I'm sure that in the day-to-day of raising children, you don't quite know what is sticking. What will become a memory?
In a little over a week, my mother will have been gone for 2 years. That seems impossible, but here we are. If ever there was proof that Freud has some things going for him, it's the way my grief manifests as I move further from the last time I saw her face and heard her voice. Rather than a conscious thought, "I miss her," I find myself talking about her more. Searching through old photo albums and lingering longer on her face. And, listening to show tunes, particularly The Sound of Music.
I grew up on the movie The Sound of Music. I likely recognized the voice of Julie Andrews around the same time I recognized those of my parents. I believe I have posted before that my eulogizing of my mother was based on the plot of the movie. It meant that much to her, that it's a huge part of what keeps me connected to her.
I bet she didn't know that would be the case, on rainy weekdays as we snuggled on the sofa watching Andrews throw open her arms to the mountain sky.
Holidays and family visits have always sort of made me anxious. The expectation to have fun, to make memories, to make this "the best Christmas ever" is a tall order. And, after all the hype, cross-country travel, and money spent, it often can't live up to the expectations set. SImilarly, with so many organized activities that take up children's days, and highly choreographed vacations to sanitized, pandering-to-the-masses places like Disney World, I hope that people are also making time for what usually sticks: ourselves. Over years of screenings of The Sound of Music, I learned more about my mother each time. She had seriously considered becoming a nun; she had wanted many children; she used Maria's wedding march when she walked down the aisle to marry my father; she had been a musician since the age of twelve. The list went on and on. Each of these facts spun out into more facts, more stories, of a life before I existed. Of the life that existed now, with me. I don't think she planned these lessons. It was just what came up. She just answered the questions I asked. And when I look back on those conversations, and singing loudly in the car with her, and seeing her meet the actual von Trapp family in person, these are the things I remember. These are the ways in which I know she was real. The vacations are there too, and the birthday parties she planned for me. But those were about me. And I am so profoundly grateful now that she also chose to make my childhood a bit about her. When I think about raising my own kid(s), I wonder what will stick with them. And then I try not to over think it, as I think that is exactly the point, right? Just be. Just be with the people you love.
What likely began as a way to keep me occupied and stationary so she could relax became the thread I can pull when I need to unravel her.
