Mississippi Stories

I was sound asleep last night when I opened my eyes (I think) and saw a looming image of my mother's face just above my head. I am sure it was a dream only, but it made me remember what I had forgotten: the date she died, February 24. I also thought immediately of Woody Allen's 1989 film entitled New York Stories in which the protagonist must deal constantly with an overwhelming mother. In several scenes, the mother appears as a giant in the sky still dispensing advice to her errant son. I wondered what I still needed to learn from my deceased mother, and it came to me. We needed, if possible even after death, to forgive each other for what we were and for what we weren't.

Up until this point I had thought that the whole idea of forgiveness was one-sided only. I needed to forgive my mother for not trying hard enough during her single years in Mississippi. She would always complain about my father's lack of responsibility for the family, yet my sister and I were required to raise ourselves as she lay in the bed for hours with stomach pain, headaches, and clinical depression. When she was up from the bed, she was often very critical and angry. After several years of this, she finally took us to her mother (a sixty-three year old widow) to complete raising while she worked in Memphis.

I now realize that I also needed forgiveness for what I was as well. I, as a result of being away from my mother so much during the formative teen years, was distant and non-communicative. The effort on my part seemed to be too great. I now realize I should have made that effort, at least called or written more often. When she would visit in the fall, I often did not have the time (at least I had convinced myself of that) to sit and talk the way she wanted.

If it is possible to communicate with those who have gone on before us, I believe I can say, "I'm sorry." Freud certainly had it right, though not on all points, that mothers are towering figures in our relationships both in death and life.