;)
Tuesday
Apr052011
Lies
Tuesday, April 5, 2011 at 11:27PM
Children are wretched secret-keepers because they haven't yet learned to detach themselves from the rest of humanity and live solely in their own heads. This is arguably their greatest attribute.
My sons told my daughter about my mother. It was an accident, an off-the-cuff like duh remark made one day in passing that she zeroed in on and has been hunting since.
Your mother hurt you?
Your mother doesn't... ...love...you?
She cannot grasp the concept of a mother not loving her child and I thank every god I can think of for this gift.
She associated fear with the word 'mother', and I cannot make this better for her. She was thrust, headfirst, into her gene pool and now she will have to learn to swim in it, just as I did. She cries sometimes because she doesn't want to grow anymore so she can't be married so she won't have babies and I tell her that she doesn't have to do any of those things. I hold her in my arms and tell her lies that feel like wishes; you don't have to grow anymore. You can stay right here in my arms forever. I will always be your momma and you will always be my little girl and no one can change that.
Her questions come faster than I can bear to answer them, ruthlessly unrelenting, hashing over old details that taste bitter against my tongue. I sweeten and spice and kneed them so they are palatable to her fragile heart. She asks what did you do, and I answer nothing every single time, as if the repetition will lead to belief. She wonders why I don't call my mother and I tell her that I don't know where she is. She informs me emphatically that I need to tell my faddur and he will tell my mudder that I am sorry, because if you say you're sorry and you mean it then everything can be okay again.
I take her face into my hands and stare as deeply as I can into her perfect big brown wondrous eyes and I tell her that she is right, silly old me; I will do that right away.
The shades of gray that color the excuses I make for what happened - my mother was broken and it wasn't her fault, that it didn't hurt me and I am not sad - give way to the vibrance she recklessly splashes across my past.
She asks me if we can go see my mudder after my fadder talks to her and I say in crimsons of course we can, bugga-boo. She asks if my mother will hurt her and I tell her pensively orange no, my mother will love you so much. The truth in that statement rips new holes in my heart. She asks what we will do and I tell her powder-bluely that my mother will read you a story and you will have tea and you could even brush my mother's hair if you'd like; she always loved that. She asks what color my mother's hair is and I realize that my mother isn't yet a person for her, merely a concept.
This has nothing to do with my mother, and everything to do with knowing that her mother can be hurt.
I keep waiting for her to move on from this but she cannot. So I continue to lie to her, and I will as long as she will let me, because I don't know how to share this truth with a five year old child. I cannot. She tells me that maybe she could grow up, and when she does she can be my mother, and I tell her that would be the grandest thing of all, gosh you'd make a good momma for me. She sleeps easier, knowing she has healed me, while not knowing at all that she is healing me.
Together we paint different pictures over this canvas I drag around with me, flooding the gray spaces of my life with her bright lightness.
{Separate yet equal: we're talking on Momversation about tragedies, and how much you tell your kids.}
My sons told my daughter about my mother. It was an accident, an off-the-cuff like duh remark made one day in passing that she zeroed in on and has been hunting since.
Your mother hurt you?
Your mother doesn't... ...love...you?
She cannot grasp the concept of a mother not loving her child and I thank every god I can think of for this gift.
She associated fear with the word 'mother', and I cannot make this better for her. She was thrust, headfirst, into her gene pool and now she will have to learn to swim in it, just as I did. She cries sometimes because she doesn't want to grow anymore so she can't be married so she won't have babies and I tell her that she doesn't have to do any of those things. I hold her in my arms and tell her lies that feel like wishes; you don't have to grow anymore. You can stay right here in my arms forever. I will always be your momma and you will always be my little girl and no one can change that.
Her questions come faster than I can bear to answer them, ruthlessly unrelenting, hashing over old details that taste bitter against my tongue. I sweeten and spice and kneed them so they are palatable to her fragile heart. She asks what did you do, and I answer nothing every single time, as if the repetition will lead to belief. She wonders why I don't call my mother and I tell her that I don't know where she is. She informs me emphatically that I need to tell my faddur and he will tell my mudder that I am sorry, because if you say you're sorry and you mean it then everything can be okay again.
I take her face into my hands and stare as deeply as I can into her perfect big brown wondrous eyes and I tell her that she is right, silly old me; I will do that right away.
The shades of gray that color the excuses I make for what happened - my mother was broken and it wasn't her fault, that it didn't hurt me and I am not sad - give way to the vibrance she recklessly splashes across my past.
She asks me if we can go see my mudder after my fadder talks to her and I say in crimsons of course we can, bugga-boo. She asks if my mother will hurt her and I tell her pensively orange no, my mother will love you so much. The truth in that statement rips new holes in my heart. She asks what we will do and I tell her powder-bluely that my mother will read you a story and you will have tea and you could even brush my mother's hair if you'd like; she always loved that. She asks what color my mother's hair is and I realize that my mother isn't yet a person for her, merely a concept.
This has nothing to do with my mother, and everything to do with knowing that her mother can be hurt.
I keep waiting for her to move on from this but she cannot. So I continue to lie to her, and I will as long as she will let me, because I don't know how to share this truth with a five year old child. I cannot. She tells me that maybe she could grow up, and when she does she can be my mother, and I tell her that would be the grandest thing of all, gosh you'd make a good momma for me. She sleeps easier, knowing she has healed me, while not knowing at all that she is healing me.
Together we paint different pictures over this canvas I drag around with me, flooding the gray spaces of my life with her bright lightness.
{Separate yet equal: we're talking on Momversation about tragedies, and how much you tell your kids.}
Reader Comments (36)
She is the sweetest thing, and a large part of that is because you are her mom. She is also practical. She told me this weekend to eat my fiber gummies so I could poop good. All things to all people, that one.
I really appreciated what you had to share. I enjoyed your post.
The innocence takes my breath away. So does the betrayal, and the hurt.
That's beautiful, Shan. She is and you are.
I was all choked up and then I read BusyDad's comment.
Thank you Jim, now I am remembering my mother telling me to eat more fibre.
Shannon - us motherless daughters? We can only hope for colour to be splashed across the canvases our mothers leave with us. 3of3 is painting a beautiful rainbow on yours!
I completely freaked out at one point in that video, when the video footage of you and Tanis were stacked up each other, you looked way too much alike...
I wish I could keep some of the tragedies etc away from my son, but I'm thrown into it every day of my life. I wish I could get back some of my innocence. Seriously, I hate the things in my head most days.
I want to be surrounded by unicorns and rainbows, not meth heads.
Lies http://bit.ly/fWlkcz #mom blog
Oh I am choked up, Shannon. By your writing and as always, by your transparency. Children are the greatest healers. Mine healed me, and continue to do so.
Loved this.
She's a beautiful child, she really is. Glad she is healing you
Your daughter is a creature of great magic and joy. So glad you have her in your life.
this is beautiful and I'm glad to know that the little one can help heal you. i love you
She's so sensitive and lovely.
My daughter finally asked about my mom. I gave my mother a karmic pass and told my daughter she was sick in her brain in a way that made it impossible to make good choices and behave appropriately. I told her that my job as a mom is to protect my daughter and that in this case, it is my job to not let my mother be a part of our lives. Boy howdy, did this create some complicated questions.
My best wishes to you in your journey to answer all your daughter's questions in ways that make her feel secure in your love and allow her to view you as the pillar of strength you are.
She's good people, and that's because she has a wonderful mother. I want her to be my mom when she grows up.
Those are the hardest talks. I remember when Avery realized for real that my dad had died when I was young, she just burst into tears, proclaiming "But little girls NEED their daddies."
I love your words, and I love your colors, and I love the amazing soul 3of3 has within her and how you two bring out the best in each other. Tell her that if all else fails, I'll be your mudder. xoxo
I hate how much I get this, but I so do.
Damn kids and their damn questions.
The best we can hope for as parents is to do a better job at it than ours did. For people whose parents were utterly horrid that should be easy, because anything is an improvement over being a complete failure at something right?
But at the same time being the product of failed parenting makes it almost impossible to do better.
You have. By light years. You deserve be *SO* proud of yourself for that.
I see in you the strength and love that is in my own wonderful mother...
I am the daughter of a daughter with a hurtful mother. As I've grown older (I'm 36 with three kids of my own, now) I've come to realize, slowly, how much my mother has shielded us from her mother, and how colorful the stories are that she embellished for us from the tatters of her own mother/daughter relationship. And always, her mother, although we know her in small carefully orchestrated and scripted visits, still remains more of a concept to us than a reality.
Thank you for being the mother your mother would not be.
Lordy. It's a good one. Our babies can heal us. Lies - http://www.whiskeyinmysippycup.com/2011/04/06/lies/
That she can't imagine a bad mommy is such a tribute to you.
this.
"She cannot grasp the concept of a mother not loving her child and I thank every god I can think of for this gift."
Afuckingmen. YOU did that, Shannon. Be proud of that, okay?
xoxo
Beautiful. BTW, you are a child of the universe, and it loves you madly.
Oh dear. It will be a few years before I get there but as I wonder who my baby will be and what he/she will look like, I can't help but wonder what lies I will tell when the same subject comes up about my Dad, who I still cry over regularly. I hope my angel is as sweet as yours.
My daughter is 28 now. I remember bruised and tender conversations like this. I couldn't bring myself to outright lie or to tell the truth so I did what I do....I made up stories.
So difficult and heartbreakingly innocent.
It is a concept even I still don't understand. The only thing that keeps me from having these same conversations about MY mother with my kids, is that they have seen my mother in action. She has been controling and hurtful to them...so they don't ask.
What is even better...is that they think it is jsut HER...not them, not me, not mothers in general. Just HER. I have explained that SHE is what happens when people are bitter and angry...
xoxo, I tell people all the time, she has made ME a better parent...every day!
Beauty and Pain--two sides of a coin.
Amazing post.
You are a wonderful mom and your daughter is a testament to that. It's difficult to realize that your mom can be hurt. Even as an adult, it's hard. But I remember being that age and seeing my mom cry. It was hard. Thankfully you were there to help explain it and comfort her. Not all moms are. As you know.
Shark-shaped, if you're lucky.
This made my heart ache, and beat faster and mix all the red blood and the blue blood into a big, mish-mashed, glob of thumping organ.
And, now I'm pouring purple all over your canvas to cover every bit of gray I can.
You repeatedly share about such raw and personal experiences and it is not only courageous, but so helpful to so many people.
We are ultimately going to have these types of conversations with our kids about my father-in-law and it is honestly so helpful to see how someone else is handling it.
Thank you.
Wow. My older 2 (12 & 15) knew my father, they know that we will never see him again, they know why, I hate that they have to know why and that I have to warn them to stay away if they happen to see him (they won't, I hope). My younger two (5 & 2 - mainly the 5yo) have just started asking why I don't have a Father. Why Nana doesn't have a Grandpa to complete the pair. I can't tell them. I don't even know how to go about thinking about telling them. I hope I can avoid it for a long time yet with just vague statements about "gone" and "don't have one". I don't want them to ever have to know those things.
Thank you for writing this post. Just, thank you.
My children have recently begun to question me about my mother and the reasons why she isn't in my life or theirs (specially after my grandpa's funeral in December when she sat two rows ahead of us). It hurts my heart every.single.time. I struggle to explain physical and emotional violence from a parent towards a child to my children without scarring them. I've settled on "she has issues and she's not a good person so I won't let you be around her". It's working so far but they are 15, 11 and 10 and that answer won't work forever. They are too damn smart.
You are an incredible mom and the sentence, "She informs me emphatically that I need to tell my faddur and he will tell my mudder that I am sorry, because if you say you’re sorry and you mean it then everything can be okay again" almost made me sob at my desk. I wish it worked that way.
I want to be you when I grow up. Lovely, lovely post.
Um artigo muito bom.
This post is perfectly beautiful to me. My mom was very young when her mom died. After that, her father remarried someone awful, and the short version of the story is that there's a major period of my mom's life that she simply doesn't discuss. I know there was a lot of pain in her life. I don't know if there was abuse or what kind of abuse it might have been, but it's really hard to watch. I'm 28 now, and my mom is in her 60s, and I'm still trying to heal her. It's very important to your little girl to make her mommy happy, and that will never change. One day, your sharing your story with her will make her an even stronger and more loving person.