Sundi

My mother and I had a volatile relationship that really didn’t feel close or comforting in my teens. I felt she was critical of everything I did, and I certainly didn’t think she ever thought I was beautiful. Then I look at a group of photos that she transcribed and see this. This is something she didn’t communicate to me directly, so it hits me pretty hard.

There is nothing like a dream that feels real to throw habits and reality off balance. It’s been a few weeks, but here is the dream. I’ve had a few dreams where I realize my mother has come back or that she was never really dead. But it has very much been her as I knew her coming back. It feels really nice. Like a visit.

This dream was not that. She had lied, and said she was dead so that she could go off and do what she needed to do alone. We were having a party for her coming back. My father knew. Her sisters and brothers were at the party. But she wasn’t Norma. She was this vulnerable person. This is not to say vulnerability is a bad thing. Just that it wasn’t playing out in the dream like the person I remember her to be. Her vulnerability was different than what appeared in my dream. It blocked her from being the person she was.

It was the lying. It didn’t seem right that she would lie in that way no matter what. So this has gotten me thinking about a few things.

1. What did her vulnerability look like?
2. What is happening in my life that this lying Norma surfaced in this way? What parts of me are trying to possibly flee or not being true?

Guest Post by Older Sister

One of the greatest joys—I’ve been told—is being able to get to know your grandchildren.  It’s been described to me as a different experience from having children of your own and in its way even richer and more fulfilling.  Grandparents joke all the time about getting to have all the joys of parenting with their grandkids, and none of the work.  I haven’t had that experience, but I would imagine it’s a trip watching your kids have kids.

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

Norma never got to meet her any of her four grandchildren.

I’m Norma’s oldest daughter and my kids are her oldest and third oldest grandchildren.  When my oldest was born, it was two weeks before what would have been Norma’s 50^th birthday, and she had already been gone two years.  We joked at the time that my oldest kid was Norma reincarnate. They’re both Scorpios.  And interestingly, Norma still lives on through my oldest in many ways.  They’re both athletes and artists.  Both have that Scorpio way of not being afraid to ask hard questions of the world.  A stubborn streak.  Both brave.

• 

• 

My kids ask about who their grandma Norma was.  And I tell them stories all the time about the ways that they’re similar. 

And while it’s gratifying to witness all the ways that Norma lives on in her grandchildren, there’s something heartbreaking in the knowledge they she will never know them and that—outside the stories we tell–they will never know her.  A link to their identity that’s been broken.  I know me and my kids feel that broken link.  And we try to fill that gap with wondering.  Wondering what it would have been like for them to know each other.  How would they be—would they be close?  Would she have a favorite?

I think Norma would have really taken to her grandchildren.  All four of them.  I think she would have delighted in them in ways she couldn’t with her own children.  I think she would have taken to her kids’ spouses as well.

 I wish she could have known them.

And while I will always mourn that loss for my kids and Norma, there is a balm in hearing the members of Norma’s family remark:  “Es lo mismo que la Norma!” whenever they catch a gesture or a look or a resemblance on one of Norma’s grandkids that reminds them of her.

So thanks to the memories we all have of Norma, she is present in them.

Mother’s Day is always a strange day for me. My mother is no longer here, nor is my mother-in-law, and I’m not a mother. I can certainly celebrate the mothers I know, which is what I usually do. The day turns more into a day of memory or nostalgia. But this year I’m happy that I have a place to put those reflections.

• 

• 

• 

• 

My parents talked, a lot. In their bookshelves were books on parenting. My sister and I talked through what we imagined they talked about based on our joint memory filtered through our adult minds. We think they both had philosophical minds, and their relationship in part was sense making together. Intentional parenting that stemmed in treating us like people and not kids was one thing we think they discussed at length. My mother and father had different upbringings for sure; different time periods, different cultural backgrounds. My father’s mother, Luella, died when he was young. She was mother to him and one brother only. The other children were from a different mother. My dad was raised by his dad. My mother was part of a large family, and her mother is still alive and just turned 90. Doing the math, she was 17 when she had my mother. We figure my mother and father had ideas about what they wanted their family to be based on their own experiences. How did this show up?

Hours

I forget when they started, but my parents set up this system where they dedicated an hour to each one of us, which were called “our hour”. This ranged from once a week to once a month. During this hour, it was just one of us kids with one of them and we would go do something together. Sometimes just talk over an ice-cream cone at McDonalds, sometimes we would do some activity like bowl. At one point, they gave us these special notebooks that were meant for writing letters to them, and they in turn would write letters to us. We would write down the things we were frustrated with and happy about (mostly the frustration came out).

Celebrating Development

My parent were very much into celebrating what makes us human. My mother nursed younger brother for a long time. I would get embarrassed, she would not. There are lots of pics of us as kids, running around naked. When I got my period, my parents congratulated me and turned it into a celebration.

I will say this was not always the case. Both wearing deodorant and my first bra were less celebratory and came with side comments that made me feel absolutely uncomfortable. Puberty is awkward.

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

There was also the way they approached sex. We weren’t allowed to be in our rooms with someone from the opposite sex with the door closed starting in high school. For me at this age, sex was the furthest thing from my mind. All I could think was, wow, my parents are sex crazed. Why do they think we all are? This was an effort of protection they felt they could give.

My mother was not alive when I lost my virginity and I did not discuss it with my father. However, when my sister left for college, my parents certainly hadn’t voiced any expectations that sex was something that happened only after marriage. They were absolutely Catholic as I’ve mentioned, but my mother was okay being the dissident voice and often was. She was in fact the one who talked to her friends who did have these expectations.

I appreciate the effort and time my parents put into parenting. I think it probably got harder and harder as they had more kids and were faced with other life challenges. Their practices of intentionality are still alive in me. Here are just a few more pictures to end with, showing some of the time they spent with us.

• 

• 

• 

Happy Mother’s Day!

You know how parents always say they don’t have a favorite. I find this to be completely untrue. Of course, they may not be able to say they love one child more than another. But there is always a favorite. Youngest brother was Norma’s favorite. She had gone through parenting stuff with us first three. By the fourth, she could just love. And he in turn, adored her back.

My sister and I found a newspaper clipping from our local paper that had a picture of our family when he was born. His birthday was yesterday. It was a “home birth”, although it wasn’t truly at home, but at St. Mary’s convent. I can’t find it at the moment, so not posting it, but did find a collection of polaroids from the birth and soon after. My parents were truly hippies and so I had to leave some of these out!

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

I went through and pulled out all photos that had both youngest brother and mom. They are pretty much all from the first couple years of his life, before she got sick. Here’s the collection. There is a breastfeeding one, that doesn’t show anything, but I’m including it because my mother had absolutely no qualms about breastfeeding in public.

• 

• 

• 

• 

In the last photo, I don’t see any other people from our family. This must have been a church trip.

Since there is not many of youngest brother and Norma, I thought I’d add a few in from us siblings. Youngest brother was known for a few things. The first photo begins an obsession with suits. He loved to dress up for church. He also would “give mass”. Probably completely sacrilegious, but we would all attend. The love for the youngest was the most visible coming from my mother, but I would say we all practiced this affection, as seen in “Terrific Kid”. I could hardly leave out the leotard photo. The others are just moments of care that are a nice respite from the complexity of adult life.

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

I’ll end with a lovely photo of grandma and young brother. They are both Tauruses. Happy birthday to you both!

I wasn’t quite sure what to write about this week. We are about a month in to stay at home orders, so I started thinking about what it would have been like to stay at home during different points in our family history. I started looking at pictures, specifically trying to get a wide view of a home. I came across this series, that I have looked at a few times, and really love. A green house in Tucumcari. Most likely my first home and the place I was conceived. This series is before me though. The stamp on the back of the pictures, when they were developed, is April 1977.

• 

• 

• 

My mother plays outside with my sister. And yes, it snows in New Mexico. Here is proof. Some of the photos that are part of the April 1977 group have the date written on the back, August 1976, so this has got to be the winter of 1976/1977. I was born in February 1977, so Norma must be pregnant with me. Before Sundi comes though, let’s celebrate the few years my sister got to be an only child and my mother’s first. Here’s a few more of older sister outside the green house with the pink coat and the most wonderful of hats.

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

Looks like there was a trip to California in August of 1976 to visit some of my Dad’s family. I’m guessing the pool photo is also California. I’m taken by how all these photos, from such different times in a year or so, ended up in the same processing group. It was a different way of taking and keeping pictures.

• 

• 

• 

• 

To finish off, one photo of Norma and older sister, probably in front of green house during early summer 1976, judging by the length of Norma’s hair.

• 

I would adore to hear any memories of this green Tucumcari house, or the first home you remember or don’t. Also hoping everyone is well and with family that you want to be with.