You are a good mother

Today, for the first time, my mother's room smelled like a nursing home. The lovely West African aide had changed diapers for the roommate and Mom. He was getting them ready for bed. I was glad to see Harriet was on her side. She spends so much time on her back and I don't want her to get bed sores. She is not in any pain. She seemed more confused today. I tried to tell her it was a year since Dad died but she didn't understand. Who? Dad! Whose dad? Mine! Your husband, Sidney! Then she said he was a good husband.

Suddenly, she was lucid and her speech became clear, "I was the only one who took their children places. My mother used to take us on the streetcar. I guess I learned it from her. I tried to be a good mother." I said, "Mom, you were a good mother and you still are." She smiled.

When people go back to their childhood homes they often remark how small everything seems. They remember it bigger. That is because the memories made as a child are a child's memories. It isn't whether they are true or not, they were made when we were small and the world was large. My sister will swear that my father beat us every single night. I don't remember it as every night, and my mother says she would not have stayed with him if he had been such a monster. What really happened? My sister built him into this fearsome beast, I never learned to shut up around him and the poor old lady took her share of abuse, too. Harriet has adult memories, and I've got very few memories (not uncommon when childhood is chaotic) and my sister has a real memory of being knocked out as a teenager.

Looking at my step mother through childish eyes, she was not a very good mother. My birth mother had me from the day I was born and grew with me. She was my idea of what a mother should be, a rock, a shelter, my advocate and my protector. Harriet became a mother to a 12 year old boy, a 7 year old girl, and a three year old baby girl all on the same day. It would have been hard for anyone, even a child development specialist. It was especially hard for an immature narcissist who married a crazy man. Sometimes she would ask me what I wanted and all I could say was, "Be the mother." Maybe I was asking her to be my protector, to stand up to my father the way my mother did. I don't remember him being crazy and violent before she died, but then, I was very young.

As an adult, I can see what a hard time she had. I don't know that there is anything to forgive, but I do wish things had been otherwise. I wish I had been able to grieve my mother and talk about her. I wish Harriet had been better educated and able to guide me in school. One thing I do know is she did the best she could given the circumstances and her skills and understanding. That is what I did in raising my children and that is what most people do.

Take comfort. Yes, you were a good mother and, fragile as you are, you're still a good mother.