As Forgiving As I Wanna Be
I forgive my mother. I forgive myself. Seriously. I forgive us for all of it, for how we are and how we’ve been and who we are and what we’ve done. I’m just like her, a human being, doing the best I can, trying to connect and love and be loved, while making sure the furniture is arranged in the optimal configuration for our Mother’s Day brunch that I spent most of yesterday resenting because a large part of me would rather go to yoga.
I will go to yoga next weekend. Today I will honor my mother by not being pissed off and enjoying her company, which is enjoyable. (Mom: I know you are reading this and worrying, or perhaps being angry, about brunch, since I suggested it, and I love you and I’m sorry and please forgive me.)
Most of the time when I look at my mom I think about her strengths, of which there are many. There are qualities in her that I admire, put up on a pedestal, and then eventually compare myself to, and find myself not measuring up. And there are also qualities in her that I’ve wished were different, ways of being and behaving that I’ve wished would change so that I would feel better.
All of that analysis is part of the problem, not the solution, for me. She is who she is. I am who I am. It’s all really way more than ok. It is wonderful. I am lucky. My mom is alive and evolving as am I. I love her and she loves me. Sometimes the way she is bugs me, and the way I am bugs her.
Sometimes the word “bugs” is way too mild. Sometimes the word “wonderful” is way too mild too. Thank you, Mom. Thank you for sticking with the gig of loving me as I am. I’ll try better to do same for you. Happy Mother’s Day.