Dutiful Daughter

So today is my mother’s birthday. Ever the dutiful daughter I called her. I make it sound like a bit of a trial and honestly, it isn’t. My mom and I get along just fine. Granted, it wasn’t always the case, but years of work and a bit of forgiveness have come to fruition and we now enjoy a relatively easy relationship.

I was actually pleased to hear that she was out at a restaurant and couldn’t talk for long. Not because I wanted to cut the conversation short, but because I was glad that she wasn’t at home alone.

During our brief conversation, she said something to me which I know I will dissect endlessly. She did the “mom” thing and asked about my social life. While I was giving her the update she remarked that I was a unique individual and that she didn’t know anyone like me. She qualified it by saying that she knows that everyone is unique and so forth, but she thinks I received an extra helping of “different” somewhere along the way. In the past, this is where I would try to figure out if this was a veiled insult or another instance of the fact that my mom doesn’t “get me.” However, I believe that she just meant it as an observation. Perhaps I am reaching, but I sounded a bit like a puzzle she hadn’t quite figured out. Like tuning in to watch a soap, she was full of questions about what I had going on in my life these days in the desert.

So, I took one more step into the waters and told her some of my thoughts about why I might be a bit different. It’s a little strange to confide in her, but what the heck, right? Anyway, it was kind of fun. Taking for granted that a lot of people regularly confide in their mother, this is weird for me.

I wish the other members of my family had as easy a time with her as I do now. I suppose we all have to find our own way to mending whatever emotional fences need mending. Some will do it and some won’t. Always leading the charge it seems is Dad. Since Linda passed away he seems to have back pedaled a bit on the whole forgiveness thing, and I have to wonder if the 2 things aren’t connected somehow. But analyzing my father isn’t the point of today’s blog, so I will leave that topic there.

In the end, another pleasant conversation with my mother happened and that’s the best ending I could have hoped for.