My mother would have been a gold medalist in the Guilt Olympics.
With senility already blanketing her, I knew she recognized me only when, once she saw me walk through the door, she looked away by way of disapproval. A stranger would have been greeted with a special warmth and gratitude that her nurses found so charming.
Oddly it cheered me to have her displeased with me. Evidence that the tethers were still holding.
Once when she was still living at home with a companion, she was asked if she knew who I was. “Yes, of course, she replied, we went to school together!”
“Oh, from day one!” I added.
One day my brother-in-law called her on a trip to the States from Israel. Esther, how are you? He asked her in Hebrew. “Where have you been?” she demanded. “And don’t forget to bring the chamutzim (the sour pickles)!”
“I gave you your life”, she told me when I refused to apply to law school, and she wanted a lawyer in the family politic to side against my father and my brother. “You can give me three years!” For her, this was a generous offer, a transaction that was more than favorable to me.
Not only did I not go to law school to become her lawyer, I professed neutrality during their divorce, which became an avalanche of hostility and outrage. “Neutral,” she scoffed. “The whole world was neutral when the Nazis were murdering Jews!”
These were the most flagrant examples. They were but the tips that surfaced with the greatest fanfare. They were the evidence laid out, the dots to be connected, the weed that led to the fat taproots that crisscross the garden’s deepest most fertile soil.
The guilt was always there, through every interaction, the state of my hair, the blouse I put on, my choice of boyfriend versus the ones she brought home for me to meet. And the guilt – if to be used as a guide - could be contradictory and quite intricate, complex. I was reading too much, I should go out. I had too many friends, I wasn't social enough, with my nose in the book. I was lazy and should be studying. I should be more like my sister who is so bright. My sister wasn’t nice, I should never be like her.
I became very good at tracking the guilt, checking for the footprints, the ground covered, to learn more about its behavior and characteristics. I followed the circles, the spirals, the erratic detours of this guilt that marked my almost every step. The tracker was on a leash, in search of this animal that is love, that is capable of biting and scratching and, yes, pinching when you least expect it.
Once I wrote a poem that read something like this: The most dangerous enemy is the one you love and don’t want to protect yourself from.
What a raw and painful portrayal of mother/daughter. And the metaphors: "in search of the animal that is love," "the weed that led to fat taproots." And the guilt throughout. So visceral.
ReplyDeleteThis is very powerful, the description of the guilt. I also like the part about neutrality, and how the mother compared the state of surrounding nations with the Jews and the Holocaust. A telling metaphor. Also a really good opening, "my mother could have won a gold medal in the guilt olympics."
ReplyDeleteFor me, a really good description of how complex these guilt attacks were, subtle, interwoven, multi-limbed and often subterranean.
ReplyDeleteVivid and trenchant, powerful and convincing, this colorful portrait of the Guilt Gold Medalist mother really stands out and stays with us long after we've read the piece.
ReplyDeleteYour mother should have dinner with my mother.I so resonate with all of this for so many reasons...among them They threw having to break up with a boy I loved in Jr High because he wasn't Jewish (we were never so Jewish as when I started dating that boy) and what she said then was:"They threw us in the ovens" And... How can you be happy if your parents aren't happy.. This is so from the heart and perfectly captures all of the angst and especially the last line about the most dangerous enemy. Well done indeed!!
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