Guilt and Ambiguity

I really don't miss my mother.

There. I said it. I really don't miss my mother.

She has been gone for four-and-a-half years, and frankly, there are other women in my life who I miss more.

My mother loved me; I know she did. I never felt she didn't. She just was a very difficult person. She was harsh and judgmental and she could be very mean and tactless. As she grew older she became even more intolerant of anything that didn't fit into her narrow ideas about how things should be.

Mom saw things as very black-and-white, for example, either you were well-dressed, in an outfit she approved of (and you were never, ever to go without stockings or socks, even in sandals) or you weren't. You were a millionaire, or a failure. Only white-collar, well-compensated jobs were worthwhile. Your kids were either well-behaved, straight-A students or they were delinquents. If you weren't very slim, you were a fat slob.

It was very difficult, enduring endless criticism and disapproval, but I kept trying.

I firmly believe that Mom suffered from Borderline Personality Disorder, which is characterized by black-and-white thinking, fear of abandonment, mood swings and impulsivity. But while it is an explanation, it isn't an excuse. Mom was also intelligent and had access to the best psychiatric care available--she just had so much fear and anxiety that she couldn't have changed if she'd tried.

So here it is Mother's Day. I used to spend at least twenty minutes each year selecting a card for her. She wanted mushy and sentimental; she hated jokey, flippant cards. She wanted to be revered, loved, honored. But it was so difficult to do that. One card would wax on about the angelic, caring mother--nope. Another would go on about the mom who was never angry. No again. Finally I would find one that struck the right note between gratitude for her sacrifices and love, but not carry over into gushing about unconditional support and sweetness. She was usually very happy with the cards I sent.

So it is with mixed emotions that I approach Mother's Day. I have at least one child who thinks I'm sadly lacking as a mom. I have another who thinks I'm terrific. Whatever. All I can say is that I did my best. I am sure that my best wasn't good enough sometimes, but that is life. None of us is perfect.

So, to my imperfect mom, I love you. I appreciate all the good things you taught me and I forgive the difficulties. And to my children--you mean the world to me. I taught you the best I could to be decent, hard-working, and faithful.

Happy Mother's Day.