Mother's Day

Unreconciled

One of the most profound gifts I have given myself was to forgive my mother. If you've read Paperdolls, you'll know my relationship with her was challenging for me. After I was born, she had a nervous breakdown. She told me that she was driving me to one of my baby appointments. I was smiling and giggling in the car. She was on Wasatch Boulevard at the mouth of Parley's Canyon. She thought how easy it would be to simply drive the car off the road and crash deep into the canyon. She had to fight herself, to stop herself from turning the wheel and careening off the road. She was crying and shaking when she got to my doctor's appointment.

Years later, after she entered AA, and adopted the "One day at a time" mantra. She frequently told me that “one day at a time” was impossible for her to deal with the first year of my life. She struggled to survive one hour at a time.

Karen Fisher once told me that short of carrying me from room to room, my mother didn’t nurture me. My nurturing came from my grandparents, my siblings and my father.

For years, I always felt like I was the reason she fell apart.

Only after extensive therapy did I learn that having a daughter in such a home terrified her. She didn't know how to protect me.

In my most intense therapy, I wrote about my mother. I wrote extensively about how sometimes with other species, mothers will eat their young. Harming one's offspring defies biology: DNA, "survival of the fittest" and the propagation of our species.

I learned that some mothers in the wild, will eat their young. They eat their young if they deem their offspring's life is in danger from a predator they cannot defeat. They would rather kill their offspring than have the predator kill their child. And, of course, most of those mothers are killed by the predator.

My mother certainly didn't try to kill me or directly harm me.¹

Now, I know most mothers will kill for their children and would die to protect their offspring. That's the biological, emotional, and spiritual drive.

For women to deviate from that, I believe the mother is broken.

When I was born, I think my mother froze. She didn't know what to do. She retreated to her room. She collapsed in a tragic depression for the first few years of my life.

And, well, I resented her. I resented her for a long time. My struggle to let go of my resentment was readily apparent in the first editions of Paperdolls.

SPOILER ALERT: Skip this next part if you haven't read Paperdolls & Cowboy Boots.

One of the most astounding and miraculous things happened after Gramps died. After Gramps's funeral service, my father fell on his knees and begged my forgiveness.

After that, my resentment for my mother dissipated. It wasn't totally gone until one hot summer afternoon in 2009. I was driving to LA listening to music. A song by Peter Bradley Adams came on, called "Unreconciled."

The lyrics went right through heart. I wept. I listened to this song, on repeat, from Las Vegas to Barstow. That's about 150 miles. For two hours I wept, I sang, I pictured my mother's silence, her reserve, her never, ever, ever apologizing to me². I wondered if she was afraid of my love. I believe, in our prior life, we made promises to each other. And, I knew, she gave everything she could give. I was grateful, and I was so weary of my fight. My fight for her to be more. I forgave her. From that point on, I loved her fully. I am still grateful. I am so grateful I forgave her.

Is it hard to live in silence
when I look you in the eyes
well you crave forgiveness
but still don't apologize

is it love that you're afraid of
in the words that you ignore
well we made a promise
but we can't stay here anymore

'cause you gave everything that you could give
and this is the only life that I can live
and I am grateful
but I've grown weary of this fight

so no regrets, it's better left unreconciled
I can see the way you tremble
you don't mean to make a mess
I don't want to get angry

'cause I'll regret the things we said
and there's a sound from down inside me
that I've never heard before

and it says surrender, there's no work here anymore
'cause you gave everything that you could give
and this is the only life that I can live
and I am grateful
but I've grown weary of this fight
so no regrets, it's better left unreconciled

For those of you who have read Paperdolls & Cowboy Boots, you know my mother died in my arms. And her last words were my name.

And, for that I am profoundly grateful. The greatest gift I ever given myself was to forgive my mother.

I know that not everyone can do this. I certainly never knew I could. Please know: You don't have to, but I'm so grateful I did.

Mother's Day can be tough for many. (My mother actually hated it.) So, if it's hard, I understand. Nurture yourself. In a way, mother yourself. Nurture your inner child. I went to the Saprea Gala a couple of weeks ago. One of the most meaningful moments for me was seeing Lacy Byrd's Painting. She spoke about it, and her work with her inner child. Powerful and poignant:

Photo Courtesy of Saprea

Awesomely enough the entire crowd gave her a standing ovation.³ And in that light, on this Mother's Day, I give you, my beloved survivors, a standing ovation.

1. Most of the discipline was administered by my father and older siblings. And, yes, we were spanked and I remember a switch being welded on my brothers.

2. The closest thing to an apology I got from my mother was, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

3. All the survivors who spoke received a standing ovation!