birds of a feather

When it came time to write my mom's grave marker 2 years ago, I really struggled. I guess I should have expected that. My relationship with my mother was always a struggle.

Ask anyone... my mother was a great friend, aunt, coworker, volunteer, caretaker. She took care of my father, Dan and Joe Sklar until they took their last breaths.

And my mother was an awesome grandmother. She loved my boys unconditionally, from the second they entered our lives. She proudly sat behind us when we finalized the adoption paperwork a year later, a formality in her mind -- they were already hers and always would be. She gave them their Jewish names that day - just as Eric's parents gave them their last name. Her gift to them was a lineage that dates back 5771 years.

Growing up, she wasn't always the mother I needed or wanted. In fact, she wasn't always a mother at all. I left at 15 in search of what that word meant (a search that continues today). We butted heads... a lot! She wanted to do everything for me. I was an independent soul. She was emotionally excessive. I am aloof. She always needed people around her, complimenting her. For me, validation comes from within.

It has taken me until now (at 41) to even start to understand. She taught me a lot. Some through example and some through not repeating others' mistakes. She taught me to have compassion, to try to see the world through someone else's eyes. She taught me that no matter how little you have, there is always someone out there that has less. She taught me what "til death do us part" means. But she also showed me how important it is to just "be there", to not run away, to trust myself, to not act helpless and take advantage of people, to love myself unconditionally. Unfortunately, those lessons were learned by watching her fail. These days, I wear her wedding rings to remind me of all I learned from her - for good and for bad.

When I think of my mother these days, I think of a bird. Not a solitary songbird alone in a nest but the ones that congregate on the phone lines. Flying here and there but always with company. Pausing to watch the bustle below. Then flying on.

I've let the bad history (and there was a lot of it) be carried away by one of those birds. I choose to remember her like she was in this picture. Just enjoying time with the boys. Giving them all the love she wanted to give me but I wasn't ready or willing to accept.

Each Rosh Hashana I tell her I love her for who she was. I forgive her for not being what I needed when I needed it. And then, I open my heart and accept her blessings for the same.

L'Shana Tova Mom - you are inscribed in the Book of Life forever - your memory lives on in all the people you touched