14 March, 2009

You'll never get to meet her

I thought about my mom today.

A couple of times, I wanted to call her. But, as you know, of course, I can't. I haven't had those impulses since the summer, really. I suppose the strong urge might be because of what's going on in my life right now, and the desire to share it with her. One of the things that sucks about losing someone is that you can't tell them things anymore. Often, I would want to talk to my mother for advice, through the years. And, I think I told you already; you never knew what kind of advice you'd get. Could be brilliant, or could be rather unhelpful, depending on her mood. This time, however, I wanted to talk to her about the good stuff. I wanted to let her know that I'm happy. And I guess I also wanted to let her know that there's someone I wanted her to meet. But she won't. She can't. And she never will. And there's a lot to that for me. In many directions, too.

I don't like that the last person my mother met was the product of an ill-advised rebound in which I clearly had become brainwashed for a period of 3-6 months. The family made a huge deal out of it for me too. They were all supportive, and welcoming, but it was a bad idea, that should never have happened... and that's the last one that my mother met. That's the memory she retained of what there would be for my future. Granted, the relationship had ended a year before my mom died. But still, the last thing you retain is the last thing you knew. And I wish it could have been different.

It's not so much the tradition of "I want to take you to meet my mother" thing that people had to do in the old days. Not like that. It's more a deep pride and connection about who I am, and where I came from, and the knowledge that such a meeting would provide irreplaceable insight into my character. That's one side of it. It all makes so much more sense if you met my mother. Meeting my father is useful, of course, too. And still very possible. But because of his nature, I think there's less rich insight to be gained from meeting him than my mother. And there's also the wish that the last person my mother would have met could have been someone that was good for me, and who made sense for who I am and what I want; someone where she could feel "This is good for him... I am happy for him". She was always proud of me, and she always knew I could and would succeed. But she also knew that I never really had "what I wanted". Not in her lifetime, anyway. She died right before (...actually, as...) I joined the band, too. So I never got to share that with her either.

I don't believe in the afterlife, and I don't believe in the spirit, or soul, or that there's any cognitive process of my mother lingering in the universe, except the echoes inside my own mind, or the lives of anyone else she's known, which is not to be ignored, but not the same. I just wish I could have shared a certain kind of happiness with her. My siblings have not had the happiest lives, especially of late, and that must have caused her some sorrow. I am sure that I brought her some joy in this life, but I also brought her stress with my choices, and my ups and downs. Now, here I am, feeling like I am starting to sort it out, at age 40. But she's gone. It's too late to share it with her.

I'm sad that you'll never get to meet her. And I'm sad that she'll never get to meet you... It is impossible to describe a person to someone else in any meaningful way that captures the essence.

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