Mom’s Big Gray Book

Did I even know her?

I was cleaning out some of my mother’s boxes and belongings I inherited from her, and I ran across Mom’s big, gray book. I knew it enclosed some creative writing stories and poems that she had written, so I decided to take a break from my work to read a bit of them.

Sitting on the couch, shuffling through the papers, I found a typewritten letter that was addressed to “My Darlings”.

As I began to read it, I quickly realized that she was writing to her six children. She expressed things in it that I wish I had known before she died. Like a LONG time before she died.

It made me wish I had known her better.

I THOUGHT I knew her, but some of her writings in this book revealed enormous pain that she carried deep within her from emotional scars and memories that haunted her very soul.

Had I known certain things about her that she revealed in her writings, I think I would have understood her better and would have been more willing to overlook some things that bothered me about her.

If you really know what someone’s pain is caused from, what memories haunt them or the things that make them cry or flinch… then you will know that their life is not much different than yours.

I guess that’s why the Bible speaks of Jesus knowing all about our afflictions because of the pain He experienced here on Earth. Afterall, He was misunderstood, betrayed, physically abused, tortured and murdered.

He had a mother, brothers and friends He loved, and they all watched Him be crucified as He looked down upon their tear-streaked faces, knowing they didn’t understand why this was happening to Him.

My mother also had a poem in her book about a dog we had when I was a teenager. There was pain that she expressed in her writing that showed heart wrenching anguish because of my stepfather viciously abusing this dog.

I still remember the day this beautiful dog was taken to a family that lived on a farm. We left him there to live out his days. I remember Mom crying and not understanding why. This poem showed her heart being ripped out to the core.

I would have liked to have known this about her.

I would have liked to have known everything about my mother, what made her tick, what caused her pain, what memories, hopes and dreams she had.

I wish I had known all these things about her as I was growing up.

This makes me realize that my own children probably don’t know me very well either. I am sure they have no idea the many things that have happened to me that have made my life what it is.

How could they possibly know these things when I have never told a single soul any of my memories either?

Oh, I will talk about the ones that don’t matter, that didn’t affect me much. How about the ones that changed my life forever? Or all the many times I could have died because of stupidity… mine or someone else’s?

How many memories do I have of other people hurting me beyond repair?

All those things shaped my life and molded me into certain behaviors and opinions about life, and these things affected my own ability to mother them.

All generations are affected by the trauma each person experiences and then passes all these unresolved issues to their children.

The more we heal our own souls, the better parents we will be. The better humans we will be.