My Mother
I found out today that I hurt my Mother's feelings. I guess she read some of my blog and she was hurt by the fact that I can talk to God-Mum2 and not her. Or more specifically that I listen to Mum2 and not her. I did not mean to hurt her feelings. There are things that I can't talk to her about, and the things I do try to talk to her about she doesn't listen. So I feel stuck in the middle.
I love her...but she isn't my friend. I listen to what she has to say...but I have to make my own choices. She doesn't realize of all the things that are said between Mum2 and I, that I actually do something with. My Mother doesn't know how many things she has said that has swayed my choices, how many things she says that plays over and over in my head. True, there are things in my life that I don't ask her advice anymore, we don't see eye to eye on it. I have come to be more or less ok with that fact. There are things I miss about my Mother, times that we spend together. Things that I don't know how to fix, or make better.
In everything I do, I think of what my Mother will say or react to, how she taught us growing up or how I have seen her model her life for us. I hold my Mother very dear. And its hard when we aren't in the same place. I wish I could tell her all my dreams and goals, thoughts and feelings, all the things I wonder about and questions I have. Truth is I don't tell anyone all of it, not Tricci, not Mum2, not my father, not this blog, not church family. The closest person I am to telling everything that goes on with me, physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually is T.
I would that she be able to tell me all of the same things I listed above. We haven't gotten there yet. I'm not sure how to talk to her...even to say I'm sorry. I don't think she would think its genuine...I don't think my words would make much difference to her. If I could fast forward the next few months, and be able to show her all the adult choices and situations and conversations I will have and have made I would.
I said last night after a fight. "I don't want to hurt my Mother, just because I feel hurt. Hurt people only hurt people." Now she doesn't know that, and I realize that. But somehow I have to actually connect the two, I have to show her how thankful and appreciative I am of her. How much I love her, and care for her. How much I value her as my Mother.
posted by Me @ 10:07 PM
1 Comments:
Mothers are such an enigma. When we are very small they are our haven, and we believe every word out of their mouths. Even if they are deliberately not saying truth, they are trying to be humorous, which is way over our little girl heads. Then we grow up and it seems that we cannot be friends.
For most of my life I could not share with my mother, because we had different tastes. I thought she believed I had bad taste . . . and found out years later, that when we did not agree on things, that she questioned HER taste and opinions.
Now that my mother is in her last years, mind and body failing, I cherish her so much. And I think that at last she feels loved by me too.
You my dear, are finding your own way, your own thoughts and ideas, your own values and no longer are accepting those of your parents. You are questioning everything. This is good. This is what helps you develop into your own identity and not just a robot who has been wired to accept her parents values.
I'm so proud of you. You are a great writer, very expressive, and a searcher of truth. Jesus said, "I am the way, the TRUTH and the life." He also says, if you seek me you will find me. You will find TRUTH. He likes folks who struggle and are transparent in their struggle. Look at David, the first "country/western" singer ever recorded. He sang about how crappy his life was, he wallowed in grief over his sin, he told how he felt the Lord had let his enemies triumph over him . . . and then he would turn around and tell his soul to look up, to be encouraged, and end up praising the Lord for his enormous grace and unfailing love. And God called him, "A man after my own heart."
Our Father looks at you and he must be saying, "There is 'My Special Daughter,' a woman after my own heart."
Smiling at you,
Beambrite
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