Life Stories Remembered

As the anniversary of the death of my mother approaches, I find myself reflecting on stories. There are so many stories, which I am grateful for, but also because I tend to think about the stories that brought up strong emotions, and not necessarily happy ones. My relationship with my mother was complicated, complex, and like most people, filled with events that caused me pain. I didn’t realize until I was much older and a mother myself that complicated, painful, and unkind events are part of being a human and a parent. While I wish I was a perfect mother, my children would tell you kindly, I did my best, and that is what I told my mother before she died. We made peace with many of painful and joyful events in our relationship which I am so eternally grateful for now.

One of those painful memories for me was my unfounded and irrational belief that I was not loved. In my child brain I imagined that her constant struggle to keep us alive and afloat as a single parent home, most of my life, was an indication that she didn’t love me. I saw her distracted attention to work, stressors, and lack of involvement in my extracurricular activities as meaning she wasn’t interested. As an adult I know that is not the case, but it does bring me to what I am remembering most today; how she spread peanut butter on my bread.

On one of those rare days when I was a little more brave, I asked my mother who was standing beside me spreading peanut butter on my bread, why didn’t she love me. I will never forget the look that came across her tired and solemn face.

She replied, “What are you talking about?” “What would make you think that?”

Now unsure of my bravery I paused for a moment to consider if I wanted to share what was on my mind and in my heart. It seemed like an eternity before I made that decision, but I decided to open my heart to her.

“Why don’t you spread the peanut butter over the entire piece of bread? Do you not love me enough to fill up the entire piece of bread?”

My mother considered what I had said to her for a moment, probably doing the exact same pondering I had done just a moment ago, then looked at me and smiled. She didn’t say a word, just went back to spreading the peanut butter on the bread reaching every single piece of the bread completely. Then I smiled at her and I knew in that moment that she did love me and so much more than I had imagined. My heart was full and so would my stomach.

It may seem a trivial memory to some, but for those of us who grew up in circumstances that were a daily challenge, filled with uncertainty, insecurity, and not knowing what tomorrow would bring, it is a priceless reminder that we are loved.

Since I have never forgotten that story in my own life and how it made me feel, I have created moments for my own children to remember how they are loved by doing simple, creative, and meaningful things. I hope one day they share those memories with their own children and remember how much they are loved.