I was sixteen when my father died. My mother told me that she didn’t know how to offer me guidance after that point because, “I don’t really understand men.” But she was very wrong about what she had to offer me. She taught by example. She demonstrated courageous, adventurous, passionate engagement with her life and community, a gift I still draw strength from.
Ironically, I became a couples therapist, not because I was inspired by the example my parents set for me, but because I learned first hand about so much of what doesn’t work in a partnership from them. Not that they didn’t love each other. I believe they did. But their marriage was difficult and my mother, in particular, was ground down by being caretaker for four children. She cooked, cleaned house, played secretary to my father’s various business ventures and overall complemented his initiatives. She yearned for the opportunity to have a connection to the world beyond the home. And when their marriage of thirty-odd years ended she never looked back.
My father came by his sense of entitlement honestly if such a thing can be said or make any sense. When we were alone, I was my mother’s confidant. She explained that, because my paternal grandfather, tailor by trade, had lost his eyesight when my father was in elementary school, he—five ten by the time he was twelve years old—had been working, building and repairing tracks in the New York subway at a time that his age would have dictated he report to junior high school. With his fifth grade education, and later sporting runner-up status in the Golden Gloves, he made his way to manhood. One hundred percent old school. He was a thoughtful and even a sensitive man but questioning his right to exercise prerogatives and control in his home was, to his mind, neither real nor right. He worked hard and felt entitled to be attended to when he got home.
My mother was a loving and devoted parent but also felt trapped with her brood of four. Intellectually gifted, she had entered college at sixteen, become certified to teach and began a career as a NYC public school teacher. She aspired to be out in the world making a contribution. She never complained about being unable to work but when my father died at fifty-two after decades of Chesterfields she struck out for survival and fulfillment.
One position led to another as she proved herself an enormous help to a number of outfits. She ended up working as a counselor to the elderly community in Brooklyn Heights. Her ‘office’ was a table and chair street level outside the St. George Hotel in an enclosed area adjacent to the subway entrance. From that post she counseled those who needed basic services like heat and food and sometimes shelter. She became extremely knowledgeable about local services and made a difference in many an aging person’s life. This gift, the fact that she had a rebirth in the latter part of her life, that she achieved a sense of meaning and connection for herself was immeasurably precious to me and my three sisters. She showed us that it is never too late to bring meaning and purpose into your day. When I work with clients of any age who may feel overwhelmed by challenging obstacles, I can convey optimism about the possibility that the best may be just around the corner. Because I know that this can be the truth. So much depends on being able to see and appreciate this possibility. How do I know? My mom showed me it was so.
Comments are welcomed. What did your mother give you that are you most grateful for?
