SURROGATE DAUGHTERS & MOTHERS


In thinking about daughters and mothers I realize how important are the women who mother us; and those we mother as well. My Auntie Merly understood my aspiration to write in a way my mother never did; and quietly encouraged me. She and I were so similar in temperament that a friend who knew us both couldn’t believe we weren’t mother and daughter. Merlyn had three daughters of her own, but had room in her heart for me. And room in her home when I was sixteen and refused to live with my newly married, and very pregnant, mother.

In retrospect I realize my flower-child mother did the best she could. That cliché usually gives me small comfort. In retrospect I also realize that I did the best I could for my own daughter. I suspect that gives her small comfort as well.

Maureen, ten years younger than me, mothered me for a while after my divorce; when I no longer needed rescuing, our relationship foundered. Kathi B. and George mothered me, providing shelter for me; when I was looking for an affordable place to live with my two younger boys they bought a house to rent to me affordably. My friend Barry mothered me on occasion.

My former mother-in-law, Mae Nucci, mothered me; she planned and produced my wedding to her son; she sewed for me; she thrust bits of money upon me at every opportunity both when I was married and even afterwards when I visited her. Despite the fact that she never did understand why I divorced her son, when it came to money, she would not take no for an answer. I learned not to go shopping with her for groceries or anything where she could arm-wrestle me to pay the bill. Ultimately, after my father-in-law died, she gave me the small motorhome they had planned to travel in.

Sally Hartley, ten years older than me, became someone of whom I could ask questions about the perils of dating at the tender age of forty. Jan B always gave me her motherly opinion whether I wanted it or not. My daughter, Deborah, mothered me from time to time. In the short run she was a lifesaver and much appreciated; in the long run I took her for granted and things turned toxic. In Guatemala both Sarah and Deet, generous and gregarious, mother me in different ways; one provides me a place to stay, the other feeds me.

Surrogate daughters for me included Rosie and Mary L. both of whom needed so much at a time when I had a lot to give and a need to give it. I’ve mothered my niece, Lisa, from time to time; and, on occasion, my Auntie Esther when she needed an advocate. I mothered Barry during her fight with breast cancer when she would let me; I loved that she got comfortable with asking me to run errands for her and didn’t require me to read her mind. Lisa from the swimming pool is a daughter for today.

A common denominator here seems to be, that, surrogate or not, a generosity of spirit is useful in the relationship between daughters and mothers