Mom
When my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer, I was home from school in Texas and she had just moved to Colorado. She told me the news over the phone, trying to maintain the stoic reserve so typical of my immediate family when having to deal with crisis but finally breaking down in tears just before saying goodbye. I am only now beginning to realize that it wasn’t the physical hundreds of miles between us that got to her. How do you comfort the people who love you most when the family rules have always necessitated putting on a brave front in the face of any personal plight or tragedy? I had my own bottled up frustrations that had never been aired, just like every other member of the family, and so when a tragedy struck that could not be emotionally repressed, the afflicted no doubt felt pangs of guilt in simply asking for what was owed to them—support and the opportunity to honestly communicate their feelings. An environment that demanded exhibiting unhealthy amounts of emotional restraint had made open and honest communication not only taboo, but also potentially dangerous to the self.
But I didn’t think about any of this at the time. I remember trying to think of something I could do for my mom and feeling cold and heartless when I drew a blank. In retrospect, though, I had no example from which to draw on from my own experiences with tribulation. The worst part was that even if there hadn’t been hundreds of miles between my mom and me, I likely would have felt the same way. And even if I could have mustered the emotional support my mom surely needed, and which many in my family no doubt still need but are afraid to ask for, what good would it have done if it forced me to put my own needs on hold for that much longer? What could that have possibly bred but further feelings of detachment or even anger? Such was the hole we had all dug ourselves.
I have always thought of myself as a caring and loving person but never thought to direct that care towards myself before attempting to send it outward. Now I see the necessity of it. I simply cannot stand being again and again in situations like the time I learned my mom had cancer and having a vague feeling of wanting to help but not finding it in myself to provide assistance or care of any real substance. Like my mom, I instinctually downplay my emotions on the assumption that there is no real comfort to be had but that which we destructively ransack ourselves for, if only to put on a brave front before inevitably breaking down. We all owe each other more, though we owe it to ourselves first.
