Now my close friends with grown daughters are bidding them farewell, I'm realising what we put our mothers through in our rush to leave home and explore the world.
I was brought up with a "can-do, don't-complain" attitude. I was told I could be whatever I wanted to be. It was this belief their prompted me to leave home at seventeen to start working full-time. I only looked back long enough to see the tears running down my mother's cheeks as my train pulled out of the station. I was too excited by the unknown to cry, but I did feel selfish for leaving her behind.
Her life had revolved around me and my brother for so long, I couldn't imagine what she'd do with her time now that she was an empty-nester. I had the rest of my life ahead of me—her life was over! (wry smile)
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| Mum around the time I left home |
Of course, both of our lives changed at that point.
The norm in the rural town I spent my teen years was to marry a local boy and move a few streets away from your parents. You were born, lived, and died in the same community, and while there's nothing wrong with this cycle, it wasn't a ride I wanted to take. I wanted more. I didn't know what, but I knew it couldn't be found where I lived. It was time to leave.
Although my departure made me feel like a grown up, I realised many years later that it was just the start of my apprenticeship into adulthood. An apprenticeship that continues to this day. For my mother though, it was just the continuation of a lifetime of worry. No matter how old I got, I'd always be her little girl.
I’ll always be your little girl.
But now amid this foggy day.
Our past floats by on beads of loss.
And our shared memories drift away.
Excerpt from: A Turbulent Mind
Over the years I moved around continuously. A familiar pattern started during a childhood hopscotching around different Air Force bases. Moving and starting again didn't bother me. But the further I moved away from my mother, the more guilty and selfish I felt. It didn't stop me, but it did hang around my neck like a millstone. I travelled back to visit as often as I could, but I always left.
In my late-twenties I went on holiday to the States for a month. But ended up cancelling my return ticket and settling in New York.
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| Jay in NYC 1989 |
The call to my mother letting her know I wasn't coming back from holiday was really difficult. I didn't handle it well. I went out and got drunk on Absolut and Cranberry, and waited until I knew she would be out at work. When she got home, she was greeted with a slurred answerphone message telling her I was never coming home. My hangover the next morning paled in comparison to the guilt and shame I felt for the cowardly way I'd shared my news about my move.
It took me a couple of weeks to summon the courage to call her and apologise. My stomach was in knots. I dialled her number. I told her how guilty I felt for leaving her that message, and how guilty I felt about my impromptu decision to move to America.
I braced for a telling off, or at the very least, a guilt trip—instead, she knocked the wind out of my sails. "It reflects well on me that you have the confidence to do something that most people would be too scared to do" she said. "I'm so proud of you," Now it was my time to cry.
I'll never forget that conversation, and the support and selfless love my mother showed me during that call. Over the years it had helped me to manage the guilt of being away from her for long periods of time. Her words became the beacon that spurred me onto bigger and bigger adventures. She is now at the stage of her dementia that she longer knows that I'm her daughter. But my relationship with my Mum will always be my most precious relationship.
About Jay Artale
Jay Artale abandoned her corporate career to become a digital nomad and full-time writer. She’s an avid blogger, podcaster, and nonfiction author helping travel writers and travel bloggers achieve their self-publishing goals. She shares tips, advice, and inspiration to writers with an independent spirit at her website Birds of a Feather Press, and documents her travels and artistic endeavours at her blog Roving Jay. Follow her on Instagram or Facebook or Twitter.
5 comments:
What a lovely tribute to your motner, Jay! My own amazing mother developed Alzheimer's and passed away two years ago. I would love to read A Turbulent Mind. Writing the book was an act of courage.
Such a touching and positive piece. Your mother sounds amazing.
I've read your book A Turbulent Mind, and as a son of a mother who had dementia, it resonated with me, big time.
Lovely, Jay. An amazing woman as are you too.
Jay, I've friends with dementia and feel blessed that they still know who I am. I prepare for each phone call reminding me that our life adventures may have left their memory. Your post is a lovely tribute to your mum.
Wow, what an amazing mother you have to be able to give you the positive reinforcement you needed at that time.
My heart goes out to you regarding the dementia. My mother also has dementia, though she has not gotten to the point of forgetting who her children are--though our names don't always come to her mind. With nine children she has always had a penchant for getting the first six mixed up with the last three--particularly among the five girls. But every once in a while she tells me a story about her childhood I've never heard before, and it is gold.
Thank you for sharing this part of your life and your relationship with your mother.
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