Dear Mom:
I love you. I don’t know whether I’ve ever made that clear to you. I was so angry. As you got sicker, I got angrier. And I punished you. I am so sorry about that. I was so focused on how it affected me; I didn’t always look at the impact it had on you. Did you know that something wasn’t right? I don’t know. And I am pretty sure that you wouldn’t have been capable of sharing that with me. After all, I was a child. Not really your friend.
I also understand the denial, Mom. But I always wondered about how you felt about things. What was truth as you saw it? Was all of this just a chemical imbalance? Was it the usual irrational thoughts of mental illness? Or were you telling me something? I had this feeling that you had a lot of pain as a youngster. It hurts a little today to know that many people have spoken to me about the most shameful or painful incidents in their lives, but I wasn’t able to be there for you. I know I was too young. I get that. I just have this regret about it. I wanted to be able to fix things.
Even though you are not physically here with me, I feel this need to let you know what I have realized about you as I have grown-up. I know how much you contributed to my life. In one of my favorite songs, Dan Fogelberg sings “My blood runs through his instrument and his song runs through my soul”. I sometimes think what you contributed to me is similar. Your song runs through my soul. You taught me about something that not everybody learns about, which is how to love someone who is sometimes difficult to like. And that you were not your illness. You were my Mom. You were Maxine.
That is exactly how I feel about you. You gave me a career. My work was the result of our experiences. I found my compassion through you. Not only because having to deal with your mental illness made it imperative that I find my compassion, but also because underneath it all, you had compassion. You always taught me to be concerned about other people. And I am grateful for those lessons. You helped me find my creativity. When you played with me and my sister when we were youngsters, you set a powerful example. I learned that it was my job as a Mom to play with MY child. Your Granddaughter loved that. You chased me around the house roaring like a tiger. And sometimes, you played school with us. When you were pretending to be the student who didn’t understand the lesson, I laughed. You were hilarious! I loved it! When Jana was a child, I would recite nursery rhymes with her….and read stories. (She liked to act out the stories sometimes. Your example made it easy for me to join in.) I also wrote stories for her. If you asked her about it, she would tell you about a parrot that took her flying around the neighborhood. Because of you, I was able to share my imagination with her. Sweetheart, that is how your song runs through my soul. Not through your illness. Make no mistake; your illness had an impact. But today, I recognize the impact in a more positive way. I get it. I see how it shaped who I became. And just as importantly, I see how it shaped who you became.
Did you know that your Granddaughter also has your song running through her soul? J. reminds me of you in so many ways. She is so loving. And when you were “normal’, so were you. She is wonderfully creative. Your creativity inspires her to this day. She tells me that. Did you know that, Mom? She is playful, and as I have just told you…that is exactly how I saw you. J’s love of the arts comes through me. And my love of the arts, at least partially, came through you. It’s amazing how that works. I am so aware of how you, J. and I are connected. J. and I are your “living legacy”. We both know how you have contributed to our lives.
I know that you might not be aware of how I feel about you. You and I spent so much time in anger. But here it is... I love you. And just like Dan with his Dad…I didn’t tell you “near enough” how much I value you. Thank you so much for being my Mom. And my muse.
Love,
Judy
I love you. I don’t know whether I’ve ever made that clear to you. I was so angry. As you got sicker, I got angrier. And I punished you. I am so sorry about that. I was so focused on how it affected me; I didn’t always look at the impact it had on you. Did you know that something wasn’t right? I don’t know. And I am pretty sure that you wouldn’t have been capable of sharing that with me. After all, I was a child. Not really your friend.
I also understand the denial, Mom. But I always wondered about how you felt about things. What was truth as you saw it? Was all of this just a chemical imbalance? Was it the usual irrational thoughts of mental illness? Or were you telling me something? I had this feeling that you had a lot of pain as a youngster. It hurts a little today to know that many people have spoken to me about the most shameful or painful incidents in their lives, but I wasn’t able to be there for you. I know I was too young. I get that. I just have this regret about it. I wanted to be able to fix things.
Even though you are not physically here with me, I feel this need to let you know what I have realized about you as I have grown-up. I know how much you contributed to my life. In one of my favorite songs, Dan Fogelberg sings “My blood runs through his instrument and his song runs through my soul”. I sometimes think what you contributed to me is similar. Your song runs through my soul. You taught me about something that not everybody learns about, which is how to love someone who is sometimes difficult to like. And that you were not your illness. You were my Mom. You were Maxine.
That is exactly how I feel about you. You gave me a career. My work was the result of our experiences. I found my compassion through you. Not only because having to deal with your mental illness made it imperative that I find my compassion, but also because underneath it all, you had compassion. You always taught me to be concerned about other people. And I am grateful for those lessons. You helped me find my creativity. When you played with me and my sister when we were youngsters, you set a powerful example. I learned that it was my job as a Mom to play with MY child. Your Granddaughter loved that. You chased me around the house roaring like a tiger. And sometimes, you played school with us. When you were pretending to be the student who didn’t understand the lesson, I laughed. You were hilarious! I loved it! When Jana was a child, I would recite nursery rhymes with her….and read stories. (She liked to act out the stories sometimes. Your example made it easy for me to join in.) I also wrote stories for her. If you asked her about it, she would tell you about a parrot that took her flying around the neighborhood. Because of you, I was able to share my imagination with her. Sweetheart, that is how your song runs through my soul. Not through your illness. Make no mistake; your illness had an impact. But today, I recognize the impact in a more positive way. I get it. I see how it shaped who I became. And just as importantly, I see how it shaped who you became.
Did you know that your Granddaughter also has your song running through her soul? J. reminds me of you in so many ways. She is so loving. And when you were “normal’, so were you. She is wonderfully creative. Your creativity inspires her to this day. She tells me that. Did you know that, Mom? She is playful, and as I have just told you…that is exactly how I saw you. J’s love of the arts comes through me. And my love of the arts, at least partially, came through you. It’s amazing how that works. I am so aware of how you, J. and I are connected. J. and I are your “living legacy”. We both know how you have contributed to our lives.
I know that you might not be aware of how I feel about you. You and I spent so much time in anger. But here it is... I love you. And just like Dan with his Dad…I didn’t tell you “near enough” how much I value you. Thank you so much for being my Mom. And my muse.
Love,
Judy
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