Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Love letter to my mother

I never used to cry.  I think it's because I used to be so self-conscious and uncomfortable with vulnerability, but I'm making up for lost time now.  I just finished reading HP7, and I literally sobbed when I re-read Molly Weasley freaking out and dueling Bellatrix Lestrange.  We're talking screwed-up face, tears pouring down my face and neck into my clavicles, racking sobs, etc.

I talk a lot about how great my dad is, and I feel this seems to reflect that I don't also fawn all over my mother.  In fact, I am a petite version of my mother, so we love each other lots but we get along better when we don't see each other on a daily basis.  It should be stated that in college, I called her every single day.

My mother is very, very emotional.  My dad is too, but not like my mom.  He's rational and explain-y; my roommate Andi dubbed him "Atticus Finch" after I told a number of stories where he explained the world and how it works as straightforward as he could.  He's really adept at understanding other people and their ideas and believes all that matters in this life is doing right and standing by the people you love.  He's a genius at simplicity and I worship him for that insight.  Plus, he tells these charming stories from when I was a toddler with horrible asthma.  Also, when I would have nightmares, he would ALWAYS come in my room, no matter how late it was, how pathetic I was being, or how exhausted he was, and hug me until I calmed down enough to fall back asleep.  Dad was always the one that would coddle me, I never really fought with him.

My mother and I used to fight a lot.  We have the exact same hot temper that needs to be aired, and as quickly as it flares up, it's gone.  We have the same tendency to get incensed when we feel disrespected or disappointed by the ones we love.  We have the same habit of getting so angry that we burst into tears because we're just SO MAD that there's nothing else that our brain can do.  Then we feel the same remorse for our pull-no-punches approach.

The thing is though, my mother never, ever fought with me for any reason other than complete and utter adoration.  She thinks so highly of me that she would not condone when I would screw it all up and act like the moronic kid I generally was/am.  My mother is fortunate in that she is entirely emotional, the full range of 'em.  My brother and I always knew that we were loved above every other thing in this world or any other.  Even when we would scream at each other across the living room, apoplectic with rage for whatever thing I had fucked up.

Someone tells me that they love me every single day.  I'm not kidding; and these are the people who mean it and will never break up with me or never ditch me or cheat on me or do any intentional damage to me.  I hope loads of kids suspect that their parents would take a bullet for them or duel a Lestrange to keep them safe, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that my mother would die for me.  That thought is both horrifying and comforting.  The thing that's reeeally crazy is the reciprocity built in, when you love people that deeply and they know it, they're bound by the same bonds of love.  To complete the nerd circle, my mom would have been a Gryffindor; she's the real life Lily Potter.

If you ever want me to cry (you'll perish, I should add) all you have to do is remind me of parents loving their kids.  I have cried at some of the most horrifically awful movies and books ("The Last Song" w/Greg Kinnear was hard to live down) against my very will because something I have never underestimated and always understood is the power of unconditional love.  So... thanks, Mom.  I love you.  Happy 50th Birthday.

PS- The people sitting at the bar last night could not get over how young you look, they thought you were forty and potentially some sort of child bride until I sorted it all out.  Love ya :)

2 comments:

  1. I think saying that you "cried" during The Last Song is somewhat of an understatement....

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