Not a Day Goes By...
On February 10, 2003, you left us, dear, sweet Mother. And I was crushed beyond words when I received that phone call telling me that you’d departed.
Although your passing left a huge hole in my heart, I was also strangely relieved that you were no longer suffering. For the years of dementia, depression, blindness, and illness had diminished the woman I’d known, admired, and cherished. For years after your death, I lived in denial refusing on some level to accept your departure and absence from my life; and for many more years I carried a burden of regret, feeling as if I wasn’t there for you in your waning years. I regret, too, not having honored you more while you were alive and in not telling you how deeply I loved, admired, and respected you. So here are a few rambling words as I reflect upon you.
Odd that today I should remember your own mother’s passing. I was a few months shy of my 5th birthday when she passed; and while trying to grasp the concept of death, I remember with such clarity saying to you then, “Mama, I think I’ll want to die when you die.” You stopped what you were doing; knelt down next to me; and with your warm, soft eyes said, “I feel that way some days. But you know not a day goes by that I don’t think about my mother. You’ll do the same. I promise you.” Yes, I wanted to die the day you passed; but you were right in your wise words, for not a day goes by that I don’t think about you, Mother. And in those precious moments, I can hear your laugh; see your smile; and feel your comforting presence envelop me.
During your lifetime, you were a daughter, sister, granddaughter, wife, mother, aunt, grandmother, great-grandmother, neighbor, Girl Scout Leader, Boy Scout Den Mother, mother-in-law, neighborhood chauffer, chief cook and bottle washer at the Etgen home, seamstress, quilt-maker, kindergarten teacher, day camp director, housekeeper, concierge, the commander-in-chief of the Third Street Gang, and the Chief Financial Officer that held the Etgen family household financial security in balance.
However, you were not a multi-tasker preferring instead to focus your entire energy on whatever your task was at that moment. But with style and grace, you shuffled the many pieces of your life so beautifully, rarely complaining; in fact, you were generally in good spirits. Because of you I have an unbelievable ability to focus and also possess your organizational traits and ability to segment the pieces of my own life. I am blessed!
I recall you once telling me, “Do whatever you’re doing well, even if you don’t like what you’re doing. It’s the way you do things that defines your character.” And you were so right. It was your “doing” that taught me integrity and to finish what I started, no matter how tough the doing might seem.
As a young girl, I wanted your thick, curly hair; your soft blue eyes; your stature and commanding presence. When I matured, I wanted your stoicism, your intellect; your persistence; your insight; your wisdom; your courage; your fortitude; your kindness; your credibility; your believability; your patience; and your carefully-chosen words, spoken wisely, and at just the right time.
You believed in teaching your children boundaries and parameters. For example, unlike our friends, we children were never allowed to strewn our toys and personal belongings all over the house or yard; we played in our room—that was our personal space. We understood that the living room was group space—shared by adults and children—and it was not our playground. And I understood that my world stopped where another person’s began. Oh! How cleverly and carefully you taught me personal responsibility and personal space management!
We all know that growing up is joyful but also fraught with uncertainty. But your unconditional love made the uncertainty so manageable. One thing I never doubted was your love—your sweet, unconditional love never predicated on performance or doing what you wanted me to do. Your words and responses were never harsh, loud, or judgmental. And if you were ever disappointed, that disappointment never registered on your face, in your voice, or in your demeanor. I recall on one occasion being disappointed in myself and my behavior. I asked you, “Mother, do you still love me?”
“Of course, I still love you.” You quickly replied. “I may not always like what you do, but I’ll always love you.” Mother articulated so well that importance of separating my behavior from her love. I took comfort in those words then. Having that kind of love gave me so much strength and peace; and I am reminded every day that I carry those words deep within my inner core. I may be disappointed in my own behavior, but I still love myself. Likewise, I may be disappointed in others, but I can still love and care about them. And most certainly, you taught me that one doesn’t throw away a relationship just because you’re disappointed in a person or angry with him/her. To her, throwing away a relationship smacked of selfishness and entitlement. So, divorce and separation were not an options no matter what!
And she certainly believed and demonstrated that disappointment and love are not hinged together. So, in that regard, Mother never saddled either my brothers or me with guilt as a means of manipulation or controlling our behavior. Thankfully, revenge and guilt were not her style. And to this day I have trouble coping with anyone who tries to manipulate me with guilt or who seeks revenge. I can see right through that behavior every time. How wonderful!
As I continue to reflect, I recall rarely seeing Mother flinging her anger towards us children or my father. She chose instead to walk away when she was upset, and she’d become dead, cold silent. She’d stew for a while, but she never inflicted or projected her anger on me or my brothers. In fact, my parents had a verbal, parental agreement in which they never argued in front of us. If they had issues with one another, those were resolved behind closed doors away from our earshot. I came to understand that anger is an appropriate emotion but how and when that is expressed is to be done mindfully with an end result of resolving a conflict.
So, you can imagine my surprise when I went off to college and my roommate or my boyfriend wanted to argue openly with me. First of all, I wasn’t accustomed to seeing anger needlessly flung across a room just to make a person feel better. Rather, I was accustomed to resolution, discussion, and understanding. Even to this day, I still have trouble dealing with unhinged anger—raw anger whose only purpose is to vent and hurt. But, like her, I can and do walk away from anger, hurt, guilt, manipulation, and revenge. I go inside myself; collect my thoughts; and respond as compassionately as I can. Thanks to Mother, I don’t handle “extreme” anything very well.
What I remember most about Mother was the way she embraced her intuitive awareness, her emotional intelligence, her intellect, and her creative expression. She used those qualities every day in every aspect of her life. She didn’t compromise those qualities in fear of being judged as weak or insecure. On the other hand, she strove, too, to be independent, rational assertive, and determined. Through example, she melded the feminine and masculine aspects within her and then honored and nourished those in me.
So, I’ve come to the end of my rambling it seems—for today, grateful beyond words for the mother I was given. I wish on more than one occasion that I had just one day or even just one hour to share with you my praise and gratitude. And I believe in my heart of hearts, that you’ll see these words, understand, and smile. And you were right, Mother. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about you. I love you.
Comments