“You’ll Never Teach Me Anything”
“You’ll never teach me anything” was the worst thing my mother ever said to me. Those words, spoken in a deep, uncharacteristic voice, dragged out of her clenched jaw and were emphasized by unwavering eyes. I do not recall any other details of that barn-burner, not when nor why, but can only surmise the fiery spark was a conversation about money or health. She could’ve hurled the f-word at me and I wouldn’t have batted an eye, but the sentiment in the words that I would and could ‘never teach her anything’ was dumbfounding and branded my brain. It was an effective phrase to utter during a bout of rage for it made me feel insignificant, disrespected, inexperienced and deeply sad. It wasn’t the insult that disturbed me. Moreso, I was saddened by her defiant unwillingness to listen or learn from another human, especially one whom she created. I didn’t harbor resentment but I didn’t forget it. We moved on from that fight, likely had a few more minor dust-ups during our time together, but resumed our gentler mother/daughter relationship for about a decade more.
On her birthday, today, that memory popped into my head. It’s like a grab bag. Sometimes I think of her little 4’11” frame bouncing around, singing, vacuuming, laughing (so cute) and sometimes it’s the hard stuff. The good and ugly were part of our relationship and both are important to acknowledge. But I do so alone. She is long gone. Evenso, she was quite private about some matters which is in sharp contrast to how I express and expose my feelings. We chatted every day about our lives. She was always forthcoming with her generous love for me. But, I realized she shied away from deep conversations about problem-solving, death and complicated matters that were likely to generate a negative emotional response. When we broached those subjects we inched toward knock-down drag-outs. Discussing tough times was uncomfortable and required revealing and unwanted details about life. Details that would’ve necessitated change. Reason was not an exercise we typically practiced with one another. She never learned it from her mother and I didn’t learn if from her. We were novices.
This is what I feel today. She’s been gone 12 years. Bleak? A bit, but it’s a real human experience. She/we had times of wonderful and times of awful. I am honored to have known her capabilities of emotion even if both of us suffered in the process. We can’t do that anymore so I have to appreciate what I have, whatever the experience. I’ll forever search for meaning in my memories of her to make something new, to keep her present in my life. Through times of anger there are teachable moments. For us, I realized some lessons much later, as did she.
We had many positive years after those harsh words. Once in awhile she’d reveal a nugget of her innermost feelings or regrets which left me breathless and thankful. The more we exercised that kind of back-and-forth, the acceptance, support and love, the more she revealed and the better our bond became.
As our relationship grew, our roles started to reverse. I learned how to be a bit overprotective by her example and was frustrated when she ignored my pleas to take better care for herself. I inevitably relented and supported her lifestyle the best way I could in order to make her comfortable and happy. I realized it was her life to live. And I loved when she was feeling safe and cared for. She really shined then. We were really happy as mother and daughter.
For an entire month she battled a hospital-contracted infection hooked up to IVs and on numerous antibiotics to fight it. My phone never rang during her hospital stay which was an indicator of her serious condition. But I was with her every day at lunch and dinner trying to get a handle on her condition and care. One day I sat with her at lunch and ate a salad and black beans. She asked me a bunch of questions and seemed to have a little bit of energy. I gave her love and a kiss and went on my way promising to be back after work. Ten minutes into my drive my phone rang. For the first time in weeks, it was her. What would’ve once irritated me now excited me. I joyfully answered the phone, “Hi mom!” On the other end I heard her sweet voice. “You know, I just want to tell you how proud I am of you,” she said. “You are my mentor.”
I wish we had been together in person at that moment. We had the most peaceful and wonderful phone call ever. And it was one of our last. While driving I assessed how far our relationship came. From strife and refusing to learn to exuberant love and admiration.
Before they put her on a ventilator a couple weeks later I was the last person to see her. She was due to have surgery and I’m not sure she understood how dire her condition was. I asked, “Do you want to tell me anything before you go to sleep?” With her inherent innocent, sweet voice, she said, “Nope. I love you” and smiled. Those were her last words.
There is beauty in our ugliness with each other for how we evolved is the full picture of our relationship. Of course I miss her, but I continue to love her and find ways to better understand her her life as I live mine. She was my beloved, my one and only dear mom, born on this November day.
