My failure as a son
by Barrie Bramley , a father, a husband and an eager student in the art of loving life. His passion is to create and see the world differently. From time to time he writes for ‘‘Jozikids’. Visit Barrie on his web or twitter page.
For most of us, when we think ‘Jozi Kids’ we think children and possibly pre-teens or tweens. But today as I was driving my mother back home from Grannie’s Day at my children’s school, I realized, at the age of 40, I too am a Jozi Kid.
Somewhere in Scott Peck’s book, The Road Less Travelled, is a page where he suggests, that one of the most difficult developmental stages for us adults, is to see our parents as adults, and our parents to see us as adults.
When I bring this thought up in conversation with my peers, we often giggle nervously at the reminder of what we become when we ‘go back home’ to visit mom and/or dad. We transform almost instantly from competent business people, parents and adults, as we so quickly take our position in our parents home as a child once again. For some this looks like lying on the couch like we did as teens waiting for mom to offer us her specially made coffee or tea. We switch on the TV while she heads off to the kitchen to make her ‘little girl/boy’ a nice cup of something. All the warm mushy feelings of our childhood kick back in as we give up our adult identity and become child once again. And for most of us it works. Mom/Dad is happy to be back in their role as caring parent, and we’re happy as we escape our busy lives full of difficult responsibility into child mode.
But there’s a less giggly nuance to this picture I’m discovering, as I experience my mother getting older and less able to remember. It’s been a difficult journey for me to watch my mother get older, weaker and less able in areas that she was once highly competent. My mother was a fighter. She was a vociferous white liberal in a community of less liberal friends and family. She collected outstanding money for my dad’s business. She walked several kilometers each day. There wasn’t a person or an issue she wouldn’t take on if she felt strongly enough about it.
My struggle isn’t with my mother getting older. It’s with me having to grow up.
I made this realisation today because I felt easier being with my mom Today my new skill was acceptance. In accepting my awkwardness and pain, I wasn’t frustrated that she couldn’t remember. I didn’t get impatient that she’s struggling to walk unassisted. Instead, I helped her to both remember and get to where we were needing to go. I felt a little reconnection to my mom, and I hope like hell she felt something as well. A better son. An understanding son. A compassionate and caring son. The son I once was. The son she remembers. The son who disappeared for a while because of his own inability to deal with a shifting relationship.
I have a distance to go still. I have those nasty internal voices to fight still. I have those people who judge and label me as the absent son to shield myself from. I have some help to find for my own growth. I don’t have time on my side.
I have a mom to reconnect with. In a new way, but in an old way.
Barrie, thanks for your honesty here. In addition to your experience of seeing your mother change physically and mentally, there is also a possibility of seeing things (characteristics, habits, attitudes) that might always have been there. What I mean is that whatever our parents happen to be when we’re kids; that becomes “normal”. As adults, maybe only we have our own children, we can realise that our parents are anything but “normal”.
At that point we get to choose how we respond, and whether we accept or reject our parents.
Thanks for your honesty about your own journey. Thanks for a great example, too.
What true and real feelings you are expressing for anyone who has had the privilege of being there for their aging parents. Sadly, far too few of us are there, involved in the process you describe.
My mom had Alzheimer’s and I watched her change over a 10 year period. It was the most painful experience for me, not least of all because I lived far away and was only able to visit periodicially.
Hi Barrie,
Watching a beloved parent slowly disintegrate before our eyes is to start the mourning process far,far too early. Grab onto the precious, lucid moments and build new memories as fast as you can because, sadly, the remnants of Alzheimer’s are ugly enough to haunt you all your life if you don’t have good memories to hang onto.
I salute your courage in taking on this monster! There is nothing sadder than a child who reneges on the responsibility that attaches to being a child and chooses to ‘forget’ the sacrifices their parents made on their behalf.
May you find the strength in a large measure when you need it most!
Awesome post Barrie, and so true.
True words! My wish is to have my mom’s patience … She put up with so much from me, yet she was always there for me, supporting me no matter what. I want that. I want to have the patience to get them through whatever they need to deal with as they get older, that they had with me growing up.
Thank you for putting such honest feelings on paper for others to digest. I hope it brings reflection, reality checks and action in those that may still have the opportunity. The lessons of life teach us so much about character building and I have no doubt your MOM loves you more than ever. Learning that real love is unconditional is a journey we all need to travel. Never easy and most do not open this deep place within.