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. 🐰
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.
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 :)
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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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. 🐰
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’m reading HAMNET. Amazing
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.
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 :)
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.
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.
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
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.