The Weight of Revelation
I'm accustomed to being good at things.
For me, challenge has always rested in the quantity of things accomplished. I could always look back and say that I've juggled a million things and done them all well. I'm a quick study and I can mutli-task like it ain't nobody's bidness. I usually have pretty quick results and the more often I hear things like,
"Is there anything you DON'T do?"
"You are so competent and together!"
or
"Wow! I didn't know you could do THAT!"
The happier I am.
This is probably why teaching and motherhood are huge struggles for me.
First, I can't finish anything and who is around to pat me on the back and tell me that I rock? More often than not I hear how my cooking sucks (so not true!), how I packed the wrong toy/snack/sweatshirt, or how I'm terrible if I take a minute for myself instead of helping to make a homemade pinata. Teaching is equally difficult because lessons take time to sink in and I constantly feel the need to explain where I am going and that there are many steps in the process. I also get frustrated when I see how my students resist what I have to teach them. I take it personally. Especially since I was not that kind of student. I'll take what you have to give me, process it and THEN decide whether or not you are full of shit. Well, not everyone learns and processes information the way that I do. I like that in theory, but in practice it makes teaching that much harder.
On top of all of this is the heavy and lingering sense of loss I have surrounding my own greatest teacher- my Mom.
It is amazing how quickly my sense of self fades as I watch my Mother fade from 1500 miles away. I'm just getting to the age when I should be discovering who she really is and peeling back my perceptions of my ultimate MegaWoman to reveal the human underneath. Instead, she is going to a place where I cannot follow. Her personal secrets locked inside her impenatrable mind and I am left to piece together the memories I have of the practical Nordic farm girl who never seemed to want for anything. Is that true? Or is that merely what she wanted us to believe?
I remember Mom telling me that she never really considered herself beautiful- which I just couldn't imagine. How could she not know? I think of those pictures of her in her 20's coquettishly perched on some long forgotten kitchen counter, scrunching her shoulders and swinging her petite, tomboy legs. And her graduation picture! I remember staring at it as a child, marvelling at her soft, perfect skin and piercing eyes. She looked like a movie star with her gaze looking slightly past the camera and her perfectly coiffed, very short hair. I was a gangly kid with buck teeth and freckles. I hoped that I would one day grow to be a beautiful as my mother.
Mom wasn't girly. She didn't fuss with manicures or pedicures, rarely wore make up, and was more often than not found digging in the back yard in a pair of shorts with paint stains on them and her whiter than white legs blinding passing cars in the sun. When she had someplace nice to go, she would be dressed so smartly with such an easy manner and she would be such a good listener. She just seemed to flow with the chaos around her and she always gave me the best advice. When I discovered Taoism in high school I was shocked, because it was just like being with my Mom. I told her so and bought her a book to show her "Look! This is everything you've ever told me!". She just smiled and said, "Yup. This makes sense to me."
To see this flow, this pliable strength that I've counted on for my entire life be interrupted by Alzheimers is much harder to take than I could have imagined. Little did I realize the extent to which I am still tied to her and that I have subconsciously strived to become her. All the mistakes she warned me about I made trying not to make them! She was able to guide me, almost imperceptably, throughout high school and my early 20's. But once she started slipping I started falling into the pattern she had warned me about, as if I was just holding a place for her until she could return to it. She's not coming back to it and she wouldn't want me to be here either.
Now I've got to figure things out without her example and I'm terrified I won't measure up. I'm scared that I won't do this well, that I'll implode leaving my emotional shrapnel embedded in those I love most.
I am going to have to rebuild myself without her.
For me, challenge has always rested in the quantity of things accomplished. I could always look back and say that I've juggled a million things and done them all well. I'm a quick study and I can mutli-task like it ain't nobody's bidness. I usually have pretty quick results and the more often I hear things like,
"Is there anything you DON'T do?"
"You are so competent and together!"
or
"Wow! I didn't know you could do THAT!"
The happier I am.
This is probably why teaching and motherhood are huge struggles for me.
First, I can't finish anything and who is around to pat me on the back and tell me that I rock? More often than not I hear how my cooking sucks (so not true!), how I packed the wrong toy/snack/sweatshirt, or how I'm terrible if I take a minute for myself instead of helping to make a homemade pinata. Teaching is equally difficult because lessons take time to sink in and I constantly feel the need to explain where I am going and that there are many steps in the process. I also get frustrated when I see how my students resist what I have to teach them. I take it personally. Especially since I was not that kind of student. I'll take what you have to give me, process it and THEN decide whether or not you are full of shit. Well, not everyone learns and processes information the way that I do. I like that in theory, but in practice it makes teaching that much harder.
On top of all of this is the heavy and lingering sense of loss I have surrounding my own greatest teacher- my Mom.
It is amazing how quickly my sense of self fades as I watch my Mother fade from 1500 miles away. I'm just getting to the age when I should be discovering who she really is and peeling back my perceptions of my ultimate MegaWoman to reveal the human underneath. Instead, she is going to a place where I cannot follow. Her personal secrets locked inside her impenatrable mind and I am left to piece together the memories I have of the practical Nordic farm girl who never seemed to want for anything. Is that true? Or is that merely what she wanted us to believe?
I remember Mom telling me that she never really considered herself beautiful- which I just couldn't imagine. How could she not know? I think of those pictures of her in her 20's coquettishly perched on some long forgotten kitchen counter, scrunching her shoulders and swinging her petite, tomboy legs. And her graduation picture! I remember staring at it as a child, marvelling at her soft, perfect skin and piercing eyes. She looked like a movie star with her gaze looking slightly past the camera and her perfectly coiffed, very short hair. I was a gangly kid with buck teeth and freckles. I hoped that I would one day grow to be a beautiful as my mother.
Mom wasn't girly. She didn't fuss with manicures or pedicures, rarely wore make up, and was more often than not found digging in the back yard in a pair of shorts with paint stains on them and her whiter than white legs blinding passing cars in the sun. When she had someplace nice to go, she would be dressed so smartly with such an easy manner and she would be such a good listener. She just seemed to flow with the chaos around her and she always gave me the best advice. When I discovered Taoism in high school I was shocked, because it was just like being with my Mom. I told her so and bought her a book to show her "Look! This is everything you've ever told me!". She just smiled and said, "Yup. This makes sense to me."
To see this flow, this pliable strength that I've counted on for my entire life be interrupted by Alzheimers is much harder to take than I could have imagined. Little did I realize the extent to which I am still tied to her and that I have subconsciously strived to become her. All the mistakes she warned me about I made trying not to make them! She was able to guide me, almost imperceptably, throughout high school and my early 20's. But once she started slipping I started falling into the pattern she had warned me about, as if I was just holding a place for her until she could return to it. She's not coming back to it and she wouldn't want me to be here either.
Now I've got to figure things out without her example and I'm terrified I won't measure up. I'm scared that I won't do this well, that I'll implode leaving my emotional shrapnel embedded in those I love most.
I am going to have to rebuild myself without her.
posted by Bree O'Connor at 1:31 PM
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