Friday, 02 January 2009
Outliving My Mother
By Kate Johnston
I am 55 years old, and I have outlived my mother. It seems like it shouldn't be a big deal, but it is.
My mother was a lawyer when few women were lawyers, and one of the first presidents of the Women Lawyers Association of Los Angeles. She liked to take me shopping and talked to everyone we met. When new acquaintances learned she was a lawyer, their next words were invariably aimed at me: "And are you going to be a lawyer too?"
I always said, "No,” determined at an early age to be different from my mother. She laughed at my quick answer, but now I wonder if it hurt her. Yet she always encouraged me in my own interests.
My mother died in 1977. I was 24 years old; I didn't know anyone who’d lost their mother. I was still trying to figure out who I was. Of the three children in our family, I was the one who didn't go to law school.
I've grown used to the absence of my mother. There are days when I don't think of her at all. But how I missed her at the milestones of my life. My first job out of college. The day I met my husband-to-be. The day we got married. The birth of my daughter.
That was a big one. My daughter isn't my mother’s only granddaughter — nor her first — but she’s the only daughter of my mother's only daughter. My mother and daughter would have loved each other! They share a love of shopping and shoes and makeup, interests in which I am sorely lacking.
While there is some of my mother in me, I am my own person. Growing up, I thought the life she modeled – working full-time while raising a family -- would be my own. Instead, I stayed at home with my children and never regretted it.
When I was born, I nearly died and needed a total blood transfusion. The results of my traumatic birth were a severe hearing loss and mild cerebral palsy. My mother arranged for help to "pattern" my feet, to make them go in the "right" direction. I had lessons on how to walk "right", how to sit "right", though none on how to react when I didn't hear "right."
One year we went to a children's play. Afterwards, she asked, "Did you see the actor named - ? He was one of the people who donated blood when you were born." I wish I'd asked for more details! How many people gave blood so I would live? Who were they?
My mother tried to treat me as "normal" as possible, whatever that meant. She found the only audiologist around who would fit children with hearing aids, and she took me on long rides to the speech therapist, all while going to law school.
She told me to make sure I had a career, no matter what. If a marriage didn't work, she told me, I would still have a career to fall back on. Yet, I got the feeling she didn't believe I could be successful in the world because of my disabilities.
I grew up with fears I couldn't name. For a while I supported myself as a computer programmer, but – because of my disabilities – it was difficult. I didn't have the confidence to do the things that made me me, or to try new things.
Yet, in the last year, I've been feeling my self-confidence rise. I've accepted that I'm who I am, and that is not my mother. I've done things I never had the courage before to do, and I'm enjoying them. Things my mother never would have done, such as pet sitting, and freelancing with my writing and editing.
My mother died at the age of 55 years and 4 months after a five-year fight with breast cancer. Today, women live long lives after the same diagnosis.
Today, I am 55 years and 5 months of age, and cancer-free. I have outlived my mother. Today, I am free.
[EDITORIAL NOTE: All elders, 50 and older, are welcome to submit stories for this blog. Instructions are here.]
Posted by Ronni Bennett at 02:30 AM | Permalink | Email this post
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I so enjoyed reading this story. Your words touched me greatly. Good for you, finding your freedom and spreading your wings. Isn't it wonderful to reach a point in your life where you don't have to explain or justify pursuing your own interests?
Posted by: lilalia | Friday, 02 January 2009 at 04:18 AM
Yes, it is! I am so looking forward to new things in this new year!
Posted by: Kate Johnston | Friday, 02 January 2009 at 12:15 PM
This is such a moving story! Thank you!
Posted by: Eve | Friday, 02 January 2009 at 01:15 PM
Yes, I too feel free and find I follow my architect mother with an interest in architectural history. All my dissabilities were things she didn't understand....tho she always tried to fix me. Thanks for this wonderful essay on your mother.
Posted by: Mage B | Friday, 02 January 2009 at 06:22 PM
I loved it, Kate. Since I'm having to face the demise of my mother soon to come I'm sure, it has helped my inner being see that I will be able to go on. She didn't have a career ... just raising us kids, but she has been proud of my career. My kids won't have "careers" ... just jobs, but I am proud of whatever accomplishments they make.
Posted by: Ellen | Saturday, 03 January 2009 at 04:10 AM
I'm glad you were able to reach that point. I still have 10 years to go to outlive my adoptive mom, and my birth mom is still living.
Posted by: kenju | Sunday, 04 January 2009 at 11:31 AM
There are few posts which touch my heart the way this one has. You sound like such a strong determined women you will be in my thoughts and prayers today wishing you whatever you think you still might want to accomplish. Thank you for writing this post and refreshing our minds as to the wonder of most mothers.
Dorothy from grammology
grammology.com
Posted by: Dorothy Stahlnecker | Sunday, 04 January 2009 at 11:37 AM
Losing your mother at such an early age must have been very hard. We do want our mothers to share the important milestones in our life.
You have overcome your disabilities with courage and determination. I know your mother would have been very proud. As a hearing impaired person I can commiserate with the difficulties you faced.
Posted by: Darlene | Monday, 05 January 2009 at 12:52 AM
The human spirit is such a wondrous thing to me. I am fascinated by how it expresses itself, changes, transforms parts of itself. Many of us have disabilities, some not as visable as others. Thank you for your inspiring story.
Posted by: Kathleen McClintock | Monday, 05 January 2009 at 07:00 AM
Thank you for writing. I was googling and hit on the 1st link I tried.
And it gave me hope, not the kind of hope we have all had since "the diagnosis" but at least hope that I, We, will somehow be able to carry on despite this tragic and ruthlessly callous disease.
Yesterday "they" said there was nothing more they could do in the way of kemo or otherwise.
The diagnosis came a year ago. Cancer of the aesophagus.
She was and is a non-smoker. If smoke is the culprit then it was passive and presumably from years worth of flight hours spent in the "non-smoking sections" of the 70's and 80's. She liked her glass of wine a bit more than others maybe but worked continuously and untiringly so as to be able to raise us, two boys.
A passion for languages made her into a top flight interpreter.
I got to see her interviewed on TV, but have long since lost the tape in house-moving
She met "important" people. Reagan.... Thatcher.... Milestones in future history books, but never a made a big deal about it. Constantly on the road, constantly one step ahead of what life had to throw at her. Or at least thats the impression left on us two. The same two she has been trying to shield until as recently as yesterday.
She never forgot her poor upbringing and even during the crappy year of operations and kemo said that there were people worse off than her. Total humility.
I was, am and will always be proud of her on so many levels that it makes this so hard to accept. So heart-wrenching, words cannot even illustrate.
My denial, hope or faith, call it what you will, has finally crumbled and left are the bare facts. In 2009 the person that raised two boys and had a long and successful career will be leaving both. Turning 65 only months after being pronounced ill, she never had her "golden years", her book on the terrace of her choice, glass of wine by her side.
The circle did not come full circle. She never actually really intended to stop working but would have eventually. It is and was who she is.
Having read your story I know I am one of the lucky ones. I was born only with stock disabilities like naivety and a few I still probably haven't come to grips with yet. No majors though.
She has seen me leave school,she has seen me be blessed with a beautiful son, seen me get my act together after years of "arsing about" and more importantly always been there through what must have saddened and worried her beyond what I then was capable of comprehending.
I feel empty of words now and none of this feels real even after purging here. Maybe I will find my way back here. I hope so. Perhaps I won't be quite as lost and inconsistent in my reasoning as I am now. Possibly I will have grown up and embraced this as a part of life. Here's hoping.
Posted by: David | Wednesday, 07 January 2009 at 07:58 AM
Kate, I am not sure you will get this as there are many comments and you posted last month. I found your websites on your facebook profile when I was looking at the ALDA page.
Very beautiful post and writing! I really enjoyed taking time out of my day to stop by and read this and also learn more about you.
Thank you! :o)
Rebecca (ALDA friend)
Posted by: Rebecca | Monday, 02 February 2009 at 11:58 AM
I heard my mother say she hoped and planned to outlive her mother. Her mother died in 1994 at age 94. On Jan 2nd my mother turned 93. I think she's got another good ten in her.
My son just got engaged. I told him to pursue his own dream and I'd be there to support him; not tell him what his dream should be.
Kate, the time you took to write overtook and enveloped a number of people; especially one I'd say. Please visit again.
Posted by: Herm | Tuesday, 10 January 2012 at 10:10 PM