I just read a book, a memoir by Mary Karr called Lit. Silly me, I thought the title must be a reference to literature (she is an author and poet, after all) – until I got into the book and found out Karr was just that – lit – for much of her adult life. The book relentlessly chronicles her struggles with herself, which manifest in substance abuse. In adulthood, that substance was alcohol.
She came by her struggles honestly, with a childhood and parents that would challenge anyone to doubt him or herself and the seemingly fragile world. That Karr can write so engagingly, un-self-consciously, and honestly about her family is a testament to her skill as a writer. It was probably also a form of therapy.
But this isn’t a book review. Tomorrow is Mother’s Day, so this post is about mothers. Karr’s mother was complex and frightening. She had a razor-sharp mind but an unconventional way of approaching parenting. She encouraged her daughter Mary to do anything she wanted, even when it was clearly dangerous and inappropriate. Karr’s mom was under the influence most of the time until she achieved sobriety later in life. She came and went abruptly, leaving her daughters to wonder if they’d see her again. She locked herself in the bathroom with a gun threatening to kill herself. She appeared in front of her daughter with a butcher knife threatening to kill her.
Karr’s mother was so extreme that you’d say someone like her could never exist – except she did. You never doubt the complete honesty of Karr’s writing.
You’d expect a child to shut a mom like that out of her life, but the tie between mother and child isn’t that simple. Even if you think you’ve cut yourself off, broken the ties, buried the past or the truth – you haven’t. Karr’s stuggle with substance abuse was as much her struggle with her mother, both her parents, integrating them somehow into her universe with understanding and love in spite of being totally (the F word would be appropriate here) screwed up by them.
Such is love. We all struggle with our mothers one way or another. Probably because the hardest thing to do is give someone permission to be him or herself. When my first child was born, my mom said, “Don’t expect me to babysit and go to recitals and be that kind of grandma, because I’m not.” I don’t remember being unduly upset, maybe because we lived across the country from each other. I did resent it on the few occasions I really did need her help. But I think I realized that Mom knew herself and what she was capable of. She was a wonderful mother to us, but she’d done her time and knew her limits.
That’s what I mean by allowing someone to be herself. It didn’t matter what I wanted or thought; what mattered was what Mom knew she could do. It was up to me to understand that because I can’t control my mom or anyone else, I can only control my reactions. I’m much better than I used to be about choosing the easy way out for myself – which means not stressing about something I can’t change.
Somehow Karr kept seeking that relationship, keeping her mother in her life, and gave her loving care at the end of her life. They did achieve peace with each other and reached an understanding.
When I finished the book, I was stunned. I wouldn’t have thought there was a way in the world that anyone could accept and love a mother like that. Underneath it all is the realization of what Mother means – and unless we come to terms with our mothers and let them be who they are, we won’t really have peace. We need our mothers, figuratively as well as in reality.
I’m so lucky. My mom is am amazing woman. Now, as she’s in and out of dementia, but always diminished, I have to fight sometimes to remember this is MOM.
Tomorrow when I give her her Mother’s Day card and gift, she’ll be confused. She’ll read the card several times, not quite realizing that she just saw it. She’ll know it’s a good thing to receive cards and loving thoughts, but she may not remember it’s hers. In fact, I’m not giving a gift – just a card and a plant. Gifts confuse Mom now. She can’t remember why she has them and keeps trying to give them back to the proper person, not knowing she is the proper person. The plant’s in a really cool basket, but she’ll take it out and then try to give the basket to someone, asking each child and grandchild in turn as they visit, “Is this yours?”
I’m hanging on to Mom as long as I can. The urgency of that thought, and this entire post, was prompted by a quote in Lit. Karr starts each chapter with a quote from a poet or author, and this one by Nabakov clobbered me with the need to understand it:
They are passing, posthaste, posthaste, the gliding years…The years are passing, my dear, and presently no one will know what you and I know.
I don’t want Mom to pass without anyone knowing what she knows. She’s not going to tell me anymore, however. I have to know by keeping Mom present as fully as possible. Soon it’ll be my turn to recite those lines. I hope my children will have given me the gift of accepting me for who I am (I believe they already do), as their children will do for them. And so it continues, that line of mother and child, mother and child, that can’t be broken no matter how hard we or our moms may try. We cannot sever the links nor, ultimately, the love.
Tags: acceptance, Lit, love., Mary Karr, mother, mother and child, Mother's Day
Beautifully written. Happy Mother’s Day Susan!!
Beautiful, beautiful words. Thank you so much for sharing them!
“and unless we come to terms with our mothers and let them be who they are, we won’t really have peace.” Thank you for the reminder…
Resentment can make us forget that mothers were people too, with their own needs and issues.