31 Days of Six Feet Under: Like Mother, Like Daughter

Claire gets an abortion in the 6FU episode Twilight, which was on today’s viewing list. Watching the episode this time around, I realized the shared experience implied between Claire and her mother Ruth through pregnancy . But it also demonstrates the two women’s disconnect with each other. Ruth and Claire have a discussion during this Season Three where Ruth confesses she got pregnant with Claire’s older brother Nate outside of marriage when she was Claire’s age. Claire gets pregnant young and out of wedlock like her mother, but unlike her mother she chooses to end the pregnancy. Ruth and Claire have a complicated relationship, but what mother and daughter don’t have a complicated relationship...good or bad?

My mother came from Northeast Texas to visit me this year on my birthday, which also happened to fall on Mother’s Day. I was incredibly excited, because my mother had only visited me twice since I moved to Knoxville. She visited about 15 years ago and then again about 10 years ago. I had convinced myself that she would never visit me again. It had become a topic I joked about with my friends.

Honestly, I've been a tad jealous of the attention I feel my brother gets from my mother. She has gone to visit him a lot. (I must admit, he has also supplied Mother with a tribe of grandchildren, while I have just this year given her the privilege of being “Nonna” to her sweet little grandpug.) I envy the connection my brother and my mother seem to have. They are so emotionally, intellectually, and even physically alike. Taking us at face value, I look like my mother, but at my core I am my father. My brother, who appears to be my father on the surface, is actually my mother at his core. So they have this core connection with each other. When my father died at 40 before I turned 20, I saw my chance to have that sort of core connection with a parent pass me by.

I’m not whining about the relationship I have with my mother. I don’t want anyone’s pity. It’s not horrible. I just never felt like we always got each other. My mother and my brother have that Gemini/Sagittarius connection. I’m a Taurus. For those who know astrology you will understand the astrological humor in this familial triangle: My father was a Virgo--another Earth sign like myself. That would have been nice to have in my life, especially now that I’m mature enough to appreciate who my father was. To add insult to injury, my stepmother and my stepfather are Gemini as well. I used to joke with my friends that the joy of living with Gemini is that every week, when my mother completely rearranged all the furniture in the house, it was like living in The Matrix. One of the positives of having so many Gemini in my life is that I am one of the few Taureans I know who can handle change. I’m not saying I can handle it well, but I handle it better than most Taurus folk, who dig their bullish hooves in the ground and refuse to budge.

I was nervous about her visit. I often feel tense when I think about spending time with my mother. Maybe it’s just that I want her to be happy. Maybe it’s because she's always been blond and beautiful, and I feel I have never lived up to half her beauty. Maybe I secretly need her approval. I have no idea…that’s for my therapist and me to work through. I often think it has to do with this sense I have that I just don’t fit. Honestly, it’s not just that I feel I don’t fit in with my family. I have never felt like I fit anywhere--emotionally or physically.

To help explain how much I don’t fit in, and what that feels like, I'll share one of my favorite stories about not fitting in. It involves my best friend Mike, who is a principal member of my Knoxville family I have created for myself. I had just become friends with Mike and had declared him my best friend, hoping the idea would become like a meme and go viral. We were hanging out at this incredibly crowded Mexican food restaurant during the 2010 Gatlinburg FIlm Festival. Mike had just ordered a beer and put it on the corner of a table, where I promptly knocked it off with my elbow. I felt so awkward and embarrassed and offered to buy him another beer. Phillip went to the bar to get him another beer for me because he was closer and there were so many people in the place that it was nearly impossible to move. To finish this story I need to explain that Mike is 6 foot 5 inches tall. I looked at Mike, who was stooped over listening to me, and apologized. I told him that one day I just hoped to fit into this world physically and emotionally. As the sentence escaped my lips he stood straight up and said, “I know exactly what you...” Before he could finish his thought he had collided scalp first with a light fixture that was hanging from the ceiling. It is a moment in my life I will never forget. Isn’t it great when you truly identify a kindred spirit?

Mom's visit was lovely. I now feel a stronger connection with my mother. Maybe it’s that I’m not a little girl anymore. Maybe it’s because we were in Knoxville and I had the home field advantage. Or maybe it’s that I have created a family of friends of my own. Whatever it is, I have to admit that I finally feel that my mother and I are good with each other. I could be calm in front of her. I had such good moments with her. I enjoyed her spirit and how she danced without fear of judgement in the middle of Market Square during the Farmers Market while the gentlemen who plays the saxophone blew her a special melody that reminded him of his time in Dallas.

She can talk to anyone. We share that. We both can talk to just about anyone. And we both have this aura or something that draws people to us who need to tell their stories to someone else. I once had a strange man at a Shoney’s stand next to me at the breakfast buffet and tell me about his prostate cancer. After 35 minutes of his monologuing I hugged him before he joined the others at his table. I sat down next to my old fiance and dear friend today, who asked me if I knew the man. “No,” I said, “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

My mother and I may not share the core connection she has with my brother, but I realized during her visit that we do get each other. After all, she is my mother. She has been patient with me in our differences. One of her favorite stories to tell about me revolves around my need to be fiercely independent. My first day of kindergarten my mother walked with me to the steps of the red brick elementary school building. As the rest of the children walked hand-in-hand up the steps with their mothers or fathers, I dug my little bovine heals into the sidewalk. I tilted my head up at my beautiful, blond, 25 year old mother and announced to her that I did not need her to take me to my class. I could get to my class on my own. Honestly, I barely remember this…but I do remember always feeling more mature than I really was and always wanting to prove I didn’t need anyone’s help.

When she tells the story now, she mentions that it was a difficult moment for her. I’m her oldest child and the first day of school is one of the pivotal “letting go” experiences for a parent. In this moment my mother made a choice that I believe defined me as an individual. She let me climb the long flight of concrete stairs leading up to Lindbergh Elementary School and walk to my class all by myself. She didn’t argue. She didn’t veto my need to be independent. She let me make my own path. And though the only experience I have raising children was being a part-time caregiver for my niece for several years, I believe that was not an easy decision for my young mother to make. But it is one I am grateful to this day that she made. I believe it was the open door to my strength and bravery.

So thank you, Mom, for letting me find my own way.