Our youngest daughter and I play cello duets.
While neither of us is Yo-Yo Ma, I have experience powerful healing in this shared experience with our fifteen year old daughter.
Never mind she plays much better than I, her
My mother had many ideas, good and creative thoughts. She was also very frustrated.
Looking back I now realize that anger simmered beneath my mother’s skin. Its scent fills my nose and takes me back now as I write. Like the stench of burning flesh, my mother’s anger continually grew
I now understand, as a licensed and working psychotherapist, that beneath anger exists hurt. We grow angry and we hurt when someone or something transgresses our boundaries.
And while small amounts of frustration lead to growth and creativity, continual frustration indicates a seething bed of continual anger.
by Don White (Central Park, Burnaby) My mother had remained calm in the wake of my father, her husband’s death. She later admitted missing him, an admission I found confusing at best since she so-often criticized him, and not until after his death listed the personality traits for that in her opinion had made him […]
Everyone wants to know that they matter, that no one else can fill their role and that they are appreciated.
I wish to have told my mother how much I, her daughter, appreciated her.
But doing that would have entailed, if I were honest, also telling her how much she hurt me.
More importantly, letting her know how special she was in my life, emphasizing the unique role she played in my development, would have included telling her how much I needed her to be kind to me, that I looked up to her and when she lashed out I felt horrible, worse than that actually.
There are so many questions I would have loved to ask my mother before she died, and listened to her answers.
My mother died when I was 36 yrs. old. Not that I’m a sage at 53 years old, but I did not know anything of what I have learned in the nearly twenty years that have come and gone since she transitioned from this life into what lies next.
It would have been helpful to listen to her describe what she loved most and expound on that. Knowing what brought her the greatest joy, I feel, would have offered a great path to discovering what brought her the most pain.
My mother was not
Writing for me is a catharsis. It is a means to channel the pent-up anger, frustration, humiliation and shame, which I have endured for 19 years. The book which I am writing, “This Far by Faith: Racism, Misogyny, Police Brutality, Corruption and the Mafia,” is a testament to the strength of women everywhere who are […]