My mom came to visit me this past December. She drove down from Maine with a cooler full of lobsters for my friends and me. A Christmas feast. It was wonderful. And we drove to Ashville to see the mountains. And ate biscuits and jam at Tupalo Honey. She came to The Visualite for the Christmas service. I could feel her eyes on me. Taking me in. And she elbowed me when Naiem mentioned anal retentive people. Over-organizers.
And I cringed. I know it's true, but it's my defense.
My defense against becoming like...her.
I told her this.
We had made it through to Monday without any arguments, but I was on my last nerve. It was all I could do to hold it together that long. I wanted to jump out of my skin. The months prior to this visit had been excrutiating. She told me I felt distant.
I agreed. I was. I wanted to be anywhere she wasn't. Talking with her frustrated and angered me beyond belief. I would only spend minutes on the phone with her at a time, where we used to be able to chat for hours.
And when she came out of my room with her bags packed, crying because I had hurt her feelings and she didn't know why I was so angry, I couldn't give her anything.
Me. The girl who cries on demand, stood there in my kitchen watching my grown mother sniffle like a scared child.
And I didn't flinch. I was so shocked by my reaction. My non-reaction.
I was so detatched. That when she asked me what I was so scared of my brutally honest, unfiltered response was:
"I am afraid of ending up like you."
I couldn't believe I had said it. That was the most aweful thing I think I could have said. But she stopped crying. And she looked at me in a way I have never been looked at before. And she told me I would never be like her. That I would never end up alone. That she had pushed people away. That her relationships were not mine. That I was so loved and I didn't even recognize it. She confessed to watching me at church the night before. Watching me cross the street and enter the theater. I could remember the feeling of her eyes on me, as she said these things. I don't know how I could tell she was watching me, but I could feel it.
She came over to me, where I was standing. Stoic. Quiet. She stood in front of me. A mirror image, plus twenty-five years.
"I was watching you last night. With all your friends. You are so beautiul, and you have absolutely no idea, and that makes me so sad," she said.
And I lost it. Tears streamed down my face, but I couldn't let her touch me. I couldn't hug her. I had to keep her at a distance still. I had given her the gravest insult, and she had paid me the greatest complement. I am a horrible daughter.
But it opened up the door for discussion. And as we talked I could feel my muscles relaxing a bit. I could feel my chest begin to losen. And she heard my concrns and my fears. And she comforted me. And all that tension we had built began to disipate. There was healing. The very beginnings of healing.
I was running some time after this. Training for the Nashville Marathon. And her words rang through my head. I don't remember what I was thinking about or what was playing on my ipod, or if either had anything to do with triggering our conversation, but I heard her like she was saying it to me all over again. "You are so beautiful..."
I gasped and keeled over.
Bent at the waist, with hands on my thighs.
I choked through tears to catch my breath.
And I could feel it. What it was like to be seen. To be actually seen. To be noticed. And I felt so much saddness because I felt God tell me "this is what I think of you also, and you continue to brush me off." I am a horrible daughter. I continue to break His heart. I continue to break her heart.
I caught my breath. And I ran back to my car and I drove home in silence. And I felt different. I had seen myself in a different light for a few moments. I could feel the sincerety encased in my mother's eyes. I could feel warm arms around me on the nights I couldn't sleep. I had spent my entire life feeling invisible. I had been noticed. And it was for no great feat. Or inherited name or trait. The wounds of my family's past do not determine my future. Although they may shape it and mold it, I have the power to change that. I have some say as to what directions the roots grow. Knowing this has given me an entirely different perspective. It has lightened the burden I have unknowingly been carrying around. And it gives me hope that I may be able to put an end to some of the generational curses that have been passed down through the years from my grandparents and great grand parents. That my children may have a chance at a fresh start. A little less mess to pass onto them.
It's amazing how perspective can change in a wave. How new information makes a world of difference. How it all helps to put the puzzle together. The details make people more real. Character traits. Character flaws. Call them what you will, but a life is flat without them. And knowing these details can bring you more alive too.
I just spent an entire month living in a very small town with my mom. In the same house. Sharing a bathroom. We spent most of the day, everyday, together, cooking, gardening, looking through old photographs, running, and talking. I survived. And when I left a very strange thing happened.
I missed her.
And I realized after spending all those moments with her in her little artsy fishing village, that I am a lot like her. I could see it so clearly sometimes that it made me laugh out loud. And although there are also many difference in our personalities, seeing her life, the state she loves, the business she has created for herself, and the friends who love and care so dearly for her, I have to say, ending up like her would be an honor.
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