MOTHER

Emily Mason Rose was indistinct to me as a newborn, remembered as the one who would later sit on the floor with me at 174 East 80th Street answering my incessant question why. When I still later despaired of ever finding a continuing relationship, the ‘50s shrink I went to gently suggested I might have a problem relating to her.

Let’s put this way. Her lack of tactile affection, AKA distance, did not prevent me from inclining to almost every female I encountered from then on. Finally, I ended up determined to achieve the gold standard — wife and kids.

Soon, I fell for someone in seminary which was happily co-ed. I cancelled the shrink and had a mostly wonderful partnership marriage for 20 years.

I did not achieve closeness to my mother until she was in her 70s. I counseled her when she thought she might not survive surgery.

It turned out well and she remained on the planet until her 102nd birthday when, by her own indomitable will and aesthetic sensibility, she moved on, under her own impeccable management.

I am smiling. I love my Mother but closeness may ever elude us. Reservation will remain. Unification will be difficult.

Here is the substance of my today’s communication:

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‘This is beyond my fondest dreams

Stephen, you will see when you come

I never regret what is past

Heaven is wonderful and vast’

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‘You were and are an anchor now

You know quite well how things were then

I tried at least to be your friend

It took three children to loosen’

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‘I cannot wait until you come

I want to show you everything

I know you loved my pottery

What I did then I do again’

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I’m overwhelmed by this exchange

I told her of my efforts now

She said she’s always well aware

Of what her ‘boys’ are doing down there

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I close this with this subtle glimpse

To show you how you how things do not change

Heaven will leech out harm and hurt

But life as it was will remain