It's taken time to assemble these three short words into one phrase. Mother-in-law.
I remember the first time we met. Just as I had grown accustomed to all my friends having their own mothers to rely on, dating D. caused me to confront a new mind boggling reality - my boyfriend had a mother too. Which meant my universe of empathy, I thought at the time, was shrunken to that of a diary and pen.
Over time I engaged in more meaningful conversations with this vivacious woman, who, over time felt free to call herself "mom." She too ironically lost her mother at age 20 and approached my aloofness with an exponential dose of warmth.
As D. and my relationship evolved into engagement, "mom" and I found a natural bond in shopping and sipping french onion soup. Though I knew comparing her to my mother made no sense, the appeal to do so superceeded any logic. Thus the laundry list began:
She was not from my culture, and could not pronouce words as I did.
She didn't remember my sisters and I fighting as kids, nor did she put ice-cream on my tongue when I was burning with fever.
She never disciplined me as a teenager nor did she shape my worldview.
Yet she did all those things, and more, for the one my heart was in love with, my husband-to-be.
And... she was here. And she was trying to know me. And she was open.
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1 comment:
This is such a beautiful piece of writing, right from the heart. Even though I am not blessed with the possibility of a similar bond of relationship with my own mother in law, the thought that you have one blesses me, and I rejoice in that provision for you!
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