Since I decided to write about my experience in remembering my own mother, I noticed I actually think more about her than ever. Well, maybe not more than ever. That would make me seem like a bad daughter or, a very uncaring woman. I mean to say- this is a most excellent way to chronicle my emotions.
In a world gone mad this seems the very clear way for me to transfer what is lying around in the recesses of my heart and mind- about mom. Maybe it is even about mom and more, it could be more about me. I can't really be sure what I am trying to share here, until I have no more things to write.
Today, a thought popped into my head. I suddenly remembered that I was a spoiled and rude teen. Do you know what it's like to feel as if you are a smart,caring and complex person- then a rotten memory comes crashing in on a pretty little idea of self? It ruins it. I first shook my head as if doing that makes the though pop out of my ear or something. Then I smirk, as I replay the memory, finally I shake my head with a curt laugh. I was a brat!
What comes crashing in behind that memory of myself is, how my mother dealt with me? I must have driven her mad. I am sure she has been disappointed in me at several times in my life, like when I had a child with a guy she never was introduced to but I myself adored. She never told me what kind of man she would have wanted me to end up with. I guess I took that as run with it Cyndi. I dated whomever I wanted without a slur or pout from her. I could say she trusted my judgement in friends and lovers.
In my mothers family, I see a group of people who just ended up doing whatever the hell they chose to. They seemed to marry who they wanted even if the outside world could say it may not be a match made in heaven. Maybe I have that trait too, like my mother- I tend to care for all the mismatched sorts.
As far as memories of mom go- she never put expectations on me on the class of person that could associate with me. She let me choose even if it meant failure or success. She taught me to own my choices without regret.
In a world gone mad this seems the very clear way for me to transfer what is lying around in the recesses of my heart and mind- about mom. Maybe it is even about mom and more, it could be more about me. I can't really be sure what I am trying to share here, until I have no more things to write.
Today, a thought popped into my head. I suddenly remembered that I was a spoiled and rude teen. Do you know what it's like to feel as if you are a smart,caring and complex person- then a rotten memory comes crashing in on a pretty little idea of self? It ruins it. I first shook my head as if doing that makes the though pop out of my ear or something. Then I smirk, as I replay the memory, finally I shake my head with a curt laugh. I was a brat!
What comes crashing in behind that memory of myself is, how my mother dealt with me? I must have driven her mad. I am sure she has been disappointed in me at several times in my life, like when I had a child with a guy she never was introduced to but I myself adored. She never told me what kind of man she would have wanted me to end up with. I guess I took that as run with it Cyndi. I dated whomever I wanted without a slur or pout from her. I could say she trusted my judgement in friends and lovers.
In my mothers family, I see a group of people who just ended up doing whatever the hell they chose to. They seemed to marry who they wanted even if the outside world could say it may not be a match made in heaven. Maybe I have that trait too, like my mother- I tend to care for all the mismatched sorts.
As far as memories of mom go- she never put expectations on me on the class of person that could associate with me. She let me choose even if it meant failure or success. She taught me to own my choices without regret.