May 10, 2012
On the cusp of Mother's Day...a few thoughts
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I remember how age 5 I followed my mother everywhere. She was the prettiest and smartest woman on earth. Then at 10 I still thought she was pretty and knew a lot, although I started to listening to others. At age 15 I wondered who the alien creature was that claimed to be my mother? and how in the world could she get through the day ... she was so ignorant. At age 20 I was sure she must be taking night courses because she seemed to have gotten smart again. I asked her opinion of things but still thought I knew best. At age 30 I began to notice that she was right more than I was. Now that was annoying! At age 40 I pretty much sat at her feet and listened and usually followed her advice.
Now, here I am in my sixties. I ask her advice all the time. She simply shrugs her shoulder and says, "I really have no idea. You figure it out!"
So maybe she tired of all her roles: daughter, sister, wife, mother, teacher, friend. Maybe she wasn't so sure about her answers any more. But I think not. She still knows a lot but has decided that her children need to figure out what's best for themselves. That's a wise mother.
And a Happy Mother's Day to all of you!
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Posted by Nancy Rossman
on May 10, 2012 at 9:35 AM
in My Mother and I |
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October 24, 2011
My Mother's Grief
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"As open as my mother is about most subjects, she is private about her deepest feelings...I'm only beginning to understand just how much."
It is a quote from the book. And even though it is VERY true, I keep getting reminded how much. My mother and I are alike in that way, private about our deepest feelings. She is more forthcoming with her thoughts and feelings as she heads toward the end of her life. At 92, she has just lost the (first) love of her life for the second time only this time, it's permanent. They married at 75 and had sixteen wonderful, fun- packed years and now she is alone, again. She is the last of her siblings as well. Unlike my observation of her over previous decades when she was always in control now she cries easily, never long, but from a profoundly deep place. Her grief shakes me. I want to remain strong. I encourage her to let it out, I am quiet until she finishes.
I hate seeing her upset. She deserves more and I tell her that. She smiles, "You have no idea how hard it is, this getting old stuff. Not for sissies."
Every older person says this, right? Some of my friends laugh and say that they're not going to do it ...get old. But I worry about being the last one standing and wonder if I'll be able to handle it all as well as she. These are the thoughts that keep me up at night.
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Posted by Nancy Rossman
on October 24, 2011 at 6:48 PM
in My Mother and I |
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May 9, 2011
How We are Different
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Last week I talked about the similar childhood experiences my mother and I shared by having such strong father figures. This was a positive buldiing block and one I am proud to have had. Not always do men who become fathers take the role seriously and with such deep commitment. But this experiencet is where our similarities end.
My mother grew up in a privileged urban Southern family. There was household help, art, music, and leisure. A refined lifestyle also aptly describes her environment. And, she was the youngest child by twelve years thus making her rearing almost as if an only child. She never had chores. Money was not piled high but there was always enough to be comfortable, take dance and piano lessons.
I was the oldest of three children. My rural midwestern upbringing happened on a farm. Chores, cows to milk, calves to feed. "When do y'all have fun," my mother joked early on. Little did she know it would be a lifestyle. And the work only increased as my father was more successful and needed all of us to help him. We didn't have time to do much else. A very special day was just driving to Cleveland to see Grandma Lilly and perhaps taking a ride on the rapid transit to Higbee's where we'd have lunch at The Silver Grille.
We teased my mother that she barely knew her way to the barn but she shrugged it off. "I know where it is ... I just don't like to go. It smells funny out there."
Actually, now that I think about it ... she was right.
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Posted by Nancy Rossman
on May 9, 2011 at 1:45 PM
in My Mother and I |
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May 3, 2011
Thoughts Approaching Mother's Day
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When I was five I thought my mother was the smartest and prettiest woman in the world. I worshipped her every move and believed her every word. At age ten I thought she was still pretty and knew a lot. Then at fifteen I wondered what alien planet had dropped her on the earth and how in the world she managed to function. At age twenty I thought she must be reading a lot of books at night and somehow she had managed to get a better looking hairdo. At age thirty I thought I knew better than she but I consulted her on occasion. At age forty I could not believe how dumb I was and how many times she was more right about things than me.
Of late, even though I never gave it much consideration, my mother and I share many similar childhood experiences and family situations even though she was born in 1919 and I was born in 1945. History has repeated itself to a degree. We each had strong father figures who provided leadership, respect, and love. We had comfort and security. Both of our fathers graduated from college (especially rare for my mother). Education was emphasized as were sports. We learned to do a little bit of everything. Our fathers were decent and respectable … honorable and loyal. Family was more important than material gain.
My mother and I are both social and laugh a lot. I’m not sure that comes from our fathers, but more perhaps from just liking people and having a curious nature about us. Plus we both appreciate humor and love laughter. I know that my mother’s ability to stop and talk to anyone about anything annoyed me as a teenager and young adult. Every once in a while my brother reminds me that now I do the same thing. Funny, isn’t it? Not long ago I looked in the mirror and there it was….my mother’s face!
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Posted by Nancy Rossman
on May 3, 2011 at 3:05 PM
in My Mother and I |
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