on a monday {sunday scribblings}
I am a bit under the weather and don't really feel in the mood for a trip to the past and my earliest memory. However, inspired by Alexandra's post, I have decided to share this today.
When my parents divorced when I was a freshmen in college, I went to therapy. And I stayed in therapy throughout my four years of college. When my therapist asked me to talk about my earliest memories involving my parents, a not-so-delightful memory came to mind immediately. I greatly appreciate that there are people who come to this page who know my parents, and I won't share all the details here out of respect. At the same time, this is about my journey, not about blame. After a conversation over the weekend, I have realized that I have moved through more of my feelings about my parents' divorce and relationship than I thought. I also honor that this is my memory. The other people there would remember this differently. This is how it goes; this is what memory is.
I am three or four and we are sitting at the kitchen table. We always sat in the same seats. My father across from me, my mother to my right. Always the same. When Matthew was born, he sat to my left. We never changed this seating arrangement, ever, the entire time they were together. On this afternoon, after the meal begins, there is an argument about asparagus not being clean. I remember watching them like a tennis match. The yelling. The plate of asparagus ends up getting thrown over my head smashed against the wall behind me. (No one was physically hurt.) My father storms out of the room, the garage door opens, and I hear the car backing into the driveway. My mother cries. She and I pack a suitcase. I remember her saying, "go get seven pairs of underwear." We head toward South Carolina to my grandparents house. About 30 miles down the road, the car begins to make noise and we turn around and go back home. I am sure there is more to the memory, and there are pieces I have chosen not to share. But this is it. A quick understanding by a young child watching the argument develop back and forth. This is how it is to be. An understanding.
This is one piece of an early memory. Other pieces include:
My father reading to me at night. As I get a little older, we begin to take turns reading chapters from The Little House on the Prairie series. I remember the night I tried to use phonics to sound out mosquito.
My mother teaching me to bake chocolate chip cookies. During one of these afternoons, she receives a phone call and I stand on my "kitchen stool" and proceed to eat quite a bit of cookie dough. She doesn't get mad, just laughed.
I remember them each holding this big, red, plastic apple as we would work on me turning my head to look at things because my left eye did not turn to the left. I honor the way they both supported me when they realized my left eye was not "normal." The way they took me to wonderful doctors and never invited me to feel differently, in fact they insisted I was not different. (I wrote more about this here.)
I honor the memories surrounding school and the way they both taught me that reading and writing and thinking outside the box were all important tools to my growth. I have memories about these ideas from the time I started preschool at three.
When I was in therapy, I learned that I had been given a beautiful gift. My memory was that overall, my childhood was a good one. Even though my parents' marriage had its challenges and they would eventually go through an ugly divorce, I knew I was loved. A blessing in the midst of a bit of hell.
Now, I navigate the waters of an adult relationship with my parents. After challenges and miscommunication and hurt feelings on all sides, I am able to separate my relationship with each of them and honor that we all do the best we can.
My father was always "larger than life" to me. When my grandmother died last year, after my mother called to tell me, the first person I called was my father. I just wanted to hear my daddy's voice. And even though she was my mother's mother and they hadn't particularly liked one another, my father cried with me on the phone. Throughout my journey across the country to the funeral and the few days I was there, he checked in with me to see that I was okay. I glimpsed a side of him I hadn't really known. He had lost his father and the grandmother he was close to when he was younger than I am now, and his brother died of cancer in 2002. He knew this journey of grief. I just never knew he would be the one to give me support during those initial days of shock and deep pain. Writing here has given me a new dimension to my relationship with my father that has been an unexpected gift. He is able to see a side of me that I didn't share with many people over these last (almost) thirty years.
My mother and I can have some incredible conversations that have given me insight into her journey. In the last year, I have had this somewhat obvious realization that as children, we were once all attached to our mothers. Literally. This has given me some space to realize why mother-child relationships can have so many layers. She was my age when I was born. This blows my mind a bit. And I recognize that she had hopes and dreams for herself that probably did not involve my brother and me. Just as I am on a journey that does not currently include children, she was once looking at life just like I do now. I am blessed to have moments when my mother and I can talk and she gets it.
As I navigate the waters of an adult relationship with my parents, I am reminded that I am blessed. All the memories, twists and turns on my path, have brought me here to this moment. Something wonderful is afoot in my life. A change that I cannot quite articulate yet. I would not be here without all that I have seen, heard, lived. This is where I am meant to be. So I invite a letting go of any guilt from all sides. Take a breath. And live in your life. We are all in the place we are meant to be. We just have to recognize that.
Link to other bloggers earliest memories here.
liz lamoreux
Reader Comments (12)
Liz, I can feel how full your heart is, and it can be this full because it is so big. You are an amazing woman. The world has your parents, your journey and your bright spirit to thank for that.
*exhale* thank you.
Wow. Another really great post. I'm happy you decided to do a SS.
This made me think about how I hope my kids will see me someday far from now, as a person. Not just their mother. When I did this for my own mom, a lot of forgivness came.
Have you ever read the book by Dr.Christianne Northrup, called Mother-Daughter Wisdom? She speaks about the physical, spritiual and emotional bond that we have with our mothers. Sort of like what you were saying here. Very good, and kind of amazing.
:)
this was beautiful and powerful! while reading it i was reminded of some of my own memories. like you i feel some undercurrent of change occuring in my life. i don't know what. i can't explain it but i feel it. i know its there. i keep telling myself to stay with it. i keep encouraging myself to open my arms to it. i know myself well enough to know that change can be overwhelming and scary and that often i tend to run. i'm trying to stay put. maybe we can hold each other's hands through this. if you get scared and want to run just squeeze my hand...i'll hold on tight to you...
Liz, thank you for sharing these deeply personal stories. It's very brave of you to write about these things. This post speaks to the admirable, courageous woman you've become. Thank you for sharing your writing talent and your giving heart with all of us!
God, what an incredibly powerful piece of writing. This resonated very personally with me, as I am still navigating an adult relationship with my own parents after they divorced a few years ago. It is so wonderful to be able to read about other people's journeys in similar emotional waters. Thank you so much for sharing this.
there's been a lot of change happening in my life and i try everyday to remember to breath. lovely words my dear.
I'm so glad you did decide to post this memory Liz. A
memory is a moment in time, but there is so much
freedom as an adult in working with how that memory
impacts our current lives, and even in painful
memories, such tremendous meaning can be achieved
often. And I think the ability to hold both truths in
your hands- that your parents really screwed up
sometimes AND really loved you so well and took good
care of you at many other times-is so important. It
frees you-and them-from the pressures of having to be-
and need- perfect parents, and lets you ease up on
yourself too I think. A wonderful, wonderful post! & I hope you are feeling better too.
I appreciate you delineating what you were feeling and what you were writing: your memory.
I am in agreement that all experiences have led us to where we stand today. And so it seems logical to keep moving forward-sometimes easily, like bare feet on a wet slip n slide, other times like climbing Mt. Everest with a low oxygen tank-because it is the clearest path to becoming the person we want to be remember as.
I read this yesterday morning but blogger wouldnt let me post...This had such an impact on me while reading it. Such clarity, closure and love for life you have. You are a wise woman dear Liz. Amazing.
a.
this was beautiful
and honest
and sincere.
memory of a good child
in the midst of an unhappy relationship...
wow..
that really shows how much you
meant to them that they kept
your welfare first and foremost.
such important insights
Liz, I also tried to post earlier but the blogger wouldn't. So. This was a fine piece of writing. Loved it. It inspired me to write my own earliest memories on my own blog (not linked). Thanks for sharing.