I became a grandparent (again) on Saturday, just in time for Mother's Day. At a street fair The Girl saved her tickets and chattered happily through every activity as she waited for the moment when she would win her feeder goldfish at a booth that was giving them away as prizes. She was confident that she would win when her moment came. The Dad said that she could try at the very end. I was manning a different booth the entire time, so knew about the plan and the excitement... and knew what had happened when I looked down the street and saw her standing there with flaming red blotches all across her face and neck, and streaming, swollen eyes. I quickly asked somebody to cover for me and I went to her. She kept saying, "It's okay. It's okay," and she was doing everything she could, and gulping as much air as possible, to get herself calm.
That night we went to an apartment of some friends, and there on their table was a bowl with three prize-fish and a note propped in front of it with The Girl's name on it. I whispered to the teenage girl who had fairly won them -- and carried them home across the park in the torrential downpour -- whether she really wanted to do this. She said so sweetly, "Of course. The fun part for me was winning. We know how badly she wanted one." That entire family -- two parents and three teenagers just stood there beaming -- they seemed every bit as thrilled with the situation as The Girl was. She did her best at keeping the water level even as we drove home. She is a very attentive little mama. Even creating a backdrop to their bowl in an attempt to beautify their lives. She knows that as feeder fish in a bowl, their lifespans will undoubtedly be short (we were told by the pet store NOT to put them in the tank with our other fish, as apparently they wreak havoc with ammonia levels). She said that she understood that we are just doing the best we can with what we have, but at least they get to be loved, and won't be eaten by a snake.
Motherhood. Sometimes it is hard -- with many days that simply end with that particular sum-up: today wasn't great, but at least nobody was eaten by a snake (though some particular shining days I think: I wish I had been eaten whole... it would have been a lot tidier than the constant little nibbles and consistent hacking away with blunt tools...).
This Sunday as I was reflecting on things... on being a mother, on my own mother... I thought about how much better we understand our mothers as we get older. I'm not convinced that this understanding can only come by becoming a mom; I think it comes when we become old enough to feel mortal, and/or if we've ever loved and sacrificed for somebody who will never know of our love and sacrifice, and/or when we find ourselves in an action story and everything seems futile, yet we continue to move forward, and lo and behold -- against all odds something awesome works out. It comes when we discover something shining and our first thought is to share it. These are all things that come from bringing a new life, but also things that can come by being open to life.
I do not know all of the sacrifices that my mother made for me. I don't know what memories she has of me that to her feel eternal, and to me are forgotten or inconsequential. I don't know how expansive her hopes for me are, or how devastated she would be if I was hurt. As adult daughters or sons I wonder if our parents' love for us almost becomes a part of the wallpaper -- it's always been there -- the pattern has lost its identity. I do know these things:
* I am happy with who I am, and I know that I'm largely this, one way or another, because of my mom.
* I love that my mom can laugh at almost anything -- and always can laugh at herself. I realize that I took this for granted -- I thought that anybody could do this, and it has come as a blow to me that not everybody can/chooses to.
* I like that she makes us all cards, and puts together fun packages, and treats the whole process with as much dedication, concern, and thought as any CEO of a Fortune-500 company has ever treated her job.
* I respect that she has high standards for how she conducts her life, but is an acute apologist for every other human being.
* To the best of my knowledge, she has never lied to me; if she told me something misleading she always followed-up and explained, or apologized. She is extremely transparent, wears her heart on her sleeve, and hasn't spent a lot of time developing a social-filter. This was teeth-clenching-embarrassing as a teenager, but as an adult, I cherish such authenticity.
* Had I won a fish at a fair (or been given a won-fair-fish), she would have let me keep it. We might have had to put it in the bright yellow, ridged, thick-plastic cup we got for free once out of a dog-food bag, and fed it crumbs from our generic toaster waffles, but she would have let me keep it. And maybe every animal-rights activist/naturalist would say that would have been wrong. And maybe it is wrong... But we would have had a silly time naming it, and observing its personality, and been genuinely sad and respectful at its passing. I know this because we gave nourishment to fallen baby birds with droppers, bottle-fed an abandoned newly born kitten whose eyes were still sealed shut, and watched tadpoles rescued from a polluted pond (by our estimation) turn into frogs in a dish-washing bin. The Sister grew up with three ducks in her backyard that our mother saved from being slaughtered.
All of which is to say -- The Girl's schooling today was basically watching her three fish, designing the backdrop of the bowl, assisting The Sister change the water (something you're supposed to do every couple of days with goldfish), etc. Her highpoint was waking up and not seeing any floaters; her lowpoint was noticing that Silver looked peaky. I think our curriculum is hovering on the brink of the hard parts of the life-cycle...
