Mom, Mother's Day and this Blog Title

"I will never be like my mother!" I uttered this phrase on numerous occasions as a child, a pre-teen, and, most often, as a teenager. Usually, the words were spoken immediately after committing some heinous act driven by pubescent hormones, and receiving what I deemed was a hideously unjust punishment.  I definitely thought it when she made me participate in some public display of affection, such as kissing or hugging her goodbye after dropping me off somewhere Oft times this thought crossed my mind after my mother said something in front of my friends that I found indescribably embarrassing. Like most teenagers, I thought myself to be light years beyond my parents, both in "cool" and in sophistication. The way they clung to "the way it used to be" made me roll my eyes in despair

Looks were another thing all together. As I grew older, people (mostly my mother's friends) would comment on how I resembled her. Why that alarmed me, I'll never know. Perhaps I thought they were insinuating that we had the same tastes in clothing, or hair styles! My mother was 40 years older than me; so maybe I couldn't envision being at all like someone who was that "old." Typical teenager that I was, I did not want, in any way, to be associated with my parents. I was an independent. A rogue! Whatever they thought, whatever they were, it was crucial that I be the exact opposite.

Many years later, I can't begin to explain why I thought all these ridiculous thoughts. My mother was an eminently sensible woman when it came to raising me and my four brothers. She was both gentle and genteel, and cruelty and harshness were characteristics that were foreign to her. I only once heard her utter a word that would be considered "colorful" and that was when she called our dog a "jackass", because he wouldn't get out of the backseat of the car so she could drive to work. (This was a stunning moment, and one that came close to scarring me.)

In regards to her physical appearance, she was, in a word, beautiful. This is not solely the opinion of a biased daughter who has positive memories of a mother who has passed away. All who knew her, both as a young woman and later as she aged gracefully, commented on her beauty, both inner and outer. I only wish now that someone would say to me "you look just like your mother."

And so, a few years back, when I looked in the mirror and caught a glimpse of my mother, I was shocked. I never really thought I resembled her physically, despite her friends' comments. She had dark eyes, mine are lighter. I'm taller, and don't possess her grace or posture. She was thinner, despite all of my efforts throughout my life to be thin. We do share one trait to a tee, and that is our hair. As children, we were both crowned with blue-black hair. We had the gray streak in the front as teenagers, turning to salt/pepper during our middle years. I can only guess I will follow her to be totally gray in my later years. Still, until that day in front of the bathroom mirror, I never saw any other resemblance.

It was a facial expression--and it was only for a split second that I saw her in that look. I stood there, maybe for twenty more minutes, trying to get it back, to recreate it.  I was unsuccessful at bringing back that look, no matter how hard I tried. Reflecting on why I spent so much time in front of that mirror, I can only say it was the act of a daughter who very much missed her mother; wanting to see her again if only in my own expression. A daughter who spent too much time rolling her eyes and being embarrassed by her mother instead of being proud and appreciating the amazing woman who brought me into this world and dedicated her life to me and to my brothers.  And, clearly it was the act of a daughter who will never be old enough to be without her parents.

And so, when I did finally see that I had become my mother, if only for an instant, I wasn't dismayed at all. Quite the opposite, it was as if I had finally become who I was born to be: my mother's daughter--the daughter she had always wanted me to be and the one I frustratingly have felt I could never become. I will never, ever possess her beauty, grace or southern charm. I will certainly never be the gentle, kind and devout soul that she was. But, just for a moment, I was able to connect with her again, as if she were there. Happily, the expression I was exhibiting when I saw her there, was a smile.

Happy Mother's Day Mom.