I love my mother dearly but our relationship was often a struggle. She fought for control of nearly every aspect of my life, and I had to battle for my independence. I was never the daughter who talks to her mother every day, several times a day, or one to tell her every detail about daily life. Our relationship had many ups and downs, including several periods when my mother and I didn’t communicate at all.
Today, however, my relationship with my mother has never been better. She passed away in 2004.
Some experts believe our relationships with our parents continue after their death. I became parentless in 2004, and, as an adult orphan, I have found that to be somewhat true.
According to one expert, Jeanne Safer, author of “Death Benefits,” the relationship with one’s deceased parents not only continues, it becomes more fulfilling and rewarding, because the relationship then is maintained on the survivor’s terms.
After one’s parents are gone, the son or daughter left behind obviously then has more control over the parent/child relationship, and, according to Safer, the relationship actually improves. It sounds unbelievable, but I’ve experienced it.
Helping me to maintain a posthumous relationship with my parents is an extensive collection of family photographs. Fortunately, my grandfather was an avid amateur photographer, long before cameras were a household item, so there are hundreds of family photographs to enjoy, dating from the 1940s to present.
Looking into my parents’ faces and seeing them in happy times, alive and well, helps me to feel that their spirits live on. I study the images closely, as I no longer have the luxury of sitting across the table with either of my parents, or sharing a meal, an experience, a laugh, or a hug.
My mother and father also left behind a few special possessions that enable me to feel connected and maintain a “relationship” of sorts. From my father: a pocket watch, a Rotary club pin, a desk he built, and his wedding ring that I wear every day.
My mother left behind several collectibles, and baubles. Among the most sentimental is a large cocktail cluster ring that she inherited from her mother. My mom wore it every day after my grandmother passed away, even though the ring is oversized and quite fancy, with its glittering diamonds and sapphires.
When I inherited the ring, I was apprehensive about wearing it. I told myself: It’s not me…. It’s too big… I’m too young… Something might happen to it.
It also seemed inappropriate to wear during the day, or anywhere other than a formal occasion.
I love shiny objects, but this ring was a bit much, even for me, though as long as I can remember this has been a special piece. The ring was my mom’s signature, like a part of her identity. It was always there, on that same finger, no matter what the occasion.
The sapphires are interspersed with diamonds. The contrasting dark blue fire from the sapphires dances off the bright white diamonds. The diamonds enhance the sapphires’ deep blue oceanic hue, and the juxtaposition of the colorful sapphires makes the diamonds more fiery.
Recently I found a photograph of my mother, which, at first glance, looks like any typical beach vacation photo: Mom lounging seaside in a beach chair, with umbrella, sun, sand, water… all like props. There’s a smile on her face, and a cocktail in her hand.
One minor detail of the photo caught my eye. There, on her right hand – the huge cocktail ring. Only my mother would accessorize a bathing suit with a large diamond and sapphire sparkler, at the beach. I knew she wore the ring daily, but I didn’t recall her wearing it to sit in the sun or swim in the ocean.
That ring was a connection between my mom and her mother. They, too, had a relationship full of ups and downs, squabbles and fights. We surmise that my grandmother, like my mother, suffered from depression periodically throughout her life. They both had personalities of extremes – laughter and joy and fun would suddenly give way to crying, anger and fighting, and then laughter again. There was not much in between the sky highs and the dark lows of their moods.
Today, the ring connects me with my mother. It is a constant reminder of her life, and the circle of life. Like the diamonds and sapphires passed on to me, we are mothers and daughters who both contrast and complement one another, depending on the setting and the context.
Since finding that vacation photo of my mom, the beach bum in a cocktail ring, I now wear the ring, daily.
Regardless of your relationship with your mother – no matter how affirming, how troubling, or how non-existent it is, your life will change when she is gone. At times you will do everything you can to be as unlike her as possible, and at other times you will try your hardest to feel closer and more connected to her.
The ring on my finger makes me feel connected to my mom, and helps me to continue my relationship with her. Even though the ring may be a bit too large and too formal, I no longer need an excuse or occasion to wear her trademark accessory.
Besides, life is short. There are no guarantees. If I don’t enjoy this beautiful family heirloom today, left to me by my mom, when will I?
© Andrea Clement
Andrea Clement is a career advice columnist, writer, and communications professional. Her background in medical sales, training, and healthcare recruiting led to her role as the Guide to Health Careers for About.com, an IAC company. She has contributed to books, journals, websites and has made media appearances on television and radio in her capacity as a healthcare career expert. She writes about her experience as an adult orphan on her blog, No Parents No Problem. Learn more about Andrea here. Follow Andrea on Twitter at @AndreaSantiago, or connect with her on LinkedIn.
Part 2 in a series on mother-daughter relationships.
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My mother died in late October and I am finding what you wrote here to be very true already:
“Regardless of your relationship with your mother – no matter how affirming, how troubling, or how non-existent it is, your life will change when she is gone. At times you will do everything you can to be as unlike her as possible, and at other times you will try your hardest to feel closer and more connected to her.”
Somehow, she is able to continue to make me feel guilty beyond the grave.
Well done, DA
This lovely essay is by Andrea Santiago, Pam. And like her, and now you, with our mothers passed, we sort through that all-important legacy with its elements that are challenging as well as its gifts.
My condolences on your loss. Thinking of you.
Pam, Thank you for your comment. I’m very sorry for your recent loss. I hope you will find with time, as I did, that the guilt does fade eventually, and it doesn’t happen overnight typically. Reading the book I referenced in my post, “Death Benefits” was very helpful and enlightening for me. The author’s relationship with her mother was also very guilt-ridden and is a very interesting story. Hundreds of other adult children were also studied and interviewed about their relationships with their deceased parents and it is fascinating and insightful. I wish I had known about the book sooner – I didn’t read it until many years after my mother passed away.
I enjoyed reading this as well as your last post on mothers and daughters. My comment on that was lost in cyber space. Being the eldest of four girls I am now the mother of three grown boys. Oh the intricacies. Much to think about. You have the most wonderful guest posts.
I’m glad you’re enjoying the guest posts and thank you for mentioning the last comment, Cornelia. (I found it and rescued it…) And I agree – I have wonderful guest writers, yes. I’m so fortunate!
As one of four girls, being the mother of boys must have proved a fascinating contrast.
Brilliant……
I wear my Mom’s original engagement ring and she is still alive. She no longer would recognize it so I restyled it and wear it now daily.
Dear D.A., I wish you knew how these last two posts on mother/daughter tribulations deeply resonated with me. I had an older sister, she was a favorite, and I was …well… just an accident, competing tirelessly for my mother’s affection. Mom passed away on my hands in 1989 suffering terribly, leaving scars in my heart for life.
I have two grown up sons, trying hard to be ‘the opposite mom’ as you wrote, love them both dearly, equally.
I always was a papa’s girl having his support and unconditional love, and he taught me what it is to be loved the way you are for what you are… And at 86 he is still my close and oldest friend.
Thank you for opening up on this delicate and intimate issue.
How telling the random object can be in conguring up memories and connections. Have you heard of sandplay therapy? Reminds me of this. I never thought about carrying on a relationship with my parents after they’re gone and I can honestly (and with a bit of guilt) see how it might be more peaceful and rewarding after they’re gone. Much poorer and wanting in many ways – but easier in others.
I know those ups and downs — the periods of radio silence and those with weekly phone calls too. My mother and I have both changed a lot as we’ve gone through these last three decades together. I was a first child, but an unexpected one conceived weeks after my parents were married. It would be generous to claim they were ready for me. I wished for many years in the more contentious part of our relationship that my mother had had more time to figure things out as a wife first before having me — her marriage remains complicated and polarized by motherhood to this day. But it does mean she understands the challenges of balancing being a wife and mother and something else in between, which I’m most recently learning how to navigate myself.
When my son was born this year, my mother gave me three vests her mother had knitted for me and my sisters when we were infants. They’re not quite the same as a fabulous sapphire sparkler, but they remind me of her as a younger mother, and all the complexities of that stage of life freshly before her, whenever I put my son in them.
Your first paragraph spoke to me so powerfully…that was my relationship with my mother for most of my life.
And then you lost your mother and for a short time I was afraid I was going to lose mine (due to some miscommunication with her doctor over a rare medical diagnosis). Just that fear alone changed our relationship or, I should say, changed the way I dealt with our relationship. I allowed myself to step back into a relationship that I had spent much of my life running away from.
I think it’s amazing that you share a ring that had been passed down from your grandmother to your mother. I’m so glad to know that you can remain connected and the relationship still lives in its own way, even though your mother is no longer physically here.