-We are just out for brunch with my Mother-in-Law, what about you guys?
-Oh, I don't know... She said. But what is it she did not say?
When I was carrying my son, and for a while after he was born, people would ask me: "So, is your Mother coming then?" "Hell, no!!!", is what I didn't say. "My mother is a sick, sick woman and I hope to avoid seeing her for many years to come," did not come out of my mouth either.
"But she is your Muthah!", shouts Tony Evans, "she gave birth to you! (gasp) She raised you! (gasp) You must hoooonuh your Muthah!!!" Zealous, and a bit oxygen deprived from shouting, Tony fails to read in faces of some of his listeners : "She beat me half dead! She pimped me out for a fix! She held me while I was being raped!", and less shocking, but as damaging "She always talked about how I ruined her life! She hit me for crying! She said she's embarrassed that I'm so fat! She did nothing as I was abused, humiliated, as my very soul was crushed, torn, and defiled!"
The problem with honouring any group of individuals, be they united by profession, race, gender, or having mothered or fathered someone, is that within such a group there is always dishonour. Man has managed to bring dishonor everywhere.
"So now, let's have all the Mothers stand up, and let's give them a hand. For all the love they have given, and all their hard work." And ladies in hats and with corsages stand up, smiling shyly, while men and children clap, looking up at them adoringly. A few women remained seated. It's a wonder that a woman unable to conceive year after year despite all the prayer one can offer even musters enough courage to come to Church on Mother's day Sunday. Many don't. Foster mothers, step-mothers, once mothers of children that passed, almost mothers that miscarried, or had an abortion. And daughters. Abused daughters, neglected daughters, orphaned daughters, adopted daughters, lost daughters, unwanted daughters...
"Nobody wants a friend like you! You are too complicated. And then you dare to act all unhappy, when it's all your own fault! Just don't be like that. So dark! If you just act simple, people will like you a lot more." "Heifer, don't you think I know that! Please. You are too dumb to get me anyway. And you are not my friend either, " is what I didn't say. I just stood there, lowered my eyes, unable to tell the truth. I still don't really have a lot of friends. She was right. Nobody wants a friend like me. Dark and complicated.
Daughters are loyal. Any daughter is loyal to any mother. For better, for worse. Amidst deepest of hatred, there is sadness even deeper. Sadness of a motherless daughter. Sadness that sends a woman running from herself, her essence as a woman and a mother. Sends her running as far as she can get from the Mother. Or else cause her to descend into the depths seeking to feel a Mother presence.
Any horror story told by a daughter of her mother is speckled with compassion, mournfulness, even love. Perhaps disguised, but it is there.
Daughter are loyal.
-Oh, I don't know... She said. But what is it she did not say?
When I was carrying my son, and for a while after he was born, people would ask me: "So, is your Mother coming then?" "Hell, no!!!", is what I didn't say. "My mother is a sick, sick woman and I hope to avoid seeing her for many years to come," did not come out of my mouth either.
"But she is your Muthah!", shouts Tony Evans, "she gave birth to you! (gasp) She raised you! (gasp) You must hoooonuh your Muthah!!!" Zealous, and a bit oxygen deprived from shouting, Tony fails to read in faces of some of his listeners : "She beat me half dead! She pimped me out for a fix! She held me while I was being raped!", and less shocking, but as damaging "She always talked about how I ruined her life! She hit me for crying! She said she's embarrassed that I'm so fat! She did nothing as I was abused, humiliated, as my very soul was crushed, torn, and defiled!"
The problem with honouring any group of individuals, be they united by profession, race, gender, or having mothered or fathered someone, is that within such a group there is always dishonour. Man has managed to bring dishonor everywhere.
"So now, let's have all the Mothers stand up, and let's give them a hand. For all the love they have given, and all their hard work." And ladies in hats and with corsages stand up, smiling shyly, while men and children clap, looking up at them adoringly. A few women remained seated. It's a wonder that a woman unable to conceive year after year despite all the prayer one can offer even musters enough courage to come to Church on Mother's day Sunday. Many don't. Foster mothers, step-mothers, once mothers of children that passed, almost mothers that miscarried, or had an abortion. And daughters. Abused daughters, neglected daughters, orphaned daughters, adopted daughters, lost daughters, unwanted daughters...
"Nobody wants a friend like you! You are too complicated. And then you dare to act all unhappy, when it's all your own fault! Just don't be like that. So dark! If you just act simple, people will like you a lot more." "Heifer, don't you think I know that! Please. You are too dumb to get me anyway. And you are not my friend either, " is what I didn't say. I just stood there, lowered my eyes, unable to tell the truth. I still don't really have a lot of friends. She was right. Nobody wants a friend like me. Dark and complicated.
Daughters are loyal. Any daughter is loyal to any mother. For better, for worse. Amidst deepest of hatred, there is sadness even deeper. Sadness of a motherless daughter. Sadness that sends a woman running from herself, her essence as a woman and a mother. Sends her running as far as she can get from the Mother. Or else cause her to descend into the depths seeking to feel a Mother presence.
Any horror story told by a daughter of her mother is speckled with compassion, mournfulness, even love. Perhaps disguised, but it is there.
Daughter are loyal.
