Just because the 40th birthday is done and dusted, there's no reason to stop with the gratitude diaries. In that spirit, this post could be viewed as an extension of my Gratitude diary one- though it isn't really.
I flew back yesterday after a short visit home. Before it was time for me to leave, my mother wept a few tears lamenting that she misses me a lot and then, as is her wont, controlled herself and exhorted me to look after myself, not to worry about her, that she'd be fine. I was feeling quite sad myself at the thought of leaving her.
It was in this frame of mind, that I watched a film on the flight home, which I had missed watching some years ago when it was released- English Vinglish. I found myself really drawn into this film. As I was watching it, I could relate so well to it. I wanted to slap Shashi's daughter, while recalling that I myself must have behaved as badly, or worse, towards my own mum. I loved the niece Radha, and hoped my own nieces would grow up to be like her and that I would share a bond with them like the one that Shashi shares with Radha. But most of all, I so wanted my mum to have an experience like Shashi. To be able to step out of her mum role, to experience herself as an individual, an entrepreneur. And to be able to command respect, not just love. We all find it easy to show love towards our parents, spending time with them, taking them out, buying them little gifts, taking them to the doctor. But respect? Oh man, that is another ball game altogether. To some extent, gender conditioning has ensured that we treat at least our fathers with some respect most of the time (note- not complete respect and not all the time), but moms are easy game. It is so easy to be dismissive of them.
In my case, in particular, I think I am a fairly useless daughter- I am not very chatty with my parents, leaving the burden of small talk on them for most part, I shout a lot at my mother when she annoys me- which is often. And yet she finds comfort in my presence, and misses me! It's strange, this mother-love. Why is it so unconditional? Why doesn't it assert itself more, demand more out of the recipient?
It is wishful thinking on my part, that my mother will ever step out her 'mum' role and be herself. It is too late for her- she doesn't have the physical or mental energy, nor indeed the mental capacity. Which is why I always keep wishing for another life for her. All that I can do to make her remaining time on earth better is to be around her, to love her and treat her with respect. Even though it's difficult. But I can at least try. If I don't I will regret being such a shitty daughter, even though she, bless her, will never think of me that way.
