Mother Essay Pt 2: kind words and an explanation of why pasts should be illuminated.
4.3.2020
The above photo is from 2012, and taken by my husband as I drove us home to South Onondaga, NY after a visit to my beloved (childhood home of) Champaign, IL.
We were driving into a sunrise that seemed to stretch for hours, and he’s the sort of soft-hearted soul who will fill a roll with photos of such beauty, while simultaneously singing along to some Dead Man’s Bones. It’s one of my favorite memories, the series of photos are some of my dearest, and it is a metaphor that perfectly mirrors our relationship and path: that man deserves a bulk of credit for swooping in at just the right moment to sweep me off my feet, drag me toward light, and smother me with kindness, humor, and patience while I worked through a brain full of baggage.
Through the last few days, I have gotten an understandable amount of “Why would you post such things about your mother?!” because it is obviously hard to hear, hurtful to read if you knew her in a different light, and can appear misguided; so I’ll reiterate the reasons, and why the essay will remain despite requests of its deletion from some of the souls I love and respect most:
As stated in the original essay, the purpose of that post was to reach the folks who have expressed (or are thinking) that they don’t have time/energy/desire to work toward better health and healing the world when they have “more important” things to worry about. What are the things that weight higher than the fate of a livable environment, their own bodies (and those of their kin), and the animals suffering (then consumed) just to make those souls sicker while perpetuating our climate collapse? Generally, the reasons I hear are: daily stresses, cultural security tied to those harmful foods, it’s “too hard” to make such a necessary (for all of us, for the sake of the planet) lifestyle change, and there has been a fair amount of explanations spawning from sad histories that are comforted by reaching for that ice cream, that pizza, that easy animal-product meal, etc. When I have pushed back on ways to move beyond that comfort (because, again: plant-based whole-foods are also tied to lower depression and anxiety, which can help with that standstill feeling), I have received repeated “Well, that’s easy for you to say!” which showed they had not quite followed just how far I’ve come from my previous diet (<—was a total junkfood Hobbit) and they likely didn’t understand that even getting to a mental place where I could focus on something beyond my own internal wailing was a long road. It wasn’t easy, but it is necessary because life is short and the Earth needs you to care about something more important than bad habits right now. To understand that one really can come from pain and move forward to purpose and light, meant that y’all needed to see exactly where I came from; and I’ve learned that just saying “Oh yeah, I’ve been there” means nothing unless you explain where exactly you’ve been. [I’ve received many positive responses from folks who have been in similar situations and found catharsis in that essay, and those broken/healing souls were exactly who I was hoping to reach.]
Just as there is no benefit that comes from the silence in allowing people to continue to harm the earth, there is no benefit in children/partners/spouses/anyone-out-there-being-abused keeping that abuse silent. The only person who wins out is the abuser and their reputation, and it opens the door for more abuse to happen in secret. I know far too many souls who have kept silent and/or not been believed, and had their mental/physical health ruined as a result.
We should all parent like the other soul may one day grow up and speak about it (or possibly even write about it.) That thought is omnipresent in regards to how I raise my own son.
Airing such past received some understandable but mistaken statements like, “You must’ve really hated her to publish that.” Nope, and I stated as such in the first essay. All of the “Why?! How could you?!” howling was shaken off in my early 20s. I forgave her, felt heartbroken for her, focused on the parts of her that were light, and tried to move on with my life. Unlike many other souls, I was lucky and my mother eventually offered an apology and kind words in a video recorded before her death —which was a balm for the heart— but as previously stated, I had already forgiven her many years before. Last minute apologies (however comforting they may be), do not erase the reality of what happened, or the benefit that can come from relaying that past so others might wake up and step up.
If my heart was full of hate for her, I wouldn’t spend breath and time telling my son the positive stories about her (songs she liked, movies she enjoyed, dishes she loved, memories and backstories attached to any and all of those things), but I make sure to relay good memories of her so that he’ll know the light side of her too.
How could there be positive memories given what you said about her?! Have you ever been in an abusive relationship? The cycle of abuse is well understood to have moments of light that accompany the dark. It is also incredibly common for children to remain deeply attached to their abusers, so I’m not special in this regard. You can love a person and also acknowledge that they have failings. There are always good memories, and I explained in my essay that she had a fun/sharing side in her too. None of us are singular or perfect. Each soul we meet is collecting light or darkness from us. No matter how it stacks up, lessons are always learned.
Why now? All of the reasons mentioned above, and also there was a well understood fact between us that the documentarian passion I’ve had since childhood would be the end of our relationship if I ever used it to document our past. I couldn’t imagine a life without her, so I stayed silent. She’s been dead for four years, this narrative has been within me for far longer than that, and there was finally a purposeful point to relaying the lessons learned (and growth) that resulted from our 33 years together. Again, if you’re in standstill focused on things that once happened to you: seek a counselor if that’s your path, but it’s equally important to get those animal products and refined-carbohydrates out of your house and system. They are increasing your anxiety/depression (This is so important for you to take to heart! AGAIN: 90% of your serotonin is created within your gut microbiome, and you’re obliterating it with animal products and refined carbs!), those animal products are also causing a feast of chronic/diet-caused diseases, destroying our environment, and ruining the habitats of millions of species. (It’s not missed on this end, that people care far less about any of those incredibly important issues and are instead focused on the reputation of my mother, their own comfortable habits, and their standstill placement in this critical call-to-arms time.)
For those that were horrified I could speak ill of her: I’ve written many light-hearted things about my mother in the past too, but the purpose of that essay was to reflect on overcoming abuse. One can relay a truthful, painful past while simultaneously acknowledging the good a person had as well. I mentioned several good things about her within that essay, and if you know me at all you’ve heard happy/humorous tales about her too. Additionally, I was one of the primary authors of her obituary, and I also gave a speech about my mother at her funeral. The text of that speech (which was a celebration of her light side) may be a bit of a balm for those that were hurt by the other essay. I’ll also end this with a song that is so much of a mantra within this house it might as well be our crest: The Avett Brothers “No Hard Feelings”.
I worked hard with a Steinbeck stumbling heart to focus on the kind truths of her for this speech. (Why Steinbeck? The book of his collected letters is one of my dearest tomes, and he was a man obsessed with capturing “truth” and explaining a soul in their full, complicated entirety.) Given our past and the fact that I was grieving her loss deeply, it was not an easy task to write this speech, but again (and again, and again) I loved her, and her light side shone brightly for many:
My sister is an incredibly strong woman, who was thoughtful enough to record video messages from my mother for each of us Lalande children. It is an invaluable gift I will spend the rest of my life trying to pay back.
Among other things, to John and me, my mother said that she was incredibly proud of how we had turned out as parents and how she believed we were better parents than she ever was; but of course, so much of who and how we are comes directly from her.
So I would like to mention some things we learned from Mama Bear.
1. Cook for those you love, if you can’t cook: buy them a treat.
-Mama Bear was such a prolific cook that for many years I did not understand why people got so excited about Thanksgiving. She made that much food (and more) every Sunday and anyone who needed a meal or some family was welcome.
*mention people at funeral who were a part of these meals*
She was so generous about buying food, that sometimes you felt like you needed a second fridge. She didn’t arrive with just one offering of humus for Ian. She bought him 6 containers, 4 bags of bagel chips, and then would hand me 7 avocados and 6 bricks of discounted sharp cheddar with some tale of “They were on sale. I checked the dates and they’ll be good for a few more weeks.” Often times this would end with “Oh, and here’s an extra meatloaf for Ian. I know he loves them.”
She showed her love through these offerings and through her meals and we were all blessed with a generous helping.
2. Sing to your children/ Share your love of music
Some of my earliest memories are of my mom singing “There’s No More Rice Krispies!” It meant she was in a good and silly mood, and what a great feeling that was for a kid.
She also always sang along to Lite Rock stations in her car, and we were raised on Phil Collins, Richard Marx, and Fleetwood Mac. She didn’t sing in front of people, so there was always something special about getting to hear her voice and chime in with your own. Now Quill howls along to those same songs as we drive, and I feel like we’re carrying on her spirit.
3. Share your passions with your children
Our mom LOVED movies. Some of my best childhood memories are of early Saturday mornings when it would be just me and her watching Turner Classic Movies or AMC, and she’d regal me with all the background, trivia knowledge she had of the actors and directors. You felt like you were getting a special education.
She’d fill her old Honda with John and Jim’s friends and schlep us to the discount theater in Rantoul, buying us all popcorn and soda. She’d also take us individually, so we were all given our own special Mom movie moments.
4. Love your children’s partners like your own
Chris, Ian, and Anthony have been so showered with gifts over the years, that we have actual photos of them buried under her Christmas generosity. Ian alone, won’t need more underwear for more than dog’s age.
5. Travel with your children
Those of you who know me, may know that Quill has been on many a journey and hike; but you may not know that mom went into labor with me while hiking around a friend’s farm, or that as I schlep him around in his carriers, that’s exactly what she did on hikes when I was a kid, or even as she made dinner, because as she said “You couldn’t bear to be apart from me.”
Before sarcoidosis, she was always on the move. When we were kids, she was always the one going on the roller coasters with us at Six Flags, taking us all over cities when dad was at a conference, bringing us to the Champaign City pools on the weekends, and sitting with us on the long trips between Oswego and Champaign.
Now her grandchildren make an almost identical journey back and forth to see each other in Madison and Syracuse.
And most importantly
6. Care for those in need
As we documented in mom’s obituary, she loved to care for others and it didn’t stop at sharing coupons with strangers and feeding wayward souls.
The song you heard at the end of communion was written and performed by her late friend Tim Price. When Tim was diagnosed with cancer, she organized a benefit dinner for Tim’s family. Not only did she manage the whole thing, she drove around town soliciting donations from businesses and local crafts people, ran the kitchen, prepared the food, and then cleaned it all up with a team of friends. At the time, she also had a full-time job and three kids still living at the house; but she didn’t hesitate to step up to the plate.
Even to the end.
When her health declined last month and we raced up to see her, the first coherent thing she said to me was, “How is Tara?”
Feeling worse than she ever had, she wanted to know how my mother-in-law (who also has a heart condition) was doing.
That was mom.
Through her we learned how we should be, and with these memories we will now move forward and continue to make her proud.
