Today would have been my mother's 80th birthday. I shared about her in church today - talking about hope versus hopelessness - and taking the risk to speak of her choice to end her life when she was 45. She is strongly on my mind... which led me to look at the chapter about her in the autobiography that I wrote many years ago. I am going to quote myself here - from the unpublished book "Don't Fall Off the Edge"
7/30/90
Letting go is such a frightening thing for me.
I think it's because people and things I've loved...
sometimes the most cherished parts of my life...
have evaporated, even as I held on with all my might.
What will happen if I don't hold on at all?
So I have desperately grasped and taken into my heart and gut
things that do not belong there.
Letting go is such a frightening thing for me.
Last night I let go.
I let go of the gut wrenching horror, and the terrible guilt,
and the twisted pain of my mother's choice to die.
It still hurts, and perhaps there is yet unfinished business,
but I am okay.
For now I am okay.
And last night I looked at the Colorado stars,
And felt my mother's presence for the first time in many years.
Sometimes letting go is the only thing left to do.
My mother was difficult to live with. She did many things that hurt me. She was often unable to give me what I needed from a mother. But this volatile moody woman was the same gentle person who taught me to love Chopin, and poetry, and musical theater. This unpredictable person showed me how to see some of the wonder and beauty in life that other people often miss. She was so very funny, and gave me the gift of humor that has been such an important part of my survival. No one will ever be quite like my mother. No one will ever take her place. I don't know if I will ever stop missing her. I do know now that she will always be a part of me. I will always, always love her, and I know she will always love me
Once there was love
And she would sing to me about her little girl
Pink and white as peaches and cream
And she would stroke my hair.
Once there were Saturdays
Filled with the sounds of the Metropolitan Opera on the radio
Being lifted above mundane chores
on the magnificent strains of La Traviata or Madame Butterfly.
Once there were pretty dresses
Each one unique and beautiful
All made with love by my personal dressmaker and mother
Just for me.
Once there was ballet
The Nutcracker, second tier
Seeing nothing but the tops of heads
But sharing the wonder.
Once there were concerts, recitals, musicals
The Sound of Music, Cabaret, No No Nannette
Some of my happiest times
and she was my fan club.
Once there were surprises
Coming home from a week at summer camp
To find my room redecorated
With the door wrapped like a giant birthday gift.
Once there was love, imperfect and flawed
But strong enough and loud enough to break through the chaos that was life
And leave me aching to once more hear her song
And feel her stroke my hair.
I love you Momma. Thank you for loving me in the very best way you knew how - and for accepting my love in return.
