What She Didn't Tell Me

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Oh, Mother, it's been so long since you've been gone, over twenty years now. I am almost at the age that you were then. How is that possible, where did the time go? Sometimes I mourn the things we didn't get to say to each other, and the things we didn't know how to say. Being at the age I am now, I understand things so much better, and sometimes I wish there were do-overs; I suppose that maybe most mothers and their children do. I would want to relive the happy, carefree times - at least as they seemed to be in my childhood innocence. And I would want to try to change the sad times, and the angry times, and the hurt times, find a way to make them never happen. But somehow I know that you are aware that I understand you did your best with what you knew, and that above all, through it all, I was always, always loved. 

 

When I presented you with your first grandchild, and she wrapped her tiny translucent fingers around your own, I wish you would have told me then how hard it was going to be, this being a mother thing. I wish you would have told me that it doesn't get easier as they get older, it gets harder; and that no matter how well they are doing in their lives, they worry never, ever really ends.  

 

I remember how you used to tell me that you could sense when something was wrong in my world long after I was grown and how it used to infuriate me and I'd deny it, because I didn't want to acknowledge you had that kind of power, and I didn't want to admit to you that yes, once again my world was upside down. 

 

Now, when at times my heart feels heavy all day, and I'm not sure why, I understand that eternal connection a mother has to her children. Sure enough, later on the call will come, and in a second I can tell from the tenuous tone of the voice on the other end when I hear "Mom?" that all is not well. The next words out of my mouth are always "What's wrong?" Because I know, just as you knew.

 

The only difference is that she calls me, and she will tell me, because I learned from our mistakes. I've worked hard to keep the lines of communication open with both  my kids, even when that meant that my daughter called me daily and every night in the middle of the night for weeks when she was going through her divorce, coming unglued and saying "I can't do this", needing me to talk her down and assure her that she was going to be okay, that all she had to do was just make it through the next day... and then the next.

 

There were so many things you didn't tell me, Mom. You didn't warn me about the heartaches...

 

Like the day I stood by my daughter's hospital bed wondering if she was going to survive a nearly successful suicide attempt that shook me to the very core of my being, not realizing at the time that severe chronic depression was going to be the story of her life just as it was yours, but understanding many reasons why, and feeling more hatred at that moment for one man than I've ever felt in my life. He is dead now, and I don't hate him anymore, I gave that up to God.

 

Like the day I took my pre-adolescent son to his father's house a hundred miles away, along with everything he owned, because he really needed to live with his father, needed a man in his life and I knew that. It tore my heart out. I cried all the way home and for days after that, and it still makes me cry now if I think about it. What I didn't know then is that it wouldn't affect how close we were, if anything we are even closer now.

 

You didn't tell me either, how it breaks your heart when you see your children making a mistake that you've warned them about,  just like you tried your best to warn me. We can't make choices for our children, and we can't always find the right words to convince them to see it differently, to see themselves differently, but that doesn't stop the scream inside of us when we know the price they are going to pay. I am so sorry for not hearing the heart of your message, I assure you that the truth in your words came back to me, just as you knew they would.  I have also learned how true it is that a mother is only as happy as her saddest child, and I wonder how many times you were sad because of me.

 

I also wish that you would have told me how hard it is to have your children living so far away that you rarely get to see them, and back then there was no texting or instant photo shares. I recall Dad's lectures when you exceeded the weekly seven-minute long distance phone call limit he imposed. I appreciate that you never tried to make me feel guilty because I couldn't afford to come and see you. When you passed that night, I'd been trying for over a year to find the money to come home to visit, and I screamed in my frustration and agony. I'm sure you heard me.  And I worry about how my own daughter and son will survive one day when I am no longer just a phone call away.

 

Oh, Mother, if only you would have told me... but then again, would I have really wanted to know?  Would I have listened? Would I have done anything differently? I doubt it. What I do know is that you did the very best you could as a mother with what you knew, and in turn I am doing the same... until we meet again.  <3



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This was written for Finish the Sentence Friday hosted by Finding Ninee.  This week’s sentence, in honor of our upcoming Mother’s Day in the US is “Oh, Mother…”