Me and my grandmother, mother, aunt, sister, and cousin
“What’s your favorite animal, Mommy?” my daughter asks me, but she is young and believes an animal must be soft and fluffy to be loved.
“Elephants,” I say. “Elephants are my favorite animals.”
“Why elephants?” Her button nose scrunches in disgust. “I don’t think elephants are very cute.”
“Because,” I reply. “No mama ever loved her baby like an elephant mama loves hers.” My arms wrap around her tiny body. “Except me, of course.”
She giggles as I proceed to inundate her with amazing elephant facts.
“Did you know that elephant herds are led by matriarchs? A wise old female who has spent her entire life learning from her mothers and aunts and older sisters. She is entrusted to lead the group to food, water, and shelter year after year, and she has inherited knowledge beyond our comprehension. Like last ditch water holes when droughts set in and dangerous shortcuts to food that might be worth the risk only in the direst of circumstances. Even if she never experiences hardship, and her daughters live a life of ease, she will pass this information on to them, because there will surely come a time.
“And did you know that elephant mothers and daughters stay together forever? An elephant mommy will never leave her babies. Even when her babies have babies. She’ll give her daughters advice on who would make a good daddy, but she would never allow her daughters to forget their responsibilities. Her daughters must learn to be independent, fierce, and protective mothers, even if they have the backing of the herd, because you just never know what’s around the corner.
“And did you know that elephants weep for each other. They share their celebrations and their failures, and they stick together through thick and thin, encouraging each other when times are tough and even mourning together when they lose a friend.”
By this time my daughter is disinterested because she has never experienced losses or struggles like the ones I describe, and I pray that she never will. And then I wonder, how could I feel for any other animal the way I feel for the elephant…especially after being raised by a matriarch?
My mother and her family about 5 years after
the war
WWII
Norway may not have mirrored the rest of war-torn Europe, but it was no picnic.
My mother, born and raised during the height of the war, didn’t know she was
poor. She didn’t understand the significance of the German soldiers who
patrolled her streets, or the blackout curtains she and her parents hid behind.
She climbed under furniture when the air raid sirens blared, completely unaware
that other little girls around the world weren’t doing the same. Food was
scarce, fabric was a rarity, and toys were almost unheard of. But life was
good. With a mother who adored her, an abundance of over-protective aunts, and
a grandmother with an iron will, my mother was a well-protected child in a herd
of resilient women.
Fast
forward thirty years. I am now the child, being raised in an overabundance of
food, and clothing, and toys, by a mother who will pass on to me her ability to
adapt, despite by luxuries. I am not embarrassed to wear my neighbor’s clothes,
inherited through the church rummage sale, though we have plenty of money to
buy new ones. I am proud of the shorts my mother has taught me to make with
fabric I picked out from the sales rack of the fabric store my friends have
probably never stepped foot inside. And though I may refuse, I am filled with
guilt over not cutting around the mold and eating the good parts of the bread
and cheese that will eventually find the garbage.
Without
this knowledge how could I teach these skill to my own daughters, whom I pray
will pass them on to the generations to come? Though we may not need them
today, there will surely come a time.
Age 15 – My mother off one of
the islands in the Atlantic, holding a mink.
I am an ornery
teenager, not wanting to listen to my mother’s lectures on life.
“You
must be strong,” she says. “Never put yourself in a situation where you have to
rely on a man.”
I roll
my eyes and mumble under my breath that she relies on my dad.
“I didn’t
say not to rely on people, or even a man,” she continues, as I fumble with the
crumbs on the table between us, refusing to make eye contact with her. “I said
never put yourself in a position where you have
to rely on a man. You never know what waits around the corner.”
I manage
to survive into adulthood and now my link to my mother is through satellites
and computer screens. It’s not the way it’s supposed to be, but she is still my
constant. She is the speed dial number I call when my word is filled with
celebration and delight. There is no one happier for my successes than my
mother. And she is the one I turn to when I don’t know that I can go on.
“If it
was easy, everyone would be doing it,” she says, when I tell her the mountains
are too high.
“This
too shall pass,” she says when the roads are too long.
And she
is always right.
She has
tirelessly stood by my side, protecting me from the dangers lurking around the
corner when I was too blind to know they were there, and preparing me to do the
same for my own daughters. She has loved me when only a mother could find me
loveable, and has taught me how to dole out the same unconditional love to my
own children. She has led me through trials that I might not have been able to
struggle through on my own, and taught me how to impart that knowledge to my
own sweet girls.
I have
been raised by a matriarch, and I have been blessed. I can only hope that I have listened with an open heart and an open mind so I may provide the same
for my own daughters.
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