Mother & Daughter ~ a Reversal of Roles
At the funeral of my aunt a few months ago I met a young cousin again after about 50 years and, for the first time, her husband. We all enjoyed our meeting and swapped email addresses.
As we got to know each other over the emails, it emerged that we had both had similar experiences in so far that we had both spent years in a cult, mine ignorantly but by choice, Lois was born into it.
When Lois left the meetings, as usually happens, there was a rift between her and some family members. My Aunt was her Mother; with Lois’ permission here is a beautiful interchange between the mother and daughter:
Quote from Lois (with her permision):
After I sent today's email to you I remembered a poem I had written. It was a poem about Mum (I've written numerous poems about her!) This one mentions her oiled baking tins. I think it captures something of our relationship. She told me some years ago that we had nothing in common anymore (because I had stopped going to the meetings and married) that was a tragic statement from my point of view - we still had a rich shared history along with heaps of other things. Anyway, this poem is a response to that particular statement. She never saw the poem, though I attempted to talk to her (in a letter) about the fact that I thought we still had lots in common - being female, being mothers, having daughters, sharing a love of the natural world, being thrifty, being mean scrabble players etc etc.
A Letter
Do you remember preserving peaches
the pursuit of perfect seals
our pleasure in concave domes
as jars cooled?
I remember the day at the river
your private thighs emerged
from nowhere, clothed in woolen togs.
You paddled like a lone dog.
Do you remember playing scrabble
while the clock ticked and tocked?
We built word bridges and crossed over
from generation to generation.
I remember your weekly baking
turned cleanly from oiled tins
which knew neither scour of brush
nor bite of soap.
Do you remember the spun fleece?
A filigree shawl of dreams
you threaded through your wedding ring
and sent to keep my baby warm.
So when you write of separate paths
uncommon ground, a different view
I say to you
I’m of a mind to disagree.
As we got to know each other over the emails, it emerged that we had both had similar experiences in so far that we had both spent years in a cult, mine ignorantly but by choice, Lois was born into it.
When Lois left the meetings, as usually happens, there was a rift between her and some family members. My Aunt was her Mother; with Lois’ permission here is a beautiful interchange between the mother and daughter:
Quote from Lois (with her permision):
After I sent today's email to you I remembered a poem I had written. It was a poem about Mum (I've written numerous poems about her!) This one mentions her oiled baking tins. I think it captures something of our relationship. She told me some years ago that we had nothing in common anymore (because I had stopped going to the meetings and married) that was a tragic statement from my point of view - we still had a rich shared history along with heaps of other things. Anyway, this poem is a response to that particular statement. She never saw the poem, though I attempted to talk to her (in a letter) about the fact that I thought we still had lots in common - being female, being mothers, having daughters, sharing a love of the natural world, being thrifty, being mean scrabble players etc etc.
A Letter
Do you remember preserving peaches
the pursuit of perfect seals
our pleasure in concave domes
as jars cooled?
I remember the day at the river
your private thighs emerged
from nowhere, clothed in woolen togs.
You paddled like a lone dog.
Do you remember playing scrabble
while the clock ticked and tocked?
We built word bridges and crossed over
from generation to generation.
I remember your weekly baking
turned cleanly from oiled tins
which knew neither scour of brush
nor bite of soap.
Do you remember the spun fleece?
A filigree shawl of dreams
you threaded through your wedding ring
and sent to keep my baby warm.
So when you write of separate paths
uncommon ground, a different view
I say to you
I’m of a mind to disagree.
posted by ElizabethB | 5:58 PM
1 Comments:
Though this is a sad story, I am grateful to my Mum because she helped shape me to be the person I am today - and on a good day I'm a pretty fine human being. Needless to say there are "bad" days from time to time, and that's OK too - after all "Enlightenment is a grey day".
It is tragic when a person's beliefs separate them from kin. I guess that's the way it is for some people who take their beliefs extremely seriously. The tragedy of this story is that my Mum missed out on me and my daughter, and had she been less judgemental, we could have given her a lot of joy and laughter. (belly laughter to boot!)
I have lovely memories of my Mum which far outweigh the grief of the situation. I was happy for her that she had an all-embracing belief and faith which sustained her through life's challenges. The pity is that she could not reciprocate and be happy for me in the choices I've made in life.
Needless to say, respecting and embracing difference are vitally important to me. While my daughter has primarily had a secular upbringing, I have endeavoured to encourage her to be generous, understanding, empathic, respectful and tolerant. I wonder what kind of poems she would write about me!
Love and blessings to anyone who reads this - and also to those who don't! An extra dollop for the author of the original blog.
Lois Mead-McEwan (Lillibit's couzie bro)
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