Dear Jane, your words touched my heart. I went through a similar journey, having left my island home at 19 to emigrate and go to university. I ended up marrying and staying in the new country , raising three children and working in several professions over the ensuing years. There were many visits back home with our children and Mum and Dad visited us in return. Boxes of photos testify to those years. Dad died 26 years ago at 72 years old, and Mum died 1 1/2 years ago at 96. In her final 5 years, I visited as often as I could, and financially supported keeping her in her home with wonderful private nurses up to the end. I share your feelings and thoughts about being a good daughter. I know I tried but sometimes I feel I could have tried harder. However, one image of our love for each other stands out as does the one you shared: Mum was unable to move out of bed or say much towards the end, and I did the talking and hugging etc. one morning I went in to greet her as the nurses were about to do the morning rituals, and I said as I often did, “I love you Mum” . In a moment of grace, she smiled right at me and said “I love you too. “
I knew that- deep down - I really did, but some days I wondered whether she knew who I was. I hold Those brief words close to my heart. That’s where I told her so many times that she would always be, and I in her heart- so even when we were apart, we were together.
Now I feel her in my life with peace and a deep love, and know she understood I was trying my best to be a good daughter. As you were. May your love for your mum and hers for you warm your days.
Thank you for sharing. Best wishes on your writing.
Oh, Lynn, that's beautiful. Thank you for sharing. You've deeply touched my heart. I'm so glad you had the exchange with your mother. And, yes, I now experience a beautiful relationship with my mom and feel she understands all. And thank you for your kind words on my essay. They mean so much. ❤️
oh my goodness Jane, you write so beautifully. This is lovely, powerful, haunting. And for those of us with complicated relationships with our mothers, especially poignant. I also want to say something about the editing vs writing dilemma: I’ve had it myself. I’m a longtime editor but chose a year ago to plunge back into writing. When [B]old Age was awarded a “bestseller” badge a few days ago it meant so much. I think I’m finding my writing voice again. Thank you… and keep writing! ❤️
Thank you so much, Debbie! Your words mean a lot! And I'm so glad you were able to plunge back into writing. I long to do the same! But each interview represents at least thirty to forty hours of work. Plus everything else that goes into Beyond. Plus the daily health care that's required to get through each day and weekly medical appointments. Plus all the regular human stuff magnified when you live alone. It's a lot! Writing falls to the bottom of the list. Argh. I dream of one day having some help and returning to at least a weekly practice, if not daily! ❤️
First off the title of this is amazing. Just amazing.
And I feel like I have lived both sides of this. My mom died when I was 18 and I've struggled with the ways I could've been a better daughter.
But as a mom of two daughters (understanding that "mom" is not a universal term of warmth and love -- that many folks had moms who didn't provide safe and/or loving homes) being "let down" by a daughter is not really a thing -- at least for me. When I had my daughters, a new level of love was unlocked, like some sort of video game, and it's a love that has such different properties and qualities, regular words don't really work for it. It's not connected to expectations.
I'm not trying to make it sound like it's precious or holy or exclusive to moms. I don't think motherhood is a club everyone must join. But I guess I'm just saying that those of us who were lucky enough to have moms who love/loved us, are likely judging ourselves more harshly than our mothers ever would. And most moms who love their girls would never, ever want to be a source of pain for their daughters.
Maybe the best way to be there for our moms is to be there for ourselves?
Anyways Jane, know that I'm rooting for you every single day.
This was a balm to my soul, Jane. I recently lost my own Mom (as you know), and witnessed her decline in real time, not recognizing the toll on my own health of being her caregiver. It’s so complex, this altar of the good daughter, and none of us gets it right because there is no right when the choices are all kind of shitty. Thank you so much for this unexpected gift of a little grace, for both me and my Mom. (ps I miss your Mom so much. What a lovely human she was. 💚)
Oh how I wish your mother could have mothered you after your head injury and during your long struggles. Instead, you felt awful, it seems, because you couldn't be there for her as she wished. I'm glad you now carry her within and know her love, and yours for her. I believe my mother's wisdom, as well as her DNA, resides within me now ten years after her death. I get the "best mother" now speaking to me as yours did, "love."
This is so beautiful, Jane. The title caught my eye so I saved your essay until I was able to find some calm to sit down and read it. I'm so glad I did, as I was able to really savor it. A lineage of failed daughters resonates with me, as does the need to mother rather than be mothered. My complicated relationship with my mother is at the center of my own writing, which I strive to infuse with love and tenderness, like you have. Thank you.
Jane. Such a heart wrenching and freedom giving piece of writing. "Don't worry, love. I let my mum down as well." What a way for a mother to tell her daughter how much she is seen and loved. In reading your words I have been reminded to keep telling my children, how grateful I am that they choose me, and that I would not change a thing about them. Thank you. xx
Oooooh, Kemi, thank you so much for such kind words. And...for offering a fresh take on what my mom said to me. I didn't hear it that way at all, Kemi. I heard it as confirmation that we had both failed and that was super bad. Your insight is so beautiful and much much appreciated. Thank you! ❤️
Dear Jane, your words took me back to May 1989, when my Mum passed away. Many of your emotions brought back my own emotions. I was with her from 8:00 am till she passed away at 11:00 pm the same day. My guilt of “not doing enough” kicks in off and on, although I know I was always there for her, with my own work and children, dividing my time as best as possible, but there it is. When my daughter passed away, suddenly, while at work, the guilt of not being there has multiplied and has become a haunting reality. Sending you good vibes and positive thoughts. 🍃💕
Thank you for your kind words. And for sharing your stories. I'm so sorry about your daughter. I can imagine you'd be flooded with countless emotions and that they would trigger old emotions. Kisses to your tender, broken heart. ❤️
Tears in my eyes: lovely. Thank you. One of the last things my father said to me before he died was: "I always thought you were beautiful." Words of benediction and love. My mother is still with us, but she is 89 and there is less of her now than years, or even months, ago. I struggle with the guilt of not doing all she needs. So, your words are pertinent and helpful. Thank you again.
Dear Jane, I just wanted to say that what I enjoy the most about your newsletter are your personal essays, so keep them coming! And congratulations for the dream agent! Sending positive vibes.
Dear Jane, your words touched my heart. I went through a similar journey, having left my island home at 19 to emigrate and go to university. I ended up marrying and staying in the new country , raising three children and working in several professions over the ensuing years. There were many visits back home with our children and Mum and Dad visited us in return. Boxes of photos testify to those years. Dad died 26 years ago at 72 years old, and Mum died 1 1/2 years ago at 96. In her final 5 years, I visited as often as I could, and financially supported keeping her in her home with wonderful private nurses up to the end. I share your feelings and thoughts about being a good daughter. I know I tried but sometimes I feel I could have tried harder. However, one image of our love for each other stands out as does the one you shared: Mum was unable to move out of bed or say much towards the end, and I did the talking and hugging etc. one morning I went in to greet her as the nurses were about to do the morning rituals, and I said as I often did, “I love you Mum” . In a moment of grace, she smiled right at me and said “I love you too. “
I knew that- deep down - I really did, but some days I wondered whether she knew who I was. I hold Those brief words close to my heart. That’s where I told her so many times that she would always be, and I in her heart- so even when we were apart, we were together.
Now I feel her in my life with peace and a deep love, and know she understood I was trying my best to be a good daughter. As you were. May your love for your mum and hers for you warm your days.
Thank you for sharing. Best wishes on your writing.
Oh, Lynn, that's beautiful. Thank you for sharing. You've deeply touched my heart. I'm so glad you had the exchange with your mother. And, yes, I now experience a beautiful relationship with my mom and feel she understands all. And thank you for your kind words on my essay. They mean so much. ❤️
oh my goodness Jane, you write so beautifully. This is lovely, powerful, haunting. And for those of us with complicated relationships with our mothers, especially poignant. I also want to say something about the editing vs writing dilemma: I’ve had it myself. I’m a longtime editor but chose a year ago to plunge back into writing. When [B]old Age was awarded a “bestseller” badge a few days ago it meant so much. I think I’m finding my writing voice again. Thank you… and keep writing! ❤️
Thank you so much, Debbie! Your words mean a lot! And I'm so glad you were able to plunge back into writing. I long to do the same! But each interview represents at least thirty to forty hours of work. Plus everything else that goes into Beyond. Plus the daily health care that's required to get through each day and weekly medical appointments. Plus all the regular human stuff magnified when you live alone. It's a lot! Writing falls to the bottom of the list. Argh. I dream of one day having some help and returning to at least a weekly practice, if not daily! ❤️
First off the title of this is amazing. Just amazing.
And I feel like I have lived both sides of this. My mom died when I was 18 and I've struggled with the ways I could've been a better daughter.
But as a mom of two daughters (understanding that "mom" is not a universal term of warmth and love -- that many folks had moms who didn't provide safe and/or loving homes) being "let down" by a daughter is not really a thing -- at least for me. When I had my daughters, a new level of love was unlocked, like some sort of video game, and it's a love that has such different properties and qualities, regular words don't really work for it. It's not connected to expectations.
I'm not trying to make it sound like it's precious or holy or exclusive to moms. I don't think motherhood is a club everyone must join. But I guess I'm just saying that those of us who were lucky enough to have moms who love/loved us, are likely judging ourselves more harshly than our mothers ever would. And most moms who love their girls would never, ever want to be a source of pain for their daughters.
Maybe the best way to be there for our moms is to be there for ourselves?
Anyways Jane, know that I'm rooting for you every single day.
Ooooh, Kate, this is beautiful. Thank you, friend. And I feel it. xx
This was a balm to my soul, Jane. I recently lost my own Mom (as you know), and witnessed her decline in real time, not recognizing the toll on my own health of being her caregiver. It’s so complex, this altar of the good daughter, and none of us gets it right because there is no right when the choices are all kind of shitty. Thank you so much for this unexpected gift of a little grace, for both me and my Mom. (ps I miss your Mom so much. What a lovely human she was. 💚)
Thank you, Wendyo! ❤️
Hard to put into words how beautiful I found this piece of your heart. Thank you for sharing it so generously with us. xxx
Thank you so much, Donna. Your words mean so much. 🌸
Oh how I wish your mother could have mothered you after your head injury and during your long struggles. Instead, you felt awful, it seems, because you couldn't be there for her as she wished. I'm glad you now carry her within and know her love, and yours for her. I believe my mother's wisdom, as well as her DNA, resides within me now ten years after her death. I get the "best mother" now speaking to me as yours did, "love."
So true! ❤️
This is so beautiful, Jane. The title caught my eye so I saved your essay until I was able to find some calm to sit down and read it. I'm so glad I did, as I was able to really savor it. A lineage of failed daughters resonates with me, as does the need to mother rather than be mothered. My complicated relationship with my mother is at the center of my own writing, which I strive to infuse with love and tenderness, like you have. Thank you.
Thank you so much, Laila, for your kind words. They mean a lot. Our mothers seem to infuse so much!
Such a gorgeous essay.
Thank you so much, Maura!
So glad you found the absolution you needed. Beautifully written.
Thank you, Bonnie!
Very welcome :)
Jane. Such a heart wrenching and freedom giving piece of writing. "Don't worry, love. I let my mum down as well." What a way for a mother to tell her daughter how much she is seen and loved. In reading your words I have been reminded to keep telling my children, how grateful I am that they choose me, and that I would not change a thing about them. Thank you. xx
Oooooh, Kemi, thank you so much for such kind words. And...for offering a fresh take on what my mom said to me. I didn't hear it that way at all, Kemi. I heard it as confirmation that we had both failed and that was super bad. Your insight is so beautiful and much much appreciated. Thank you! ❤️
When it is not our mother, we probably hear the words differently. Xx
This phrase was remarkably beautiful: "and at last the words became cellular: I’m so glad you’re my daughter."
Indeed a happy ending. Thank you Jane.
Thank you so much, David! Your words have touched my heart!
Jane, this is so beautiful. Such heartbreak and ultimate healing. What a blessing.
Thank you so much, Shelley!
Dear Jane, your words took me back to May 1989, when my Mum passed away. Many of your emotions brought back my own emotions. I was with her from 8:00 am till she passed away at 11:00 pm the same day. My guilt of “not doing enough” kicks in off and on, although I know I was always there for her, with my own work and children, dividing my time as best as possible, but there it is. When my daughter passed away, suddenly, while at work, the guilt of not being there has multiplied and has become a haunting reality. Sending you good vibes and positive thoughts. 🍃💕
Thank you for your kind words. And for sharing your stories. I'm so sorry about your daughter. I can imagine you'd be flooded with countless emotions and that they would trigger old emotions. Kisses to your tender, broken heart. ❤️
Tears in my eyes: lovely. Thank you. One of the last things my father said to me before he died was: "I always thought you were beautiful." Words of benediction and love. My mother is still with us, but she is 89 and there is less of her now than years, or even months, ago. I struggle with the guilt of not doing all she needs. So, your words are pertinent and helpful. Thank you again.
Oh, Carlie, that's so beautiful!! I'm so glad your father said that to you. And I'm sorry you too struggle with the guilt. It's hard!! xx
Dear Jane, I just wanted to say that what I enjoy the most about your newsletter are your personal essays, so keep them coming! And congratulations for the dream agent! Sending positive vibes.
Thanks so much, Imola. ❤️
Wow!
❤️