My mother died when I was a young mom with preschool children. It was a huge loss. For the rest of my life, my mother-in-law would be my only mother. Kathryn has been gone for nine years now, but I find myself saying to my husband, “I still miss your mom.” I miss her sweetness and her spirituality. I miss her family stories. I miss the way she empathized with me as another woman, even expressing that my husband was behaving a little too much like his own father. I miss sharing life with her . . . the birthdays and Christmases and summer vacations.
My mother-in-law and I never had an argument. It wasn’t because we couldn’t have had one. We “got along” simply because she chose to be the adult and absorb me. She never made a fuss, always choosing peace over getting her own way. “No one knows grandma’s toothache,” means it’s hard when you’re young to understand an older woman’s pain . . . especially the pain you unknowingly cause. I see it now.
Kathryn was a worker bee. She killed herself cooking in anticipation of all of us finally coming back home for holidays. When we returned to our homes in states far from her, she felt depressed. I get that now. But, back then, I probably didn't.
At my home, she loved me in practical ways; organizing my pantry—labels facing out--helping with laundry, cooking and talking as we did life together. Helping her in her home was more problematic for me. It meant learning her systems (dust cloths are in the plastic bag on the second shelf of the closet in the guest bedroom) EEK!
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