Conversations with My Mother
- ktweeddale
- Jul 7, 2021
- 3 min read
Writing about relationships in a public post is complicated, so it was with some trepidation that on Day 5 of 150 Best Self Edison Deck Challenge I pulled a red card with a big heart on it with the prompt: Relationships: Conversations you want to have with [insert person].
Again, 10 minutes to generate ideas for 10 conversations I would want to have with one person of my choice. For me, the selection of the person was automatic. My mother passed away unexpectedly in 2014 and seven years later, I still find myself wanting to pick up the phone, book a flight, and look for connection. Limiting the conversations to only 10 was hard, but for today, these are the conversations that came to mind. And how I wish I would have pulled this card before March of 2014. What conversations would you have and with whom?
If you knew when you were my age, that you would only have a dozen years left to live, what would have you done differently?
I would love to talk about the transformational power of pets over people. I’d tell you how Mr. Blue (your cat) made his way from Florida to Washington, how he found discipline, and how he progressed as a hunter, upping the ante from grasshoppers to bunnies, birds, and small rodents. I’d introduce you to my puppy Luka, and you’d love how he has an ear for opera.
In your computer files, there were signs of a beginning practice of mantras and meditation. We would talk about the present, leaving past and future for another day.
As a strong woman, I learned from you as you navigated from motherhood and divorce to business owner and independence. We would talk about whether there is a place for vulnerability, and how do we take the armor off when others expect so much from us?
We would talk about living alone, how separation makes one confront themselves; and how it makes one yearn for reunions. In your case it was by choice, in my case it was by pandemic and circumstance. We would compare notes and talk about the insights and heartbreak.
I would feel heard as I explained the most recent events of misogyny, social unrest, and my new friendships as I learn to become a better ally. You would not mince words, let the colorful language flow, and I would feel that my anger and frustration have a safe space. I would hear you say, “Strong women like us create fear in men and women alike.” You would talk about the advantage of using honey versus vinegar. I would take the “stand your ground” approach. And at some point, you would tap into the unjustness of it all and I would revel in the fact that my mother had found piercing four-letter words never allowed in our household growing up, but realizing it was part of her finding her independent voice.
Speaking of colorful language, we would talk about how getting older gives you a certain boldness and a “devil may care” attitude. How driving, dealing with elective ignorance, and flagrant bigotry bring embers to flame.
I would ask you about perfect pitch and to retell me about the story of taking piano lessons where you would ask the teacher to play each piece for you prior to the end of a lesson. Once you heard it, you could play it without ever learning to read the music. You could hear all the harmonies in any song, and even though you sang second soprano, you had the voice of the lead. I would know that your musical talent was nature not nurture. If you disagreed, I would beg for your nurture to take my musical path on a new journey beyond study, concentration, and mediocrity.
We would talk about regrets. I would listen intently and do my best to exorcise the patterns, learned and innate, that stand in the way of fulfillment and purpose. I’d be curious, ask questions, and become a student.
We would have a conversation about what makes us smile, what makes us laugh, what brings joy. Your smile would light up a room, melt hearts, and we would talk about whether that could be an inherited or a learned trait. I remember telling you long ago that my New Year’s Resolution was to smile more. I’m still working on that one. When I asked you the secret, your answer was that you were born with “great teeth.” We would go beyond that answer, so I could pass on one of your most memorable legacies.
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