Carol H Tucker Passionate about knowledge management and organizational development, expert in loan servicing, virtual world denizen and community facilitator, and a DISNEY fan
Contact Me Subscribe to this blog
beladona Memorial Be warned:in this very rich environment where you can immerse yourself so completely, your emotions will become engaged -- and not everyone is cognizant of that. Among the many excellent features of SL, there is no auto-return on hearts, so be wary of where your's wanders...
See? I am not the only one who dreads Monday morning!
Today is my mother's birthday. Had she lived, she would be 90 today. I have written before about my relationship with her, or rather the lack of a relationship, but on this day I always revisit the past. It isn't so much that I regret what happened -- I just wish that things had been different. As I deal with my daughter's difference in child-raising philosophy, I often wonder what she would've thought of the choices I made in raising my kids. You see, in my mother's family, loving someone was dependent on their being aware of their place in the family, of their accepting the roles and responsibilities that being a family member entails, that they conform. If you didn't do those things, if you went off the rails or were other than what was expected? Then they couldn't love you, couldn't accept you. Her family totally would've cast anyone out who loved someone "inappropriate" -- a married person, a member of the same sex, a member of a different ethnicity. Fortunately, my father's family were more inclusive -- while reserving the right to be all kinds of judgemental and reading you the riot act, their love was unconditional. They may not like what you are doing or what you became, but they would always love you and wouldn't think of casting you out. And that was what I tried to give my two children, unconditional love, the feeling that no matter what, I would always love them. My mother couldn't give it to me, or to her grandchildren, because she had never had it herself and didn't know what it looked like. And to my sorrow, she didn't get it from her daughter either -- that is what I wish I could've done better. I couldn't handle her disapproval and distaste and I withdrew -- we were estranged for most of my adulthood.
I'm not a cemetary visitor -- always thought I would be one of those punctilious folks who showed up with flowers on every birthday and holiday -- but on this day, I think about my mother and her life, that I had known her better as a person instead of a parent, and wish that she could've shared more of her journey with me and my kids. On this day, I know that there will never be a chance to build a bridge between us, and it is that lost potential that I actually am grieving for....
CEOExpress
