Goodbye Mother, Hello Woman
“Until you see your mother as a woman, you see every woman as your mother. ”
Twenty-five years ago I purchased a copy of Goodbye Mother, Hello Woman feeling the need to learn more about mother-daughter relationships. My relationship with my mother had been tenuous for most of my life, and now that I was a mother of two young girls who I adored, I wanted to explore the intricacies of this relationship, considered the strongest of all parent-child bonds.
The book has lived on my bookshelf all these years. Last week I moved it to my reading pile. You see - I want to write a book. These last two years, dipping into memoir writing and working with other women to help them to write their life stories, I have become fascinated by the impact of generational stories. I want to explore these stories with women and compile my learnings into a book.
I decided to read Goodbye Mother, Hello Woman again, this time as research for my book. Why this book? Well, and this is my layman interpretation, the book is based on Bowen family systems, which focuses on the interactions between family members, and one of the theories is that there is multigenerational transmission of issues from parent to child. But when I opened the book, the first thing I read was the inscription one of the authors, Mary Dell, had written above her signature, “Until you see your mother as a woman, you see every woman as your mother.” It struck me, when I read those words, that I had never seen my mother as a woman. In fact, I don’t know if my mother ever saw herself as a woman.
My mother would have described herself as a daughter, wife, mother, grandmother, and homemaker. She might have added secretary as she had fond memories of her work before she had children. I would add a caregiver. And I would add a friend. She had few friends over the years, a very negative friend experience from her adolescence had scarred her, but she was loyal to the friends she had.
My mother was uncompromising as to what these roles entailed. She did not sway from the traditional expectations she had set for herself. She spent her life being a daughter, mother, and wife. I have one vivid memory from when I was going to university. My brothers and I were all going to school and working, and we had busy social lives. My father was travelling a lot for work. One evening my mother was silently packing my father’s suitcase for yet another trip while my brothers and I were getting ready to head out the door. We were all scared of my mother’s silences, it was how she punished us, or it was the calm before the storm. Suddenly we heard shouting from my parents’ bedroom and sobbing. “What about me?” my mother screamed, “You are all busy living your lives and none of you need me anymore. What am I now supposed to do?”
I think her happiest years were when my father retired and we had all left home. They travelled. They moved out west to be closer to their grandchildren. They worked in their garden. They went on frequent day trips. But she stayed true to her roles. She continued to parent her grown children. Her duty to my father was unrelenting. In the years that he lived with dementia, she was his primary caregiver. We hired home support but she would not allow herself any respite, he was her responsibility she would tell us. When my father no longer recognized her as his wife, she was devastated. I now understand that her grief was not only about losing her husband but also losing her sense of identity.
After my mother passed away last month, I had several conversations with one of the managers at the independent seniors’ facility where she lived. She spoke of how my mother always lent a helping hand, and how my mother reached out to lonely residents. She said my mother always had a smile and greeting for everyone, and she would be missed. I did not recognize the woman in the stories she told me. I found it hard to believe she was speaking of my mother.
I wonder, was I too close to see her as a woman? Or did I have so few stories from her life outside of these roles that I couldn’t see her as anything else? I think more than anything the roles she committed herself to signified womanhood for her. I only have a handful of photos of my mother from before her wedding, family portraits that barely give me a glimpse of who she was. I do have a photo of her taken the year she met my father. I was going to share it with you but after searching through photos for three hours, I came up empty - I expect I have tucked it away in one of my safe places that I have forgotten. In the photo she is beautiful; there is a light in her eyes, and a knowing smile on her lips. I know this woman must have had a lifetime of stories.