My Mother, Sharada Ramaswamy Iyer
What do women remember about their mother? What is that one unforgettable gift they received from their mother? The answers were varied, they ranged from objects to observations, and yet each memory was remarkable, each gift, thought provoking. In the book, What My Mother Gave Me: Thirty-one Women on the Gifts That Mattered Most By Elizabeth Benedict (Editor), women express their feelings about their mother's gift; there is love and joy, thankfulness and gratefulness, grief and sadness. There is sympathy and empathy, understanding and support. And this unique legacy of motherhood, no less than magic, continues to be the most powerful gift women inherit. It's wonderful to note that all mothers are the same in some ways, yet every mother is different.
In her introduction, Elizabeth Benedict writes, ' Having had an unhappy mother- I found myself astonished-feeling a mixture of envy and disbelief-by the stories of happy mothers and daughters.' My reason for picking up the book was the same! Choosing to read this book, which was completely outside of my comfort zone was a monumental decision, it required all of my self persuasion abilities. Knowing it was a difficult read, the second major decision was to go ahead.
As I read story after story -a lump would form in my throat and I needed to pause again and again - I was overwhelmed, and many times moved to tears. As I continued reading, I was filled with more envy and disbelief! I was faced with waves of emotions, some of which I could handle, some which I couldn't...at that juncture. I sent out a quiet thanks to the one I shall call Mentor, who has unknowingly helped me to face my fears and choose happiness, so very important for an orderly and harmonious life.
Reading these stories helped me know more about my mother, who found it difficult to put her thoughts and feelings into words. My mother was an unhappy person, there was no doubt about that. What was the cause of her unhappiness, that, I didn't ever come to know. Had it something to do with her maternal home? Married home? She would never speak about it. In the book, a daughter writes about her mother, "As she began to find happiness in her own life she finally became a good mother." I wish my mother had found this elusive Happiness, maybe then I would have found my mother too!
I had steered the course of my life, guided by one principle- don't do what your mother did. And in the process of finding myself, I suddenly realised I was becoming more and more like her. That realisation jolted me and it took me a few more years to find myself. I spent the last month of her life with her in the hospital. We had been estranged for a period of time, the result of a long and uncomfortable relationship ever since I can remember. My mother didn't speak a word with me in all of those thirty days. All my efforts, my entreaties went in vain. I didn't know how to process her death.....it left me feeling inadequate, as if I was never good enough for her or for that matter, for anything or anybody .
After her death, I was returning home, by train. I was asleep in the lower berth when I suddenly felt her presence beside me. As I turned to her, the look on her face unsettled me- what was it? - disdain, detest, despise, dislike - and I felt a sudden, forceful push. I was shocked to find myself on the floor and took a little more time to come to terms with the fact that she was no longer there beside me. My left hand remains permanently damaged as a result of that fall, a constant everyday reminder of the person, I called Mother.
Jealously I read the following extract, "And most important, ...it is a reminder of the major things she gave me- kindness, attention, affection, a lifetime of love!" How I have yearned for them, all my life, from my mother! But if she didn't receive any of them, I wonder, how could she ever give them! Looking back, I ask myself, who, apart from herself, could have showered these blessings on her? We could have, her immediate family, her husband, ie our father and her two children, my sister and myself. We failed her, utterly and miserably as a family.
As I look for answers, I find I can pin the blame on anything and everything, as if we were powerless spectators in the drama of life! But I will not look for reasons as it is futile now. I will look for lessons and pray to God to give me the courage to learn from them.
In another book I read recently, "Across Many Mountains", Yangzom Brauen, writes about the strong bond between herself and her mother, which she finds, empowers both. That mothers and daughters clash is a concept which needs a rethink, a correction. There is no doubt that mothers and daughters benefit from mutual love, respect and affection. It is important for both to understand and work towards it.
Books such as these, help me to learn more about myself as a mother and how my thoughts, words and actions have had a profound impact on my daughters. Some stories, remind me of my quirky habits as a mother. In each and every story, I find a little of myself. Finally, I quote these precious words from the blog,Tiny Buddha, simple wisdom for complex lives: "My dearest children, I'm sorry for the unhealed parts of me that in turn hurt you. It was never a lack of love for you. Only a lack of love for my self."
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