Beautifully told. As you told it, I could only think about all the pain, duplicity, anguish, anger and stifled creativity that made up the stuffing of that overstuffed pillow. And how very nice that you found an opening in a seam somewhere that allowed you release.
Here’s to your Mom and all those who now must carry on without their Mom’s.
I was 15 when my own Mom “slipped the surly bonds of earth to touch the face of God” leaving behind her “brood” of three boys and three girls, me being her youngest.
This ode below is proof that our Mom’s are completely irreplaceable and oh, so loved 🥰 I hope it touches your heart as much as it has touched mine!
Mother...Mom ~
You breathed life into a hollow place and stood tall and proud as it was filled and stretched with the sound of a new heartbeat. Who held the hands that swam inside of you and watch the first of many cords be cut and smirked at the realization that those you carried will never be severed.
You, who frosted the cakes and stirred the oats and blew on the spoons when too much heat swirled upon them. Who told the stories and read the books and filled in the details with the voices and sounds of magic and mystery.
Who put herself last, always last, so that so many others could understand the way it feels to be first. Who grew tears in her eyes but never let them fall.
You, who sang the alphabet and packed lunches and killed the spiders and fasten the seatbelts and wash the dishes and folded mountains of laundry without ever bothering to plant your flag at the top to show the world the effort it takes to survive a day.
Who kissed the scrapes and healed the aches and always knew what color popsicle would sooth a throbbing throat the fastest.
You, the Mother, the Mom, the strongest most vibrant and perfectly beautiful Mother, thank you. Thank you!
I always know I am committed to a piece of writing in the rare case of having to check the dictionary for words that I may have encountered but never bothered to learn to define, "tetraptych" (don't tell any of my fellow junior year in Italy classmates) or words that don't seem possible because I don't recall having heard them "bricolage."
I loved everything about this essay, from the pillow to the lipsticked, chain-smoking schizophrenic.
Very familiar territory Delia. My mother started declining 20 years before she died, so i took over the mantle of what my friend Barbara Waxman calls the Modern Matriarchy early. But I also live in London far from my brother and my own two kids, and getting everyone together is hard, now that we aren't trying to do so for mom, who died last year.
This is so beautiful. I loved every sentence. It also reminded me how much pageantry there is in the rituals of so many women I’ve known who were older. The closing mention of your zoom ritual, led by your niece?, resonated so much for me. How beautiful that she wanted to go there, that others came with her to that space. Maybe there is fluidity in these rituals, after all. Thank you for sharing! 👏💘🏹 PS I also love that pillow
Beautifully and artfully done. I am an old man now, but look back now and see there was more to our own family rituals, some of which in fact I resented, than my own volatility enabled me to see. Thank you.
How different the world is now, even from when your mother raised you. The pace of life is so much more intense for young families. There are high expectations of what needs to be learned, finished, fixed, completed, and then learned again as the skills for success change so rapidly. I live less than a mile from Orchard House, where the Little Women, talked, worked, read, and wrote, all together as a family for decades.
I am a father of two. Each of my two now have two children of their own. We are much more fortunate than most of our friends because all of us live within ten minutes driving time. My children and their spouses have big jobs, Their kids go to good schools that set high expectations. Both the kids and adults have many activities, including sports and civic commitments. The grandchildren are just reaching the age where they don’t need supervision from a grandparent when the parents need help, so we are no longer part of a regular rotation. They will all be at our house this weekend for a big meal, but that took a month of planning. All the planning is done by text, and plans change frequently until the event passes. Holidays are divided between different parents, as my children’s spouses have families too — the nerve of them.
Thank you Delia for the poignant story. I am working on a script to do a documentary on me and my mother and struggling to bring the family dynamic in the story. My mother is 88 and lives alone with two paid help in her own home in india. My two brothers and I are scattered between Mumbai and California. Still she is the anchor to bring us the siblings together to our ancestral home. I wonder what will happen after her. Thank you for your beautiful narrative!
Just this past Sunday, a cousin who lost her mom last year, spoke of what becomes of families without the matriarch. She came alone to the family reunion without her sisters who she said were busy falling apart. I have to wonder when my mom is gone, will we just fall down?
The matriarchal traditions in my family are strong. My perfect childhood Christmases were at my Gran’s house (mother of 6). When she was gone, her second daughter tried but her siblings resented the obvious performance.
My mother, the first child and mother of four, had her own firmly Catholic structure and rituals. I, also the oldest, opted out by changing continents. When my mother died seven years ago of pancreatic cancer, her short and dramatic illness brought her four scattered children (then aged 43 to 51) together as adults. We actually ditched a lot of childhood baggage in the process and remain close. Saint Helen of Glenville’s first miracle. I like to think we’ll stay important to each other even when my father is gone.
In my Swiss unit of three persons, I find myself frustratingly “performing family.” I honestly don’t know what my son will carry with him once we are gone, and understand even less why this saddens me.
Thank you for the lovely essay. It clearly touched on a lot for many readers!
Beautiful, touching, poignant. I'm always deeply fascinated by people's family stories (and am privileged to hear them every day!) Thanks for sharing yours
Sometime last year, I heard my father (in his mid-90s) talking to his girlfriend on the phone. (He is hard of hearing and seems to talk louder as he assumes everyone else has the same problem.) He told her it bothered him that he didn't believe his children would be close after he died. I didn't mention this to him or my siblings. We were not a family who ever had rituals like your family's Christmas gatherings.
I don't know if we will be close after he dies, but one reason I think we might be is that none of us children (ranging in age from 63 to 72) have our own children and we are all never-married or widowed. We have no other family, so we might be more dependent on each other, and as we age, I notice that we tend to ask each other for advice or tell each other our problems the way we never did before we all became oldsters. But we'll see.
I loved this piece and related to much of it-- I'm from a once-close family of six that began to fracture after my dad died suddenly 18 years ago, at age 61. It's rare to read such honesty and wisdom about family structure and rituals. Thanks for writing this beautiful essay.
Made me think of all the ways my family has come undone since my dad died 23 years ago. We never understood that he was our oxygen.
Beautifully told. As you told it, I could only think about all the pain, duplicity, anguish, anger and stifled creativity that made up the stuffing of that overstuffed pillow. And how very nice that you found an opening in a seam somewhere that allowed you release.
Here’s to your Mom and all those who now must carry on without their Mom’s.
I was 15 when my own Mom “slipped the surly bonds of earth to touch the face of God” leaving behind her “brood” of three boys and three girls, me being her youngest.
This ode below is proof that our Mom’s are completely irreplaceable and oh, so loved 🥰 I hope it touches your heart as much as it has touched mine!
Mother...Mom ~
You breathed life into a hollow place and stood tall and proud as it was filled and stretched with the sound of a new heartbeat. Who held the hands that swam inside of you and watch the first of many cords be cut and smirked at the realization that those you carried will never be severed.
You, who frosted the cakes and stirred the oats and blew on the spoons when too much heat swirled upon them. Who told the stories and read the books and filled in the details with the voices and sounds of magic and mystery.
Who put herself last, always last, so that so many others could understand the way it feels to be first. Who grew tears in her eyes but never let them fall.
You, who sang the alphabet and packed lunches and killed the spiders and fasten the seatbelts and wash the dishes and folded mountains of laundry without ever bothering to plant your flag at the top to show the world the effort it takes to survive a day.
Who kissed the scrapes and healed the aches and always knew what color popsicle would sooth a throbbing throat the fastest.
You, the Mother, the Mom, the strongest most vibrant and perfectly beautiful Mother, thank you. Thank you!
~ Tyler Knott Gregson
I always know I am committed to a piece of writing in the rare case of having to check the dictionary for words that I may have encountered but never bothered to learn to define, "tetraptych" (don't tell any of my fellow junior year in Italy classmates) or words that don't seem possible because I don't recall having heard them "bricolage."
I loved everything about this essay, from the pillow to the lipsticked, chain-smoking schizophrenic.
Very familiar territory Delia. My mother started declining 20 years before she died, so i took over the mantle of what my friend Barbara Waxman calls the Modern Matriarchy early. But I also live in London far from my brother and my own two kids, and getting everyone together is hard, now that we aren't trying to do so for mom, who died last year.
This is so beautiful. I loved every sentence. It also reminded me how much pageantry there is in the rituals of so many women I’ve known who were older. The closing mention of your zoom ritual, led by your niece?, resonated so much for me. How beautiful that she wanted to go there, that others came with her to that space. Maybe there is fluidity in these rituals, after all. Thank you for sharing! 👏💘🏹 PS I also love that pillow
Our family unraveled once my mom was gone. Thank you for expressing what I have been unable to put into words.
Beautifully and artfully done. I am an old man now, but look back now and see there was more to our own family rituals, some of which in fact I resented, than my own volatility enabled me to see. Thank you.
Great remembrance . Brought make many similar and yet different memories of my family - including my choice of taking the road less traveled ;-)
How different the world is now, even from when your mother raised you. The pace of life is so much more intense for young families. There are high expectations of what needs to be learned, finished, fixed, completed, and then learned again as the skills for success change so rapidly. I live less than a mile from Orchard House, where the Little Women, talked, worked, read, and wrote, all together as a family for decades.
I am a father of two. Each of my two now have two children of their own. We are much more fortunate than most of our friends because all of us live within ten minutes driving time. My children and their spouses have big jobs, Their kids go to good schools that set high expectations. Both the kids and adults have many activities, including sports and civic commitments. The grandchildren are just reaching the age where they don’t need supervision from a grandparent when the parents need help, so we are no longer part of a regular rotation. They will all be at our house this weekend for a big meal, but that took a month of planning. All the planning is done by text, and plans change frequently until the event passes. Holidays are divided between different parents, as my children’s spouses have families too — the nerve of them.
Thank you Delia for the poignant story. I am working on a script to do a documentary on me and my mother and struggling to bring the family dynamic in the story. My mother is 88 and lives alone with two paid help in her own home in india. My two brothers and I are scattered between Mumbai and California. Still she is the anchor to bring us the siblings together to our ancestral home. I wonder what will happen after her. Thank you for your beautiful narrative!
Just this past Sunday, a cousin who lost her mom last year, spoke of what becomes of families without the matriarch. She came alone to the family reunion without her sisters who she said were busy falling apart. I have to wonder when my mom is gone, will we just fall down?
The matriarchal traditions in my family are strong. My perfect childhood Christmases were at my Gran’s house (mother of 6). When she was gone, her second daughter tried but her siblings resented the obvious performance.
My mother, the first child and mother of four, had her own firmly Catholic structure and rituals. I, also the oldest, opted out by changing continents. When my mother died seven years ago of pancreatic cancer, her short and dramatic illness brought her four scattered children (then aged 43 to 51) together as adults. We actually ditched a lot of childhood baggage in the process and remain close. Saint Helen of Glenville’s first miracle. I like to think we’ll stay important to each other even when my father is gone.
In my Swiss unit of three persons, I find myself frustratingly “performing family.” I honestly don’t know what my son will carry with him once we are gone, and understand even less why this saddens me.
Thank you for the lovely essay. It clearly touched on a lot for many readers!
Beautiful, touching, poignant. I'm always deeply fascinated by people's family stories (and am privileged to hear them every day!) Thanks for sharing yours
Delia, this was great.
Sometime last year, I heard my father (in his mid-90s) talking to his girlfriend on the phone. (He is hard of hearing and seems to talk louder as he assumes everyone else has the same problem.) He told her it bothered him that he didn't believe his children would be close after he died. I didn't mention this to him or my siblings. We were not a family who ever had rituals like your family's Christmas gatherings.
I don't know if we will be close after he dies, but one reason I think we might be is that none of us children (ranging in age from 63 to 72) have our own children and we are all never-married or widowed. We have no other family, so we might be more dependent on each other, and as we age, I notice that we tend to ask each other for advice or tell each other our problems the way we never did before we all became oldsters. But we'll see.
I loved this piece and related to much of it-- I'm from a once-close family of six that began to fracture after my dad died suddenly 18 years ago, at age 61. It's rare to read such honesty and wisdom about family structure and rituals. Thanks for writing this beautiful essay.