This is what I mean: I have written about subjects we don't even talk about. And I have published a little bit of what I have written. And it's about my mother's family, her brother, his accidental death. I emailed her before publishing the poems, and we had an email exchange, and things went much better than I had expected. My mother said she hoped I would write about her brother's life, since she didn't want only his death remembered. And that seemed like a reasonable request. But a difficult one, since we don't talk about my uncle, and so I know very little about his life.
I know he was a good guy, and it was the surprise and pain of losing a 22-year-old that made my mother's family shut down on the subject. I have a little bit that was written by my grandfather about his son, and I'm going to talk to my mom about him and about their childhoods when I visit her this summer. And then I'm going to try and comply with my mother's request.
But in the meantime, I feel a little strange, having broached a topic largely considered taboo in my family. And I have brought up pain that has been for a long time pushed down. Or at least unexpressed. Despite my mom's apparent acceptance of what I've done, I feel odd, and will probably continue to do so, until I do as she has asked. After all, I am a good girl. Or was.
And tomorrow is Mother's Day. I feel like the relationship between me and my mother has been changed by what I've done. And this is the first Mother's Day when I haven't been sure what my mother is thinking of me. My first Mother's Day not knowing if I am still a good girl in everyone's books.
And I feel more free as an artist than I ever have, and more relieved than I did as a child unsure of why there were things I was not supposed to talk about. But I feel that I have made [m]other[s] pay for my freedom.
Happy Mother's Day, everyone.
I know he was a good guy, and it was the surprise and pain of losing a 22-year-old that made my mother's family shut down on the subject. I have a little bit that was written by my grandfather about his son, and I'm going to talk to my mom about him and about their childhoods when I visit her this summer. And then I'm going to try and comply with my mother's request.
But in the meantime, I feel a little strange, having broached a topic largely considered taboo in my family. And I have brought up pain that has been for a long time pushed down. Or at least unexpressed. Despite my mom's apparent acceptance of what I've done, I feel odd, and will probably continue to do so, until I do as she has asked. After all, I am a good girl. Or was.
And tomorrow is Mother's Day. I feel like the relationship between me and my mother has been changed by what I've done. And this is the first Mother's Day when I haven't been sure what my mother is thinking of me. My first Mother's Day not knowing if I am still a good girl in everyone's books.
And I feel more free as an artist than I ever have, and more relieved than I did as a child unsure of why there were things I was not supposed to talk about. But I feel that I have made [m]other[s] pay for my freedom.
Happy Mother's Day, everyone.
