When my mother died, one thing that hit me pretty hard was : No one was as invested and interested in MY life as much as my parents, more aptly, my mother. I could pick up the phone and tell her about my day - in excruciating detail, and she would listen, AND be interested. If I saw something peculiar or wonderful, it could be anything at all, I could call and tell her, and she would want to hear all about it. There was never the feeling of "why are you telling me this?" she not only listened, but she WANTED to know. It was bittersweet - because I was given that gift of her validation and interest; but also once she died, it was taken away. And that taking away left a gap in my psyche. No one cared that same way. No one cared if I saw a baby skunk cross the road, or that I loved marshmallow peeps, or heard that song on the radio 4 times in one day. Or how that relative is bat-shit crazy. Or that I tried a new recipe and it sucked. Or remember that kid in high school ... ?
Or when the first snowflakes of the season fell. (Even when she lived in Florida, I would call her the minute I saw the first flake - no matter where I was)
Certainly I had friends, and lovers who had interest in my life. But it was not as all inclusive and unconditional.
Today, my daughter called me out of the blue because she had a great day. She had a good therapy session, and wanted to tell me about it. It had absolutely nothing to do with me or her father. She was happy with the process and felt good about it. And she called ME to share that.
I couldn't be happier that I have cultivated in her that same feeling, that she knows she can call me, and I will be excited to hear whatever it is she wants to tell me. And I am grateful and appreciative of her sharing with me, because it is a gift, and not all kids would do this.
The best post-mortem condolence given to me was that my mother taught me how to love. That was her legacy. My mother loved with all of her being. and I am okay with that inheritance.
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