Mother's Day Monday

Can You Forgive the Past?

Mother’s Day was really important to my mom, even more so than her birthday. I always felt a bit of pressure to do something special for her since it seemed she ran on a low, growling disappointment much of her life.

She was known for a great sense of humor, though, and people who knew her still remember her laugh all these years after her death. I remember hearing somewhere that most comedians have some dark spirits from their past, and comedy is their way of taming those ghosts.

I’ve mentioned before that my mom used whiskey & diet 7-up to tame hers. And that drink she thought of as her best friend helped her find humor and show off an exuberant & joyful façade, sort of like a comedian. She certainly loved storytelling.

Mom in 1950, the year she got married

Later in life, her laughter flowed more freely and genuinely. Her illness must have stripped away all the angst from the loneliness she fought for so many years, some of it coming from childhood and some from an unfulfilling marriage.

But by the time she neared the end of her life, she was pretty settled with how she made amends with my dad before his death and pursued positive relationships with her son and daughters and her grandchildren. She took a chance and apologized for the ways she fell short in motherhood.

We all let it go.

Mother’s Day pressure eased up and we were all happy with a nice cookout, including a good dessert. Mom’s favorite was what she called ambrosia. A bunch of fruit mixed with Cool Whip and marshmallow cream. I don’t have a taste for it today, though it’s a memory that causes a chuckle among my sister, myself and our kids. She whipped that up like it was all of our favorite treat.

I never want my daughters to worry about pleasing me on this holiday, especially since they are in the throes of motherhood right now and need to take a day of rest more than anything. Maybe I just don’t want them to feel what I felt, so I’m not big on pressuring anyone to have a fancy Mother’s Day, even though today I did have a lovely lunch with some of my family in my favorite restaurant. I’m just as happy with sunshine, a lawn chair and a book on this Sunday afternoon.

Thankfully, my memories of past Mother’s Days that play across my mind most are the ones closer to the end of mom’s life, and I don’t much think about those disappointed times from childhood when none of us knew how to perform to mom’s satisfaction.

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People who have read my memoir face the idea of forgiveness.

I’ve asked the leading question: Can you forgive your past?

Readers have wondered how to forgive.

[My Father’s Daughter is available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble] 📖

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Obviously, my parents were not perfect; I’m sure not many could say their parents were. But I have always understood that they did the best they could.

I’m hearing more and more these days about adult children excommunicating their parents, and profound sadness is the only byproduct. While, of course, abuse warrants such a consequence, I know people experiencing these severed relationships without any known reason they can pinpoint. Like they don’t deserve forgiveness for being flawed people. And that’s a lonely place to land.

Aren’t we all flawed?

And usually, if we dig a little, we can find the reasons for those flaws in the background somewhere & gain a little understanding.

I chose to forgive my past, my parents, because what else could I do? Think of the alternative. I’m not going to carry around the burdens of a hundred years on my shoulders. It’s so much better to feel lighter. I like experiencing the freedom.

You want to know the ironic twist?

My mom lasted two weeks in the Hospice wing of the hospital before she slipped into a coma and passed. This happened in May, the anniversary of her death coming in a couple of days. The Hospice nurses were so compassionate and nurturing, and so on the morning of Mother’s Day before I made my way to the hospital for a visit, the nurse dialed my number because my mom didn’t want to wait for me. She had something urgent to say. The nurse handed mom the phone, and my mom said,

Happy Mother’s Day, Sweetie.

Those were her last words.

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What readers are saying about My Father’s Daughter:

“It's an exciting yet tender story” (Tientown).

“I couldn’t put this book down. It’s a true, complex story told with both honesty and beauty” (Amazon Customer).

“Norman's storytelling is both poignant and captivating” (Amazon Customer).