Dear Mom,
First of all, before you freak out that I’m writing a letter to you on my blog, you should know that I really haven’t mentioned anything about you on here until now. I’ve hinted at certain things, but was never really forthcoming about our relationship or what you (we) are dealing with now. And while it may seem unusual… impersonal, even… to put this letter out here for anyone to read, I can’t imagine a more powerful way to shout my feelings from the rooftops, if you will.
We have had a tumultuous relationship, you and me. I know that I was a stubborn child who didn’t want to be told what to do, and you were young and inexperienced and immensely frustrated with me. As I grew into a teenager, my moods became more irrational and whatever passed for a civil relationship between us quickly began to crumble. We spent the remainder of my young adult years either fighting or avoiding each other, and soon found that we didn’t quite know how to reconnect after all the wounds had healed.
But then as the years passed, I began to understand what it must have been like for you. As Lauren tried my patience and made me want to pull my hair out, I thanked my lucky stars that I had waited until my thirties to have her because I had learned to be patient. I knew without a doubt that if I had given birth to her in my twenties, I would have been a different parent. And I started to understand that much of your parenting must have been colored by the fact that you were just so young. I’m sure you felt ready at 19 to give birth to me, but in hindsight, I think you’d agree that you were so unprepared for what was to come, and ill equipped to cope with it all. I’m sure I said things that hurt you… all kids do from time to time… but I think that because you were so young yourself, you couldn’t rationalize that and forgive me for it. I know you regret that, and so do I.
A few years ago, I found this picture of us:
I was struck by the expression on your face as you gazed at your new little baby — as you gazed at me. I realized then that no matter how difficult our relationship became, how many regrettable things we may have said to each other — at the heart of it all, we were still a mother and a daughter.
Lately, your health has been in decline. When I spoke to you on the phone the other day, your voice sounded so small… so fragile. You told me that when you went into the Emergency Room this last time, you literally felt the life slipping from you. I know you are scared, and I know you are worried about the future — about how much of a future you still have. Because I am an optimist, I choose to think about ways we can improve your quality of life right now and keep you with us a little longer.
At first, when I heard about your health issues, I was angry at you. I felt like your kidney failure was a result of malnutrition, which was a result of you not taking care of yourself. While I still wish you had been a little more proactive with your care years ago, I now understand that you never thought that anything like this would happen. I think you have been as surprised as anyone that your body didn’t withstand the stuff that was happening to it. I don’t think you ever saw your spotty diet as anything that could potentially hurt you. You were losing weight and feeling good about yourself, and it probably never occurred to you that you may have been doing damage to yourself. I hope you know that while I am sad that this has happened, I don’t hold you responsible for it anymore. I believe in fate or divine will or whatever you want to call it, and I believe that things happen for a reason. Everything that happens to us (whether we consider it to be a mistake or not) is predestined. This is the path that we were supposed to follow, and while the reasons may not be clear to us right now (and may never be), it doesn’t mean that it’s not our path.
You’ll notice that I used the word “we” in that last sentence. That’s because this illness isn’t just affecting you and Dad, though you are certainly most impacted by it. It has affected all of us. All of your daughters are scattered across the country, and there is very little that we can do to physically help you. So we send you good thoughts and offer up our prayers, and call you often to let you know we’re thinking of you. But it’s a rather helpless feeling for us. We are grappling with emotions that run deeper than this illness. We are seeing our relationships with you in an entirely different light, and learning to come to terms with the new definition of those relationships. In the past, we may have looked to you and Dad for support, encouragement and validation. Now it’s our turn to provide those things to you. And the reality of that has shaken all of us to our very core. Regardless of our past, it pains me to see you in this condition, and to know that you are quite literally in the process of dying. It frightens me, but not for the obvious reason. I have only ever defined myself as a person who had all her family in the background, ready to cheer her on no matter what happened. If you are no longer on this planet, how do I define myself? Who am I, once I have lost my mother?
I think that now that you’ve started regular dialysis, we should see an improvement in your quality of life. And hopefully, a kidney will soon become available and give you many more years with us. But in the meantime, I need to let you know how thankful I am for the things that you gave me.
Thank you for teaching me to be honest and true to my own mind and heart. It has led me down a different path than you would have wanted for me, but my life feels right and genuine to me now.
Thank you for teaching me to be kind and loving and generous with my time. I could not imagine my life if I hadn’t become a nurse, and I developed my love of nursing from you. I love caring for my patients and I receive a lot of gratification from knowing that I have made a difference in someone’s life, if even for a moment.
Thank you for disco dancing with us in the kitchen. Although our childhood was occasionally difficult, you still taught us how to have fun.
Thank you for sharing your taste in music with me. I have the coolest iPod of anyone I know.
Thank you for loving each of the boys that I brought home, even when they were dorks and you knew it. Whether you realized it or not, all of those boys served a vital purpose in my life, and that was to educate me about what I did and did not want in a partner, and how to be a good partner in return. All of those “mistakes” brought me to the place where I can have an amazingly pure and honest relationship with my perfect companion. Thanks for letting me make those mistakes.
Thank you for forcing me to babysit my younger sisters, especially when I wanted to go off with my friends. It taught me that family comes first, no matter what. It also taught me the finer skills of childcare, which have come in handy now that I am an adult. I am the Mother that I am because of what I learned from you.
Thank you for telling me that you were proud of me, and that I was a better nurse than you were. Though it’s never been a contest and I’ve never felt that I was competing with you, it was a humble moment when you acknowledged my career and my hard work. Thank you for noticing the effort that I put into being a good nurse.
Thank you for my life. It has been the most interesting ride, and though I have experienced many things that I would never wish on another human being, it has all led me to where I am today. I have a beautiful home, a fulfilling career, a smart, funny and loving child, and a handsome, adoring fiance who is my biggest fan. I wouldn’t trade my life for anything in the world.
We’ll get through this together, Mom. I promise.
With Love,
Your Daughter
