Sometimes there is a reason to wait. We have to figure out, as you say, what we would ask if we could. Piecing together the mystery of those we love is harder after they are gone but it is still possible, I think, to get a glimpse.
As Susan K says, beautifully written and every word recognisable. There bits of us there in our children (mine 56 and 52) and our grandchildren (mine aged 24-37) which I recognise and others point out. They are us, but we are not them. At weeks away from 80 I look on and love them, hoping no more that when I have gone they will think of me and smile. 🐰
"They are us, but we are not them." Exactly. I might modify that slightly to say they are "of" us but they are not us and we are not them. All those recognizable traits and familiar faces wrapped in the parent-child relationship makes for a bond that will always be there. I'm sure they will think of you and smile.
I've enjoyed a long email exchange with my father, now 90 and quite sharp, about his life as a child and as a young adult. Also about him and my mom. It's fascinating and I'm saving it all!
I had my son when I was barely sixteen. His father kidnapped him when he was five, and I didn't see him again until he was ten. When he was sixteen he lived with me and my daughter for six months, long enough to wreak havoc. Then estranged until he was twenty-nine. We maintained a tenuous relationship for many years until I wrote an essay about trying to abort my pregnancy when I was fifteen, and he took it to mean I didn't want HIM, and never loved him. We've been estranged again for several years now. He just turned sixty-four this week. I wonder about his life sometimes. I don't expect to see him again. I'm so grateful for my daughter and for our relationship. We've lived together for sixteen years now and make a great team. I'm grateful for my grandchildren, though I haven't seen my son's daughter in many years, she recently reconnected with me.
Grandchildren are another whole ball of wax. I don't have any and won't. I think this relationship can be easier than parent-child in so many ways. There is more natural curiosity and less baggage. I could always ask my grandparents anything and get more from them about their lives than they ever shared with their own kids.
Thank you for this thought provoking essay! My adult son and I are so intertwined (since I am his caregiver) and the question of what our interaction would be if I met him “in the wild” is fascinating - my attitudes about disability have been so shaped by his existence & my role as his parent. I fear that a different me would not give herself a chance to know him the way I do now - and that gives me lots of things to untangle.
I also love hearing stories from my parents’ pre-parent days. My mom would never let my dad tell his rowdy teenage stories to my brothers when we were younger, but as we’ve all aged, more is being shared :)
'I fear that a different me would not give herself a chance to know him the way I do now." -- Yes, that would give me a lot to untangle too. Your experience has profoundly shaped not only your relationship with your son but how you see him and you as individuals. Have you wondered at times how he sees you as you've both grown up so to speak?
It's great that you're getting more of those stories from your folks' pre-parent days. Write it all down! (But don't show it to them just in case:))
It's so interesting to think about how my son sees me. Especially in the last few years, as I've learned to give him more space and autonomy, I hope his understanding of me has changed. We're both, I hope, working to claim our individual-ness even without the physical distance other parents and adult children have. And this is reminding me, too, how important that is, for both of us.
I have recorded some of my parent's stories, my dad's especially because he is a storyteller by nature, and hope to collect more!
Though not exactly the same, there are strong parallels between your story and the story Meredith Hall tells in her memoir "Without a Map." She became pregnant at 16; the baby was immediately taken away for adoption. Twenty-one years later, her son found her, and they learned each other's stories. Highly recommended.
I'll add the book to my list. I suspect meeting each other as adults allows for a very conscious curiosity and effort to get to know each other that would come in handy for parents and children who've never been separated.
Thanks for this thoughtful, thought-provoking post, Betsy. I have written many times about who my parents might have been had I and my sisters not been born--especially my mother. I know my father had dreams that were not fulfilled, but my mother never spoke of hers and so I was left to make them up. My friend Drusilla once said about my first (unpublished/unfinished) novel, "You're rewriting your mother's life." And I guess that's what I did, giving her choices she never made in her "real" life.
Making up your mother's story in fiction asks you to look deeply beyond her role as a mother. This probably opens you up to all the possibilities and also gives you another chance to examine your own choices and how the woman your mom was and the life she lived impacted yours. Have you ever imagined the conversation you might have with her if she could read what you have written?
Another interesting question you've asked Betsy. I'd like to have a conversation with my mother where she could release us from our roles as mother/daughter. That was never possible when she was alive. Maybe it's not completely possible for any mother/daughter to have. But a little space might have allowed a deeper conversation.
I love that question of how differently we might see our loved ones without the parent-child relationship filtering our view. What a beautiful thought-provoking piece Elizabeth.
I just wrote the first to an open of series writings on understanding and growing with or without adult children. Its been a journey and all 4 are so different of course giving me insights and lessons sometimes that drown me in emotions until I can wade to the surface writing about it. Then the magic happens. Thank you for sharing.
I have considered it, and found some written things that offer some clues to it. I know now what I would ask, but alas, too late.
Sometimes there is a reason to wait. We have to figure out, as you say, what we would ask if we could. Piecing together the mystery of those we love is harder after they are gone but it is still possible, I think, to get a glimpse.
Beautifully written and thought provoking. All three of my sons are in their forties and I think of them as wonderful but also as strangers.
Thank you, Susan. Wonderful strangers is a good description of the children we get to know as adults.
As Susan K says, beautifully written and every word recognisable. There bits of us there in our children (mine 56 and 52) and our grandchildren (mine aged 24-37) which I recognise and others point out. They are us, but we are not them. At weeks away from 80 I look on and love them, hoping no more that when I have gone they will think of me and smile. 🐰
"They are us, but we are not them." Exactly. I might modify that slightly to say they are "of" us but they are not us and we are not them. All those recognizable traits and familiar faces wrapped in the parent-child relationship makes for a bond that will always be there. I'm sure they will think of you and smile.
I've enjoyed a long email exchange with my father, now 90 and quite sharp, about his life as a child and as a young adult. Also about him and my mom. It's fascinating and I'm saving it all!
Good! This is wonderful. You'll have it all in writing, too so you can go over it again and again. What does he ask about you and your life?
Oh, not much! Hahaha. No he keeps up with me on my social media and Substack.
I’m reading HAMNET. Amazing
This book has been on my TBR list for a long time. Thank you for reminding me to move it up the list.
I had my son when I was barely sixteen. His father kidnapped him when he was five, and I didn't see him again until he was ten. When he was sixteen he lived with me and my daughter for six months, long enough to wreak havoc. Then estranged until he was twenty-nine. We maintained a tenuous relationship for many years until I wrote an essay about trying to abort my pregnancy when I was fifteen, and he took it to mean I didn't want HIM, and never loved him. We've been estranged again for several years now. He just turned sixty-four this week. I wonder about his life sometimes. I don't expect to see him again. I'm so grateful for my daughter and for our relationship. We've lived together for sixteen years now and make a great team. I'm grateful for my grandchildren, though I haven't seen my son's daughter in many years, she recently reconnected with me.
Grandchildren are another whole ball of wax. I don't have any and won't. I think this relationship can be easier than parent-child in so many ways. There is more natural curiosity and less baggage. I could always ask my grandparents anything and get more from them about their lives than they ever shared with their own kids.
Thank you for this thought provoking essay! My adult son and I are so intertwined (since I am his caregiver) and the question of what our interaction would be if I met him “in the wild” is fascinating - my attitudes about disability have been so shaped by his existence & my role as his parent. I fear that a different me would not give herself a chance to know him the way I do now - and that gives me lots of things to untangle.
I also love hearing stories from my parents’ pre-parent days. My mom would never let my dad tell his rowdy teenage stories to my brothers when we were younger, but as we’ve all aged, more is being shared :)
'I fear that a different me would not give herself a chance to know him the way I do now." -- Yes, that would give me a lot to untangle too. Your experience has profoundly shaped not only your relationship with your son but how you see him and you as individuals. Have you wondered at times how he sees you as you've both grown up so to speak?
It's great that you're getting more of those stories from your folks' pre-parent days. Write it all down! (But don't show it to them just in case:))
It's so interesting to think about how my son sees me. Especially in the last few years, as I've learned to give him more space and autonomy, I hope his understanding of me has changed. We're both, I hope, working to claim our individual-ness even without the physical distance other parents and adult children have. And this is reminding me, too, how important that is, for both of us.
I have recorded some of my parent's stories, my dad's especially because he is a storyteller by nature, and hope to collect more!
Though not exactly the same, there are strong parallels between your story and the story Meredith Hall tells in her memoir "Without a Map." She became pregnant at 16; the baby was immediately taken away for adoption. Twenty-one years later, her son found her, and they learned each other's stories. Highly recommended.
I'll add the book to my list. I suspect meeting each other as adults allows for a very conscious curiosity and effort to get to know each other that would come in handy for parents and children who've never been separated.
Thanks for this thoughtful, thought-provoking post, Betsy. I have written many times about who my parents might have been had I and my sisters not been born--especially my mother. I know my father had dreams that were not fulfilled, but my mother never spoke of hers and so I was left to make them up. My friend Drusilla once said about my first (unpublished/unfinished) novel, "You're rewriting your mother's life." And I guess that's what I did, giving her choices she never made in her "real" life.
Making up your mother's story in fiction asks you to look deeply beyond her role as a mother. This probably opens you up to all the possibilities and also gives you another chance to examine your own choices and how the woman your mom was and the life she lived impacted yours. Have you ever imagined the conversation you might have with her if she could read what you have written?
Another interesting question you've asked Betsy. I'd like to have a conversation with my mother where she could release us from our roles as mother/daughter. That was never possible when she was alive. Maybe it's not completely possible for any mother/daughter to have. But a little space might have allowed a deeper conversation.
I feel like I know more about my mom than my dad, yet strangely I feel like I’m more my dad than my mom. If that makes any sense
It does make sense. Which of the two knows you best, do you think?
I love that question of how differently we might see our loved ones without the parent-child relationship filtering our view. What a beautiful thought-provoking piece Elizabeth.
Thank you for the kind word, Vicki. It's fun to imagine -- I'm not sure it is ever going to be possible but the desire remains all the same.
I just wrote the first to an open of series writings on understanding and growing with or without adult children. Its been a journey and all 4 are so different of course giving me insights and lessons sometimes that drown me in emotions until I can wade to the surface writing about it. Then the magic happens. Thank you for sharing.