The Motherlode

We found it eventually

The main thing my mother and I had in common is that we got married at age 19. Against our parents wishes. (And we both loved my Dad.)

She took a bus out to Fort Sill, Oklahoma by herself to marry my dad in January 1951 before he shipped out to Korea. My grandparents didn’t approve but could not stop her. She was willful. (I got it honestly.)

My mother JoAnn at age 18/19. She looks so serious. Ever notice how they didn’t smile for photos back in the day like we do now.

My parents wedding photo from January 5, 1951. He shipped off the Korea in March 1951.

My story was different as we were different generations (the main issue in our relationship). Before I started college in the fall of 1975, she told me ‘I was just going to college to get my MRS degree’. Literally those words. (And, surprisingly, she was right.)

I met a beautiful long haired hippie in my first semester of college in 1975, we fell madly in love and were engaged by December. Married in August 1976. Against my parent wishes.

He and my mother took instant dislike to one another; therefore he and my mother ‘battled’ over or about me for most of the next three years.

After my divorce in 1979, my mother and I moved forward on somewhat shaky ground. I was a young divorcee in the 80’s — wild times here we come! My parents were lovely middle class suburban people who believed in god and country. They were non drinking, non smoking, church goers. In the 80’s I was anything but that. She simply could not understand who I was.

Me at 19. 1976 My engagement photo. (The cross necklace, huh. I don’t recall it or why I wore it, unless for her)

Their marriage lasted 63 years, mine lasted 3 years. Common for Boomers versus their “Greatest Generation” parents. They took the ‘til death do us part’ segment of their wedding vows seriously. They did not get divorced.

Not us ‘Me Generation’ folks. We divorced in droves and at the drop of a hat. The world became far more transient, fluid and mobile in our lifetimes. Women went to college and earned degrees translating to economic freedom. We did not need to stay in stale, abusive (god forbid) or unhappy marriages. So we didn’t.

Our relationship began to deteriorate when I was about 13 and started rebelling against The Rules. By age 16/17 I was demanding to stop going to church because it was hypocritical in my mind. I was attracted to Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, I took a course in Existentialism in high school called I Think Therefore, I Am, taught by my all time favorite teacher Mr. Knickerbocker (he is still alive and I have thanked him over the years for expanding my world). The power of that class cannot be understated because it lit my teenage world on fire.

It was her constant criticism — my hair was too long, too short, I wore too much black (I heard that constantly), she didn’t approve of my high school girl pack or the guys I dated in high school. Being strong willed, we butted heads repeatedly and for years.

She wanted Glenn Miller for me and I wanted George Harrison for me.

I was young and ridiculous and made it out of the 80’s by the skin of my teeth. The 90’s saw a settled down, older version of me and I returned to college to complete my degrees since I chose to get married versus completing college. I went to school while working for the next 14 years, eventually earning my MPA. Of this, she was proud.

Our mother daughter relationship strengthened over the years as I grew up and she grew older and more tolerant of our changing world. She had a hard time wrapping her head around my independent spirit. I rose in my career, bought a home on my own, traveled alone. These are things she could never imagine doing. Sometimes she almost seemed resentful of my life. or angry at me for not following The Rules.

Over the next few decades, we learned to be friends. She became proud of my accomplishments. The constant criticism stopped. We learned to like one another. We met for lunches and family gossip on the regular. We fought over politics, but tried to keep it to a simmer. She didn’t seems as disappointed with me.

I think we both realized time was slipping away and having a solid mother daughter relationship was important to us both. Especially since we both understood I wasn’t always going to live 30 minutes away.

(I understand many of my Boomer friends have had similar experiences with the mother generational divide. My mother never went to college and never had a professional job. She was a homemaker. Like millions of Boomers mothers.)

I moved away from my hometown 15 years ago this month. 1600 miles away. This was a long term desire/plan of mine, to leave my hometown and move out west. My family was sad, but encouraged me to go. She especially knew I had been wanting to leave for some time. This was a turning point.

Almost by magic, our relationship improved. We spoke more regularly on the phone. I flew back to visit. We became even better friends.

I think we found our ‘motherlode ‘by me leaving. Time was more precious than ever as she was approaching 80. Sadly, my dad passed away suddenly in May of 2014 and I rushed back home and spent time with her helping deal with his affairs. She understood the checkbook and that was about it.

My mother passed away suddenly at home, 18 months after my dad, November 15, 2015, just three weeks after I had come home to spent a week with her that October. We had a glorious time together, the best. She was on thin ice health wise when I saw her. but I was still shocked when she passed. I am grateful for that time together and sometimes wonder if she didn’t know then that she wasn’t long for this world.

There is a saying that ‘comedy is tragedy plus time.’ I am grateful we learned to be friends over the year, but the tragedy for me (plus time) is the wasted years we spent being at odds another. I can look back and laugh now, but how I wish we had that time back.

Here’s to you mom.

Last photo of us together, October 2015