Ageing | Life Lessons

My Mother Was a ‘Loose Canon’ Now I Fear I’m Taking Over Her Role

Following in my mother’s footsteps may not be the best way to go for peace in the family

The other day I fired a shot right across my daughter’s unsuspecting bows, and boy! am I sorry.

The sad thing was I didn’t intend to cause damage. In fact I was trying to help in her time of need. You know, the way mothers, and grandmothers do – with their mouths.

It was a mistake. I know that now, but I’m worried I am becoming my mother.

Back in the day, through the seventies and eighties, mum was the family matriarch. A compassionate and smart woman, she had her finger on the pulse of everything going on in the world, and in her family. If someone needed advice, she was the ‘go-to’ wisdom-keeper.

She was, and still is, a wonderfully kind and compassionate person, who would never intentionally say anything hurtful to anyone.

However, by the early 2000s she had earned the nickname, “The Loose Cannon”, through her unsolicited efforts to help everyone sort out their lives.

Mum started her ‘helpful’ letter writing phase some time early in the new millennium. It’s likely the heartfelt letters were most helpful to mum herself, as she couldn’t bear to think of one friend, child or grandchild not having a positive relationship with another.

I don’t think we would have ever known about this habit of hers until during one visit, when I spotted a stamped, sealed envelope, addressed to my son, sitting on her kitchen bench.

She shyly admitted it contained a letter, outlining all the very good reasons why he shouldn’t be wasting precious years estranged from his sister.

It explained my mother’s view of who was to blame for the conflict (neither of them), and how everything had been so unfortunately misunderstood.

Of course, much of what she said in the letter was true. However, intervening on my daughter’s behalf, even if only to repair the relationship, would have had an explosive effect on the people involved, knowing the personalities she was dealing with. And she would also have suffered collateral damage, for sure.

It was my daughter’s now ex-husband who had caused the rift. Acting on her behalf, without any prior discussion, he had avenged what he considered a wrong done to his wife. It was a misfired salvo, a thoughtless, immature, and spiteful act which has had long-term consequences for our entire family.

Although my “loose canon” mum meant all good intentions, the very act of writing on her daughter’s behalf, would have been just one more blow to my daughter’s mental well-being.

After much begging and light-hearted teasing, my mother promised not to send the letter. As far as I know, she kept her word.

Unfortunately as time went on, even teasing my mother with her cheeky nickname, and pleading with her to not write one of her letters, she still persisted. Our teasing elicited sly smiles, that told us she was well aware of the impact of her letter-writing deeds. We were convinced my mother enjoyed the frisson of notoriety her reputation gave her.

She finally reached the stage where we stopped discussing the internal woes of the family with her, for fear that she’d whip out a quick heartfelt letter after we left.

However, there were at least two later letters she actually confessed to, that did reach their targets. They were both to once long-term friends of hers, trying to rationalise and renew the cooled friendships, attempts at ‘fixing’ the now difficult relationships. They backfired. The responses were terse and the friendships remained fractured.

I guess I’ll never know how many letters were actually sent out over the period between the early 2000s and the mid 2010s, when our “loose canon” was mentally alert and capable not only of putting her thoughts on paper but of also sending emails.

Nor do we know how many relationships were salvaged or sunk through her efforts.

I both regretted, and felt enormous relief, the day we unplugged mum’s laptop and modem, concerned more about her online vulnerability to scammers, than worrying about to whom the next salvo would be fired.

The loose canon was finally disarmed.

But here is the thing.

At seventy-one, I am starting to see my mother in myself, and understanding the need she felt to get things sorted before it was too late.

I find I see the family schisms, as with most conflicts these days, with a singular clarity, and feel more and more my mother was right. Divisive arguments are not worth the waste of precious time together here on earth.

Two years ago I wouldn’t have thought of taking on the job as matriarchal loose canon to fix things. But lately…Maybe.

I yearn to tell people exactly how I feel about each situation, and what they need to do to get it fixed.

I don’t think my letters would be as long or eloquent as my mother’s. I’m pretty sure they’d be a lot more direct, and definitely sprinkled with a few expletives:

Dear (Insert name here)

It’s about time you put your big ass girl/boy pants on, and acknowledge that life is too f***ing short to waste it on conflict. Someone needs to stop this cycle of madness. Let’s just call a ceasefire and get back to how it should be.

Lots of love,

Mum/Grandma.

On the other hand, I am beginning to envy my mother’s great age and failing memory.

At nearly ninety-eight, now she doesn’t remember from morning to afternoon who we all are, let alone the intricate squabbles of ancient family politics. Nor would she have any idea how to resolve them.

When we visit her in the Aged Care Home, we don’t bring our problems for her to listen to and fret about. She is a contented human living out her life, with neither the petty dramas of daily life nor the existential worries of world conflict. And that is a gift only the very elderly earn.

I often think how fortunate we are to be in the presence of such elderly people. Whether they have been loved or despised, perfect or with human failings. We can learn so much about ourselves, who we are, and what we need to be, from just absorbing their wisdom, their histories, and reflecting on the aging process.

My mum is proof that at the end of life, everything small and unimportant falls away but the essence of who you are remains. Your humanity, your character, still sits unadorned before the world, and who you are, how you have lived, is the only and most precious thing that remains.

Mum still has a twinkle in her eye whenever a handsome young man walks into her room. She has a quick wit, and a healthy appetite for good chocolate. She enjoys a gin and tonic with lunch, and isn’t afraid to tell you when it’s time to leave.

She often forgets my deceased father’s name but knows he was someone she loved very much.

If I too become a loose canon as I grow older, I hope there are those who can defuse my intentions, at least until I reach the age of forgetting Probably somewhere in the nineties if genetics is anything to go by. Then bring me chocolate and an occasional G & T. A handsome carer perhaps to brighten my days?

And until then, I promise to mind my own business and see how things turn out without my help. No really…

If you enjoyed this article, you will love Bebe Nicholson’s poignant, funny and heartwarming story about her last few years with her mother, and her mother’s increasing dementia.