Mother, You Hurt Me!

Ten years ago my mother died. I had been away from home for two years, and just when I thought I could make up for lost time, 37 days after my return she passed away. As a child and teenager she and I had a horrible relationship. I often resented her for not mothering me the way I wanted, and I would hurt so badly that instead of expressing my feelings and help her understand how I needed to be mothered, I would try to make her pay for hurting me. I never accounted for the fact that though there's nothing more perfect than a mother's love, mothers aren't perfect, for they are human beings too. As I entered adult life I begun sensing a sense of regret in her for not having the wisdom to understand my needs as a son. I also knew that her approaching latter part of her life-and me, her last son becoming a man, no longer a little boy-made her regret the moments she allowed herself to be distracted by other things or voices in her life, no matter how valid they might have seemed at the time. And she begun making a concentrated, consistent effort to mend and better our relationship. She would often come find me and silently say, in order to keep my brothers and father from hearing, "Hey, let’s get away from the house and go eat out. But without the others." At first I didn't think much of it, I was just happy to have some McDonald's, or Denny's, or whatever it was. But as I matured I realized this was our mother-son quality, bonding time. Some of the funniest jokes came during these meals as we sat in the car at a Sonic eating our burgers, but I also got a couple slaps in the same car for saying something incredibly insensitive about an undeserving stranger, and of course I also got some of the best advice and some of the best stories about her life. This Wednesday night I had a dream. My mother and I were eating at a restaurant. We were having a great conversation when suddenly things went south. I honestly can't remember what it was, but she did or said something that got me so upset, so offended, and so incredibly hurt... that I went back to my teenage years and set out on making her pay for hurting me so much. I wanted her to feel equally as bad! I got up from the table and said, "I'm gonna leave you alone at this table! Hope you enjoy it!" I left her there in public humiliation. In the dream, the next day a lady came up to me and said, "Juan, yesterday I ran into your mother and asked her about you. And she started crying inconsolably." I said, "Good, now she knows how she made me feel! And I'm not going to apologize!" I woke up in tears. The shame, the regret! Even writing this, days later, I can't help but tear up and feel so ashamed of my behavior. How could I be so cruel to my own mother, even if is just in a dream, ten years later! The last couple days I have been working very hard through those feelings, but more importantly to try and get a lesson out of it. When I finally thought I got it, I decided I would share the story with my father, who is still alive. This morning I called my father and told him about the dream. I told him that the immense pain and shame of my actions in the dream did have a meaningful lesson for me. As I worked through my emotions I realized that as adults we tend to lose the innocence and vulnerability necessary to tell our loved ones, "You hurt me so badly. Because I love you so much your actions and words affect me, inevitably. It hurt me because...." Instead of letting others be flawed works in progress, and forgive them with the healthy expectation of improvement, we find it easier to show who's "stronger." As I was sharing with my dad there was total silence, I figured he was just listening. I finished by telling him, "As cliché as it sounds, dad, my mother's dream visit taught me that even if we're right, when it comes to our loved ones its often better to realize enjoying our time together is more important. And no matter how strong we are, we're all vulnerable enough to focus on love." As my father finally spoke, he said in the most serene, loving tone, "Son, I can't tell you how much a father wants his sons to call him every now and then and just reminisce about their lost mother from time to time. I wasn't saying anything because I was in tears during your entire story. I know that dream wasn't something your psyche created to fill a void, I am certain it really was your mother. The lesson you say the dream taught you is great and I agree with you, you're right. But there's one more thing you haven't thought about: Your mother wants to have a meal with you from time to time. She too misses that quality mother-son time, not just you. Don't be afraid to be a 'nut job' from time to time and go out to eat and invite your mother along for the ride. She wants to hear about your life. She wants to be part of your life. Still." I told my father, "I must hang up now. The child in me who misses his mother is no longer able to speak. I need to cry tears of joy." He simply cried, "Thanks, son" as we both hung up. What makes my mother perfect is that she is always there.