MOTHERS DAY 2010 Mothers Day Twenty-ten
I am in Palm Springs alone. Alone by choice, with my writing and my thoughts on Mother’s Day. And I just “got” that I need to write the most difficult letter I needed to, and it is to you. My firstborn son. Right now Larry is trying to figure out how I can talk it to you with Skype or I-movie on my computer, so that you can see “the look on my face” that you said you wanted to see that Thanksgiving two years ago when you surprised me and walked in the door with Brian at Larry’s folks’ in San Diego.
There I did it.
It’s now Monday morning. I looked at what I said after we filmed me yesterday, but now I can only remember the essence of it: “I want to be closer, and I love you.” Here’s what I wrote by hand in a notebook yesterday. I was giving myself a computer break as my own Mother’s Day treat:
The video worked. I don’t know when or how I will send it to you but I will, and now lubricated with only three sips of the Martini I promised myself for after I communicated with you, I’ll finish the letter I promised myself I’d do this Mother’s Day – exactly eleven years from the one you didn’t make it to California. The one I call my “Mother’s Day from Hell.” The one that you stood up both me and some sweet girl you met at camp for her senior prom in San Francisco. I bring this up not to slap you in the face with those memories, but to tell you that I have come to believe that there were unseen gifts in that day, for both you and I, some of which are only beginning to be realized.
I don’t know where to begin, but I’m going to follow the thoughts in my head as I sit in a beach chair listening to birdcalls and looking at the palm trees and the high desert mountains behind Kevin & Chip’s house. I was just remembering that I did the math long ago, and figured that very Mother’s Day weekend was likely when Lily got pregnant with Carter. And you know Brad, I hope that somehow for both of you it was a beautiful moment, that someday, even now, you can appreciate that for what it was/is. Lily is an amazing young woman. You’ll see that on the website for a book I’m writing on Invisible Grandparenting, and in “Chapter One: The Backstory” when the book comes out. How and when I am going to explain this entire process to you remains to be seen, but I will. And I trust that you will understand. And I hope you will call later tonight and that I’m not asleep by then.
Somehow I don’t think it’s important for us to go into all that stuff about why I chose, or had chosen for me THIS MOMENT in my 65 (yikes!) year old life, to finally at long last get my “voice” heard. You’ve known of my ambition to be a writer since you were a baby and I was finishing the doctoral dissertation that I delivered to the post office, quite literally in labor, two hours before you were born.
But somehow, after all the doubts and fears and self-deprecation about not feeling “good enough” to write the best seller I had the balls to think my life story could be; and after all of the excuses in the form of relationships, money and careers I pursued that were all “masks” of some sort; after all the psychological and spiritual work I’ve done on myself up till now: something tells me that my contribution to the planet still has to do with me. With me being honest enough to not choke on the truth of all behind the lies and masks I’ve lived. Lies that kept me from being fully present and loving fully, even though I have a reputation for being real.
Finally at 65 — my god how I could go on about that arbitrary concept — all I know is that it’s time.
And I know that it is your individual essence, your path, your contribution whatever that may be, is on it’s way at almost 29. I just (as I said in the video) want to be closer. I’d like to understand more about you and your life. Is that possible? I hope so. Happy Mother’s Day, I’m really glad you made me one. And even a grandmother.
I love you.