Mothers and Daughters

Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime.
                                                            ~William Shakespeare

In some cultures there is a reincarnation belief – elderly family members who have passed away come back as children in the same family and the cycle continues. In theory, a mother with a daughter may be parenting the reincarnated essence of her mother – the child and the grandmother have the same spirit. This is simplistic, of course. There is a complicated belief system involved but what I wonder is, can the child be born while the grandmother is still alive and still be inhabited by the spirit of the grandmother? And the bigger question – how does the mother, caught between two such powerful female forces, fit in? Talk about being caught between the proverbial rock and hard place. The solution, I suppose is to be still and listen and learn.

One of my daughters resembles her father’s mother and the other, alas, is my mother reborn. Strange that I should say “alas” when all my friends thought my mom was THE BEST. They enjoyed her acceptance and hospitality but Mom and I circled and locked horns over almost everything until I moved away from home. It took time and distance to transform us into good friends.

When daughter number two, the one just like my mother, was growing up, my spider senses told me to watch out. She had inherited what we called the “Grandma” gene. This child of mine was someone to be reckoned with. Her fierce determination and persistence, her stubborn pride, her ability to meet challenges head on, and her open honesty were, at first, points of contention, especially with her grandmother. “Dear, you can have a cookie if you help me in the kitchen.” “It’s okay Grandma, I don’t want a cookie.”

 

I watched in wonder as the child and the grandmother took turns, shooting and scoring. One or the other was always saying the wrong thing, looking at each other sideways, pushing away rather than drawing together. They circled each other like the opposite poles of a magnet not knowing that if they each just turned a little bit, they would be drawn together by a mighty force. I wasn’t the referee in this action but a fence-walker, often losing my balance and falling soundly into one camp or the other.

These women, my mother and my daughter, never knew each other as adults, but as my daughter grew older, I noticed something else. I learned that these powerful characteristics – the ones that made me crazy – were good and honourable and incredibly handy when it came to dealing with the curves life throws at us. Tenacity, determination, persistence and her constant open honesty have serve her well. Through my daughter, I learned to understand my mother better.

 Sometimes I hear a voice coming out of my mouth that isn’t mine, but I surely do recognize it. And sometimes, when my daughter speaks to her children – my lord, it sounds like me. Have I been an active participant in this dance all along? If you were to ask my husband, he’d tell you the “Grandma” gene didn’t skip a generation at all – that I am my mother and my daughter is me.

                                                                                               

Double-Edged Sword

March, Epilepsy Awareness month in Canada, is here again and the update on our guy couldn’t be better. He is happy, healthy and busy catching up.

Over the past seven years, there have been many ups and downs – a first seizure seven years ago, followed by many more, began  a perilous journey. At first there were many seizures each day, varying in intensity and type, loss of speech and awareness – we were all on the roller coaster to hell. But you do what you can. You cope. You have no choice.

Many tests, many doctors, much angst and over a year later, our guy’s drug combination finally controlled his seizures. He got stronger, became more aware. He began talking again. But the side-effects kept him unfocused and tired, making it difficult for him to learn or play games that had rules to follow. He was easily distracted, came unglued easily, and he had sensory issues, especially with food.

There have been ups and downs at school – a couple of amazing teachers have gently guided him but there have been others who have exemplified the quote, “The most important thing a child with special needs learns in a school setting is that he is flawed and that flaw is the most important thing about him.” We hope for the good ones. Preserving his rights and his dignity has been an ongoing challenge for his mom. But there have been wonderful teachers, amazing summer vacations, hikes with his mom and brothers, movie nights, snuggles and much love.

So here we are, more than half way through grade four. Our guy has been drug-free since Christmas. His amazing teacher guides him with love and respect and is as excited as we are at the rate his attention span, his interest level, and his reading ability are improving. For the first time ever, he doesn’t want to miss school. He is trying new foods, he is learning to swim and this past winter he went skiing.

But it is a double-edged sword. On one side there is hope – hope that the seizures don’t return and that our guy never has to spend another minute in that lost world he inhabited for six years. We hope he continues to grow stronger and learn and succeed. Dare we hope there is a bright future for this young man who is so kind and so bright. 

The other edge of the sword is fear – the incomprehensible fear that in the blink of an eye, our guy’s world can be turned upside down again with a return to seizures. There are no guarantees, only the hope that this nightmare is over. There are lesser fears – next year our guy will go off to middle school where he will be a little fish in a big pond. Will he find teachers that will nurture and gently guide him or will our guy be destroyed emotionally yet again? He will have friends but there will also be bullies – can he cope? Can his big brother be close enough and strong enough to help him? Hope and fear go hand in hand.

We wait in fear for the other shoe to drop and we hope that it does not. We remember the terrifying day long ago and the long physical and emotional struggle to get our guy back. We look to the future with optimism. Even though the journey has been terrifying at times, frustrating at others, we have no choice but to go forward and no desire to go back. We are all changed but our guy is doing well. The journey has been worth the struggle. Today our guy is an amazing young man.

 March is Epilepsy Awareness Month in Canada. Go to http://www.epilepsy.ca to learn more about seizure disorders. Education is the key to understanding!

A little late, but ... oh well.

On the Sunday sandwiched between Black Friday and Cyber Monday (which is probably relevant to the crankiness of the shopping hoards) I stopped at Bed, Bath and Beyond. But before I rant on, I must say that the staff at BB&B is a shopper’s dream. Everyone is polite, smiling, and helpful. I don’t know how they all remain pleasant under such busy circumstances but they do and I truly appreciate it.

I had phoned ahead for the item I wanted so I know they have it put away somewhere. At Customer Service I wait for a very long time while a man buying stools hits on the clerk. When it is my turn, I ask the very nice young lady if my item is put aside. She says no but she will check with the cashiers at the front of the store. Another customer stands behind me, impatiently fidgeting and huffing. How dare I hold up the line while the clerk goes to find my merchandise? She sighs, very loudly and directly. I turn around and glare at her.

“What?! I dropped something,” she says, which is clearly not the case but I suppose she needs some sort of defence because she has been pretty rude. The obvious audible agitation was aimed at me – how dare I take the time to ask a question. I refuse to be treated like a pain in the neck so I give her the look, the up and down, up and down – the green-eyed stare. It wasn’t until the second up and down that she looked away. A point for me.

The clerk comes back with my item and I take it to the checkout with the shortest line. It is a slow process. I am standing behind a couple of other customers and there is another lady behind me. We form an obvious line. Just as the couple in front of me approaches the till, a tall, well-dressed 30-something shoots out from between two display shelves and stands in front of me. “Excuse me,” I say.

“I have been standing behind this man for a long time,” she says.

“Not nearly as long as I have,” I say.

“Oh. Whatever,” she says, obviously displeased and maybe a little embarrassed. She moves to stand in another line and the lady behind me chuckles.

Have I just had the unfortunate experience of meeting two unpleasant people and everyone else is just fine or are there other dynamics at play here. My recent women and gender studies course and my research on ageism causes me to question motives and view myself as I never have before – as a disappearing entity with little value in our society. I have always hated condescension and I will not step out of the way because some sweet young thing is in a hurry, just because she thinks I should.

I am not sure who I should be angry with. Should I be upset with our culture and our society because it places little value on the elderly because they are no longer a functioning cog in the wheel? Should I be upset only with the young women because of their displays of condescending bad manners? Or should I be upset with myself and other women my age? After all, my generation raised these pretentious, self-centered individuals. We strived to give our children the all the things we didn’t have. We wanted to make their lives easier, not realizing that a little struggle was okay and instant gratification wasn’t such a good thing. They lived an advantaged life. We were too generous.

The whole experience was a bit unsettling. However, there was a little spark of joy glowing in my heart as I left the store. As I passed the other checkouts I noticed that the young woman who wanted my place in line was still standing about four people back at another check-out.