I so appreciate, Maureen, how you didn't tie everything up neatly with a bow. As if there is some point we can get to where the difficulties of who our parents are, or were, don't matter anymore. They always matter. At least they always matter to me. We just get on with things anyway, as you are. Thanks for this. ♥
Maureen: This touched me in so many ways-- moved me to anger, amusement, and empathy, even for that difficult father. I had an unusual but similar situation when my beloved Dad died at 56. In this case, typical gender roles were reversed. My mother was the all-commanding figure, my father the gentle (enabling) spouse. When my Dad dropped dead, she assured me that I needn't worry: she wouldn't cry at his funeral. The tacit message was, "You'd better not, either." Of course, I couldn't not cry. A ton.
I have long since forgiven my mom: gender discrimination had discouraged this brilliant lady early on, and booze had taken over early too. Thank you for your account!
Well, I love everything about this essay. It's deeply funny and forgiving. What a character the father really is and a miracle the writer accepts so much about him. Lovely passage about embalming herself in all her mother's left behind toiletries. Really, this one is very good.
It is a drizzly morning here in Hillsboro, Oregon. My tea is warming my head and body up for the day. And now all I can think of is...WOW!!! Oh, my mother was the personification of her signature scent...Ma Griff...
Sometimes it helps to go deep into the heaviness of the burden. The lightness of flight afterward can be felt in all the drag points. Good luck in life and love!
Woof, what a gut punch. I didn't see that coming, the embalming of self. I'm caring for my mom, 93, with dementia. She hasn't worn her teeth in ages, but I can't bring myself to throw them away. A friend whose father passed years after her mother found HER mother's teeth secreted away with her dad's prized possessions. I wore my mother's signature scent, Emeraude for years after she stopped wearing anything like that.
It sounds less like embalming than it does inhabiting or reanimating your mother's spirit/memory in a very sensual, tactile way.
Thanks for this article. I lost my daughter at age 55 September 9, 2019 and 2 years later my son dies on September 19, 2021 at age 54. Not an easy time to go through. I miss them and think of them every day. I do agree with the last part of this story when Michelle wrote that she loved her Dad and her Mom but that part of her life was over and now it was her life to live. I try to live my life the best I can with a smile on my face every day and keep on that path the Our Lord has set out for me to walk on. Have many good friends and a strong congregation of church people who are there for me.
Thank you for this. To have such ability to stay present with such a difficult Father is truly admirable. I don’t think I could bear to read your memoir, but I am very glad you were able to write it.
I so appreciate, Maureen, how you didn't tie everything up neatly with a bow. As if there is some point we can get to where the difficulties of who our parents are, or were, don't matter anymore. They always matter. At least they always matter to me. We just get on with things anyway, as you are. Thanks for this. ♥
Maureen: This touched me in so many ways-- moved me to anger, amusement, and empathy, even for that difficult father. I had an unusual but similar situation when my beloved Dad died at 56. In this case, typical gender roles were reversed. My mother was the all-commanding figure, my father the gentle (enabling) spouse. When my Dad dropped dead, she assured me that I needn't worry: she wouldn't cry at his funeral. The tacit message was, "You'd better not, either." Of course, I couldn't not cry. A ton.
I have long since forgiven my mom: gender discrimination had discouraged this brilliant lady early on, and booze had taken over early too. Thank you for your account!
Well, I love everything about this essay. It's deeply funny and forgiving. What a character the father really is and a miracle the writer accepts so much about him. Lovely passage about embalming herself in all her mother's left behind toiletries. Really, this one is very good.
This is beautiful.
Beautiful. Very moving.
It is a drizzly morning here in Hillsboro, Oregon. My tea is warming my head and body up for the day. And now all I can think of is...WOW!!! Oh, my mother was the personification of her signature scent...Ma Griff...
Sometimes it helps to go deep into the heaviness of the burden. The lightness of flight afterward can be felt in all the drag points. Good luck in life and love!
Woof, what a gut punch. I didn't see that coming, the embalming of self. I'm caring for my mom, 93, with dementia. She hasn't worn her teeth in ages, but I can't bring myself to throw them away. A friend whose father passed years after her mother found HER mother's teeth secreted away with her dad's prized possessions. I wore my mother's signature scent, Emeraude for years after she stopped wearing anything like that.
It sounds less like embalming than it does inhabiting or reanimating your mother's spirit/memory in a very sensual, tactile way.
Just lovely.
Helping our loved ones crossover is such a beautiful and sacred act. Thank you for sharing.❤️
Thanks for this article. I lost my daughter at age 55 September 9, 2019 and 2 years later my son dies on September 19, 2021 at age 54. Not an easy time to go through. I miss them and think of them every day. I do agree with the last part of this story when Michelle wrote that she loved her Dad and her Mom but that part of her life was over and now it was her life to live. I try to live my life the best I can with a smile on my face every day and keep on that path the Our Lord has set out for me to walk on. Have many good friends and a strong congregation of church people who are there for me.
Thank you for this. To have such ability to stay present with such a difficult Father is truly admirable. I don’t think I could bear to read your memoir, but I am very glad you were able to write it.