Today marks the 14th anniversary of my mother’s death. My mother was among strongest forces to shape my perspective as a parent and educator and so it felt fitting to take this newsletter to share some of the lessons that have learned from her. I hope that through sharing her teachings I am able to continue to make her life a blessing.
My mother was a deeply passionate person. Her passions ranged from very small pleasures – like a Harry and David Royal Riviera pear, a piece of music which she would then play on auto-repeat until it seeped into her inner marrow and then share it with everyone she knew, or sneakers that were comfortable on her hard-to-fit feet. She loved her daily and seasonal rituals including her morning swim that began at 5:30am 6 days a week or her long walks on the beaches of the Atlantic ocean at low tide. But what she was most passionate about were her relationships – with close friends, with family and at the very top of her list of passions, my father, my brother and I. And when you had my mother’s attention, there was nothing else. She understood what it meant to be present. She valued deep and honest connection and had little patience or interest in small talk, or chatter. She loved it when we talked about honest feelings. And nothing was too hard, too scary, or too vulnerable. For my mother had an abiding belief that if we face the truth, together, we will get through it. It might be scary, it might be hurtful, and it certainly might be uncomfortable. But living in this authentic way always seemed preferable to just skimming along the outer surface of life.
Her commitment to deep honesty and her faith that we could tread in these waters impacted me from my earliest childhood and has certainly informed my own choices and values as a parent. There are moments when I quiver, as I try to discuss with my children topics including what happens when we die, if God exists, where babies come from, why children can have cancer, or more recently, how one knows when it is the right time to kiss someone! And with each of these conversations I am reminded that there is actually not one answer and certainly not one right answer that will work for everyone. But I am hoping that I am giving my children the experience and confidence that they can tread in these deep waters. We give these conversations the time and attention that they deserve, and my children know, we can and we will return again and again to these provocative but important topics.
I remember there were times when I was a little girl when we would talk about scary or hard things and I would cry or feel anxious. These conversations could last a long time, or sometimes just a few moments – at the table, on my parents’ bed, in the car, on long beach walks – and we would wind through them. I would feel trepidation as I would step into the complex places where my mother would lead. She asked hard questions. Those were always the best kind, for they led to the most interesting places. Sometimes I felt the impulse to shut down conversations, to wish that she would take a less studied, intense approach to the world. But after we would have the conversation, with the tears, sometimes the anger, and often the challenges, there was a comfort, a closeness, a sense that it wasn’t quite as scary. My mother wasn’t one of those parents who was going to swoop in and “fix” the situation, but in talking I felt more prepared to face a mean teacher, a cliquey friend, a recurring nightmare, or an uncomfortable reality.
At around the age of seven I remember asking my mother, already a cancer survivor, “what will happen to me when you die?” She looked right into my worried face and answered, “I will die some day. But you will be much older and you won’t need me as much as you need me now because you are a little girl.” It wasn’t quite the answer I was looking for at the time, hoping instead she would have said she would not die. But in her inimitable style, she told me the truth, she offered me a credible response that I believed and that in fact came true. When she died at the age of 52 I wasn’t ready, and my being “grown up” certainly didn’t and continues not to make it okay. But in that exchange, like in so many others, she communicated that she was strong enough, I was strong enough, and our relationship was close enough, to tolerate the truth. Truth combined with enormous love. It was not a truth that meant unnecessarily hurting my feelings, or making me feel small. It was a truth wrapped with unmistakable, immense, gentle love.
There is an expression, “People will forget what you said; People will forget what you did; But people will never forget how you made them feel.” This feels like perhaps the hallmark of good parenting – for while we can analyze what we should say, what we should do, what approach or philosophy we might follow as parents, I think that what made my mother such an incredible mother was that she communicated to me that she loved me, that she respected me as a full person from the youngest age, and that she understood me. Living with her included living in a vivid world – filled with complexity and passion. I feel grateful to have experienced this kind of love from my mother and hope that in the coming year I can offer that kind of courage, and honesty, wrapped in abundant love to my children and to all those around me.
Shabbat Shalom and Happy 2012
Ilana received her B.A. from Harvard College and a Master's Degree in Education from Bank Street College. She was born and raised on the Upper West Side of Manhattan and now lives there with her husband and three children.
- Gratitude - October 31, 2014
- The Tower Of Babel - October 24, 2014
- The World Was Created For My Sake… I Am But Dust And Ashes - October 3, 2014