Reflections On My Mom and the Gifts of Our Hearts

A couple days ago was nail day. I took off the old polish, cut and filed my mother's nails, and then applied new polish. A pretty peach color. Mom had said that she wanted peach, so peach it is. Until towards the end of nail painting when her eyes closed as she sat in her wheelchair across from me, my mother watched me with a slight but peaceful and happy smile on her face. Such an intimate time, enjoying "nail day" together.

The waves of grief and gratitude ebb and flow. I'm so grateful that I can allow myself to experience whatever it is that arises. This is such a miracle for me, such a soulful difference in how I am able to be in the world today. My mother and I have both changed and evolved so much. For my mom, these incredible changes began at age 87 and have occurred over the past 6-1/2 years. For me, it was 1983 when my journey of awakening first began.

And this blesses me with the capacity to most often simply be with what is... which can be a treasure at the same time that my heart is breaking wide open. Because before nail time, and as I sat in the dining room of her assisted living feeding her lunch, my mother had such a range of experiences that I was witness to. And I roll with them...

"People are so interesting," my mother says between bites as she watches people at nearby tables. "Yes, they are, Mom." I smile. And my heart feels the depth of what a miracle this one moment of lucidity and presence is. Because as I listen to my mom and soak in what she is saying, I also reflect back to how it was that throughout most of her life my mother was not capable of experiencing people as "interesting." Her severe narcissistic, psychotic, and alcoholic illnesses were a complete barrier to connecting with any actual degree of authenticity and depth with anyone. Such was the tortured prison that my mother lived in for over eight decades. And that torment, trauma, terror, shame, and self-loathing was something she had been compelled to relentlessly project out onto others, including her own children. 
 
When a heart is so defended — when everything is perceived as a potential threat or as an extension of oneself rather than as a separate being, when image management and pretense rule the day, when fear and entitlement and delusion override all reality, when love and vulnerability and connection are beyond reach — healthy relationships and perceiving other human beings as "interesting" is not possible. Now, here was my 93 year old mother once again noticing and commenting on how interesting people are. And I rejoice in this miracle... and, at the same time, I grieve that such simple experiences were something my mom was incapable of for most of her life.

*****

It was January of 2013 that the suicide attempt happened and the forced hospitalization, followed by a nearly year long legal battle with a former family member, and then, finally, the ultimate success in bringing Mom home to her family here in the Pacific Northwest. Then the profound changes began — the successful treatment for her mental illness, the anti-psychotic and other medications which replaced the alcohol, and the immersion in the love of family. All were part of the miracle and Grace that made the birth of my second mother possible.

The Alzheimer's also played a role. There was just enough memory loss to shield my mother from what would have been totally unbearable to remember. Sometimes the memories would still pierce through. Like when she'd been here for a few weeks and had this deer in the headlights expression on her face. And Mom asked me, "Do you have a good lawyer?" I responded that I did have one, and that's why we prevailed in getting her here from Michigan to live with her family. And I asked, "Why?" And my mom looked at me with horror when she responded — "My will." In that moment she knew that she'd thrown me and her grandchildren under the bus, as her fourth and last husband coined it, leaving much to a former stepson from a third marriage who'd been pursuing her for her wealth for many years. Gratefully, my mother was able to be reassured that having her here with our family was worth more than all the money in the world. And then, thank you God, she was able to once again forget what she had done.

There were many other moments of remembrance or curiosity. Also when she was here for only a few months, my mother again expressed that she wanted to know why she and I hadn't seen each other in the 14 years leading up to when everything changed. With my husband and youngest son there to support me, I finally responded, but kept it very simple. "Well, Mom, you were pretty angry and critical of me. You didn't like my hair or my clothes or my politics." And my mother was silent. Then, looking me in the eyes, she said, "There must have been something in me that I was taking out on you." Such insight was supposed to be 100% impossible.

Miracles happen.

And as much as my mother has been more present than ever before in her lifetime, she's also been in process of leaving more and more. I'm acutely aware of how my mom has been gradually transitioning. Moments of lucidity are increasingly interspersed between greater and greater memory loss. 

While I remain "my sweet darling" to my mother, there are also more questions that illuminate how much is being forgotten. Along with noticing how interesting people are and commenting on how wonderful her assisted living is, Mom was also more talkative at the lunch table than she has been recently. And the questions kept coming — "Did someone drop me off here?" "Do you live here, too?" I would calmly respond, "Well, Mom, I live just a few minutes away, and that's why I get to come see you so much." "You have actually lived here for a while, nearly six years now." And my mother looked surprised. "Six years? I'm all screwed up." And I looked into my mom's eyes, touched her lovingly, and said, "I don't think you're screwed up, Mom. But you're 93 now and not remembering things is part of the aging process." "I hope so," Mom responded. And then the moment of confusion and alarm was gone and peace once again came over my mother. 

*****

The past six years have brought my mother more peace than all the years before combined. It simply isn't possible to be at peace for anyone who is unable to give and receive love. I don't believe that there is any greater torment than living starved and as a stranger to love.

And I reflect back to late 1977, which was shortly before my twin's suicide and two years after my father's sudden death, to when an early therapist told me that I was going to need to grieve my mother as a death. And I remember my mother's second husband telling me before their divorce that a therapist had advised him to leave the violent and chaotic marriage and read everything he could about "pathological narcissism." And I think about the two therapists who told me decades ago to read Scott Peck's People of the Lie, with one of them telling me that on a scale from 1 to 10 of "people of the lie" that my mother was a "10." And I remember all who affirmed what the evidence was — that my mother was incapable of love and that this was not going to change....

Now, today, as I look into my mother's eyes — this second mom whose miraculous partial awakening began in 2013 — I see a glimmer of a sparkle that was absent all the preceding years. And I bow in the deepest and most profound gratitude for the Grace and Love that has made possible what we both share today with each other and in our lives. My mother has been among my greatest teachers about love and compassion — the wounds and cost of its absence, the profound and essential gifts of opening and healing our hearts, and how to turn the most painful experiences of our lives into strengths, wisdom, compassion, and love beyond what was once beyond our wildest imaginings. 

May we all courageously root ever more deeply into paths of Grace and Love and claim the gifts of our hearts. ❤ Molly