"Mothers are all slightly insane," Holden Caulfield says at one point in The Catcher in the Rye. I always knew what he meant. It was never a quote that I puzzled over. In five words, he nailed it.
Yes, mothers are all slightly insane, some more slightly than others. They're insane because they can never be certain, ever, that their child(ren) is(are) completely without harm. They are on some kind of alert twenty-four hours a day, 365 days a year, always. Some part of them never sleeps. You can't be that attentive and worried for that long and not be slightly crazy. Combine this worry with powerlessness—as soon as the boy or girl steps out of the house (out of the room, actually), they can't do a thing to protect them.
I think of my own mother, of her difficult life, and of her living alone after her divorce. For years. I think of all that she tried to do with that ache and pull toward her children. I think of her carrying that ache of loving me and that love unrequited, and how can you stand that day after day year after year? She used to say to me, "I get lonely for you, Richie." I think of her probably feeling she hadn't been a good mother, and how that must have devastated her after worrying about us so deeply and so continuously. I think of her bright, sharp mind, love of writing and reading and of her unblemished soul. I think she did the best she could.
It's too late to tell her that I love her. I tried to do justice to her memory in a piece called "The Wheaton Girl.” She went to Wheaton College. "The happiest days of my life," she told me. I doubt she'd like it, even though I wrote of of her intelligence and of her kindness. She didn't want her weaknesses exposed, and who would? I wrote another about watching her hang out the wash when I was a kid. Still not right. I'm not here to say anything silly like, tell your mom you love her before it's too late. (Or maybe I am.) I'm just here to say to you, Mom, you deserved better. But I can't. Because you're dead. I think about you every day. I wish your life had been easier. I hope you've found peace.
I can’t help wondering if mothers knew exactly what they were getting into when they got pregnant and then when they give birth, if they’d still go through with it. I wonder if they knew the joy that goes along with the pain and worry, if they’d still choose to get pregnant. It’s not a job for the faint of heart. In fact, it’s downright heroic.
You echo my feelings for my mother, divorcing in a time women simply didn’t… struggling to survive and give me the best she could, succeeding overwhelmingly in that, and then raising herself to a PhD level after starting her life divorced with a newborn, serving coffee at the train station for money to live. I didn’t acknowledge her properly either, but I know she is a triumphant spirit right now still teaching me truth and wisdom 🦋
Marty BWW