Mothering your Mother

This is about the first time you realize that your Mother can’t Mother you any longer. She will never say that of course. The words go unspoken, but the reality is there.

It is the inevitable moment in the parent-child relationship when frailty enters and the natural order is reversed. If you are lucky, you are much older when this happens. But no matter when, it is a big sadness and nothing is ever quite the same.

The kindest thing to do…is just to carry on. But the problem comes in recognizing the moment.

It happened for me when I came home for Christmas one year with my young children. I arrived, exhausted, with the kids, after 12 hours of flying and stress. As I had in previous years, I wanted to walk into a welcoming winter wonderland, with fire blazing, dinner on the table, house decorated and wine at the ready.

Absolutely nothing was done. There was no dinner waiting, not even Chinese take out. There was no milk or juice in the fridge. No wine, boxes of cereal or bagels for breakfast. The house was not decorated. Not even a Christmas tree bought.

Instead of realizing what had really happened on a significant level, I was just furious with my Mother. I was frustrated and annoyed because I thought my Mother was just being lazy and inconsiderate.

I knew she was old…but couldn’t she have made one trip to the supermarket? Couldn’t she have brought a tree home and put it in a bucket out by the garage? Couldn’t she have made one bed a day?

It was a grim moment. I called the Chinese restaurant for a delivery. I got in the car and dashed to the grocery to pick up breakfast supplies. I made the beds and we fell into them. The next day I decorated, shopped, cooked and cleaned. And it was that way for ever more.

If you have been Mothered well, you rise to the challenge naturally and easily. It was up to me to make Christmas magic for my Mother. This is the sandwich role for a woman that comes at a certain age. You Mother your children and you Mother your Mother. And the whole time you are amazed at the energy you have to pull it off.

It is actually a gift for you, although you don’t recognize it at the time. You are paving the way for the great sadness that is yet to come.

Personal touchstones of taste. On Tania, our own little nutritionist.

I’m drinking hot water with a splash of milk and thinking of my grandmother, who used to drink this every evening, after dinner. When I would offer coffee and tea, she would insist on just boiled water with a splash of milk. I’d think, how silly, how could that possibly taste good?

I now understand that she drank this because there was no decaffeinated tea back then. It was something hot, digestive and comforting after the evening meal. Even though I have decaf teabags in the house, I’m still sipping boiled water with a splash of milk. I feel a connection to her when I sip this drink.

And it is only now I realize that my grandmother Tatiana was our little nutritionist. Only back then, we thought she was quaint. She was ahead of her time, before people had chic nutritionists or the food pages of the New York Times to dictate the latest health trends.

Now that I’m battling my weight in middle age, I have a new appreciation of her discipline and her nutritional habits. She always ate lightly at night and kept her gorgeous figure her entire life.
I used to giggle that she would eat prunes for breakfast, followed by toast spread with cottage cheese and a drizzle of honey. But now, because I’ve read that prunes are one of nature’s perfect foods, high in antioxidants, iron and fiber, I make sure to eat a few each day too. One of my favorite breakfasts is cottage cheese on toast, drizzled with honey.

My father was an aficionado of oatmeal. My Mother loved the classic grilled cheese sandwich. Nette’s Merema taught me about the cool hot bite of crystallized ginger on the tongue and gingersnaps with tea. Now, I eat oatmeal, grilled cheese sandwiches and ginger whenever I can find it.

This is about the comfort of family tastes. You never know what your personal touchstones will be until later in life. And it is a grace and gift when one day they reappear. Tastes are a palpable way of feeling close to these departed people who at one time, loved you with all their heart, and whose love warms you still.

How to talk on the telephone

I’m kidding, right? You have to learn how to talk on the telephone?
Well, yes apparently. We talk on the phone all the time, but I’ve noticed people just flow all over the place.

There is a telephone etiquette: Don’t be rude, don’t be abrupt or too fast, don’t give away too much information, don’t ramble.

Answering the phone. In office life, and in countries like Germany and Switzerland, you answer the phone announcing your name, so the caller can immediately identify whether s/he reached the right number. As in, "Dunkel" or "Dunkel residence."

In much of the rest of the world, the phone is answered, Pronto, Bueno, Allo, Hello – which basically indicates: we have a connection, proceed.

Identify yourself. Don’t just start talking, assuming the other person recognizes your voice. You’re not that special. And often, a hello doesn’t register.

If it is a business call you would say, “Hello, this is Elizabeth Dunkel. I’m calling to speak to… about …..”

If it is a personal call, identify yourself as well. I don’t care how well you think the other person knows your voice. There's nothing more annoying than answering the phone and someone says, "Hi," and I'm left wondering, okay, who is this? So I finally say, “Who is this?” and the other person is offended because I don’t recognize them.

Be polite. Don’t just say, “Is Joe there?” Too abrupt. Get out of my way buster.
Chat for a minute. “Hi, this is Elizabeth. How are you?” Chat a bit and then ask for Joe.

Don’t just say, “wrong number” and hang up. The phone will ring five seconds later with the same wrong call and you’ll be bothered again. Ask the person, “What number are you trying to reach?” And when they tell you, you reply, “No, you have reached xxx-xxxx,” and they will understand what they marked incorrectly, or that they simply don’t have the proper number.

Don’t ever start a phone call with, “Who is this?” That is rude and abrupt.
Imagine. Your phone rings. You answer it, only to hear, “Who is this?”
When someone does that to me, I turn the question around. They need to identify themselves first, they’re the ones who called me. So, I say, “The question is, to whom would you like to speak?”


People have lives. Feel free to ask, “Is this a good time to call?” And if not, “When is a good time for me to call?” Feel free to say, “I’d really like to talk to you but this is not a good time for me to talk, can I return your call?

Be concise. Don’t ramble. Say, “I’m on my cell, I’m lost, can you look up a phone number for me?”

Always end your phone call with the words, “Thank you so much for your call.” Or, “Nice talking to you.”

See, that wasn't so painful, was it?

Mother as "Personal Assistant"

Lately, I’m not feeling like a Mother anymore…but mostly, my daughter’s personal assistant.

Nina is 16 and a half and a junior in high school. Remember how grown up you felt when you were that age? Well, I’m respecting that.

I wake her up in the morning for school. I make her a cup of tea. I drive her to school. I ask her, “What would you like for lunch today?” The reason I ask, is because it is just the two of us, and if I make what I want, and she doesn’t want it, she just won’t eat it. So since I’m easy, it’s easier for me to prepare something she will eat.

I see that her clothes are washed and ironed. I drive her to her sports, academic events and social life. I give her cash when she needs it. Not exhorbitant amounts, but enough for the occasional burger or movie.

This all feels more like personal assisting, not mothering. But I guess that’s a play on words. Because it really is Mothering. With a grown up and very modern twist.

I cringe now...

…when I think of how my children overhead me, occasionally, complaining about my Mother.

There were times I would get off the phone with her, exasperated about something she had said. Or hadn’t said. I would be annoyed if she didn’t offer to pay my air tickets home. I was annoyed when she didn’t give me a gift, or even a card or a flower, on my 50th birthday. I was annoyed she wouldn’t move down to where I lived so I could care for her.

These episodes were just the sturm and drang of daily living on this earth. But my complaints didn’t touch the deep love I felt for my Mother. I worried so much about her. I hated living so far away. I hated not being able to accompany her in the care of my Father, to give her the love and support she needed and deserved, and the companionship that only mothers and daughters can share.

My Mother was lonely as she cared for my Father, and even lonelier when she survived him and lived alone for the first time in over 60 years. And on top of that, she was plagued with cancer, only we didn’t know it yet.

So what am I saying to you Mothers who still have Mothers of your own?

That my kids did hear my complaints. That words can hide what is truly deep in our hearts.

I do believe they understood my great love and reverence for my Mother. It’s the deep love that’s in every child's gut, a part of your very soul and breath.

That’s what Mother love is, it's just a part of you.

Maligning the Mother

Mothers are the grist for the lifetime mill. Everything begins with Mother. Mother is the source of your life, then the source of your joy. Just look at any baby cooing at her Mother, or any toddler’s face lighting up when Mother comes into the room.

For those precious years, we Mothers are on the pedestal, in the great love affair between Mother and child, and then, floof, our child becomes an adult and we are off the pedestal and into the frying pan of life’s impossible people to deal with.

Is our love that suffocating or awful? Why is it that Mothers morph into the monster, and become the source of our formerly adoring, adult child’s ennui?

Why is it that a friend can give you advice and you can “hear” it, but if your Mother gives you the same advice, you discount it, or, it drives you crazy?

Think of the Mother in literature and the Mother in movies. The larger than life “Mommie Dearest.” The eye rolling, the children suffering their Mother, the Mother as the cause of all root problems. “The Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood” was all about the daughter’s inability to live her own authentic life due to a misunderstood conflict in her mother-daughter relationship. In Sean Wilsey’s book, “Oh the Glory of It All” he writes, “When describing my Mother it is impossible to overstate her grandeur, her haughtiness, her generosity, her old Hollywood star power, her immaturity…”

We mothers are quite powerful, it seems. Perhaps it would be better to be… less powerful?

But you are powerful when you are raising your child. And therein lies the problem. You keep your children alive, clean, fed, rested, educated. I’m beginning to think the stamp of that powerful presence you had in their lives always has the power to wound in the most unsuspected ways.

No one wants to be the cause of eye rolling. I certainly don’t want to be the sturm and drang Mother. The demanding Mother. The guilt trip Mother. The needy Mother. The impossible Mother. The loud Mother. The exhausting Mother.

But I’m beginning to think it is part of the Mother “lode.” The power that you once had lingers in the raise of an eyebrow, in a tone of voice. Perhaps, sadly, it helps pave the way for the ultimate separation.

In the meantime, I vow to remain cheerful, light, receptive. That’s what an adult child wants, right? Now that my Mother is gone, I understand, it is certainly how she treated me.

How you heal determines the quality of the rest of your life.

This is not my advice. This advice was given to me by my dear friend Judy, and it has been engraved in my heart and mind forever. Even I have a hard time following it.

I may have touched on this theme in my entry “How to be Sick. Nicely.” But as I have just checked one of my students out of the hospital after a grave illness, it comes to mind ever more strongly. I told him, “How you heal now, can affect the rest of your life.”

We get sick. Our bodies suffer an assault. And then we want to get back to our lives immediately, as they were. When you are recovering from a serious illness, you need to give your body time to heal. You are bored, you are anxious to get back to your life as you knew it, but don’t. Take that extra week or month. If you ignore the healing process, you can compromise the functioning of your body for the rest of your life.

We ask so much of our bodies. We take them for granted. But if the doctor says, don’t drive for a month, or stay in bed for at least a week, or don’t drink milk or alcohol for a month: follow this advice. Don’t suffer the relapse, because then it will take you even longer to heal and you can suffer chronic problems for the rest of your life as a result.

Your health is the only thing that matters in this life. You hear that so often, it's become a cliche. And you only understand it when illness strikes. But it is true. Oh so true.