My Authentic Mother (Part 2)

     "You know I've never asked for anything before, but I've never felt this bad.  I need you to come here", my mother said.  She called me at seven o'clock this morning.  I told her, "I know you've never asked for anything before, and I understand how bad you feel.  I'm so sorry.  I understand.  I wish I could help you. I will do everything I can do to help you."

    Yet I was thinking as I tried to comfort her: "I can't count the times that I've needed you, that I needed your comfort, that I hoped that you would say, 'I understand how bad you feel, and I love you'.  You were never there for me.  You pretended I didn't exist.  You couldn't cope with an imperfect unhappy daughter.  You abruptly ended phone conversations when I even hinted that things might not be fine. You left me alone to fend for myself, and I did."

    I am angry at my mother.  Yet, I cannot abandon her.  I want to help her.  I want to be with her.  I want her to know I love her.

                                          My Mother and Me (circa 1951)

    But I wish she could apologize.  When she was hospitalized in February, I went up to Yonkers to be with her.  She was clearly comforted by my presence.  During the course of a mundane conversation we were having, she suddenly said, "I wasn't a terrible mommy, was I"?  I wanted to say, "You were a horrible mother, but I know you did the best you could do."  Of course, I replied, "You were a wonderful mother, and I love you".  And I meant it.