My Mother - My Self

     On a recent hot summer afternoon, Duncan and his kitty spent some time reclining (and stretching)  near an air-conditioning vent... I've experienced a languish that rather feels how they look, especially since July 11... On that day, my mother died.

     On the morning of her death, a swirl of opposite emotions dueled within - grief that Mom was forever gone and relief that this proud, fiercely independent person was finally at peace after months of physical and mental ill health. It was confusing but expected because that conflict typified the lifetime of emotional duplicity that played out between my mother and myself. I remember a simple, pleasant childhood, at the center of which was a loving, caring mother. I didn't realize then the narcissism which, while not absurdly excessive but veiled and covert, affected all her relationships. As an adult, I began to comprehend that while she loved her children the best that she could, it was incomplete and invalidating, and the result was an affliction that took me years to identify and attempt to heal - the bewildering erosion of self-esteem.

     That said, I am glad that I have begun to remember Mom in a good way - reading a book and thinking that she would have liked to borrow it, peeling apples and wishing I could invite her to share a piece of pie, listening to a young tenor sing hymns and knowing she would have loved to accompany him.