Generational Reflections

Kindly, Mom I'm not sure if I'm writing this letter to you or to myself. Either way, I would like to say this many years after you left: "Please accept my apologies." I'm not even aware that I have any faith in Paradise. I can assume that what was demonstrated during my upbringing may have some validity. When the time is right for the hereafter, perhaps we all discover the truth of our existence after death. Regardless, what I am aware of and believe in is the way that parenthood can be challenging yet wonderful.

I've hated my home life and the adults who constantly brought need, dread, and agony to my innocent presence for most of my adult life and youth.

It felt so right, so easy, to use you as a stand-in for all the uncertainty that occupied my active days. Basically, considering that you were present. Unlike the miserable excuse for a father, your unfaithful partner, and your harsh gatekeeper. Still, let's talk more about ourselves.

This apology I'm putting out there for everyone to see is the result of years and years of discernment. Evaluation of your nurturing proficiency or lack thereof. Criticism of our insufficient lifestyle. assessment of "the Monster's" apparent lack of insurance.

Being a mother and grandmother has made me acutely aware of my own shortcomings and the struggles I face in tending to the emotional and physical needs of the people I love more than life itself.

Tension was at an all-time high as I was delivering your most treasured grandchild since I knew very little about caring. I read books offering guidance for an adventure that never went well in my family as a child and took "Nurturing Abilities" seminars as an overreaction to not having the parental model I expected to emulate.

One beautiful evening, as I watched my infant marvel at the beauty of a flower garden, I summed up my nurturing approach in one phrase. "I will bring my kids up in resistance to all that I know." It's as simple as that! It was so simple! Or was it something else entirely? What stands in contrast to what I've seen and learned?

How conceited, how elevated, how irrational. I am in my seventh decade of life, and I am loved, cared for, and appreciated everywhere I go. I've now had the chance to acknowledge everything that your parents, society, and personal presumptions denied you. As they say, you were a product of your time. But would we then affirm or refute that we all are at that point? When men can be "Rulers of their palaces," there's very little chance that you'll ever be the King. You were not quite as credulous as he was.

I remember how talented and excellent "mother" was. I loved listening to your crystal-clear, beautiful voice fill the noon air as you repeatedly undertook similarly difficult tasks, under the guidance of women's magazines worldwide. You were neat and organised, and obedient. Sadly, you were seduced by the Marlboro guy into a habit that would rob you of your heavenly voices. And after that, your craft. Your depictions were really skillful! Gucci would have cringed at the unusual clothing designs and style blueprints you cut out of paper. Either way, nobody was inspired by you or believed in you. Your pencil and pen have left the page in this manner.

When my family assembles around the table to eat, laugh, and share tales, I'm transported back to a time when there wasn't enough room at the table, when there wasn't much to eat, and when our memories were spoken in low tones rather than through laughter.

It would be unjust and terrible, so very cruel, to look at the struggles of a mistreated mother of six, living in poverty, in a time that shamed and ignored those who were not as fortunate.

Some people concur that "She gave it her all." I say, not a single one of us does. There could never be letters like this, even in the unlikely event that we did. In any event, what is the ideal for an individual? That's just another well-informed choice, isn't it?