.
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