THE WIND PHONE

Now That She’s Gone, I’m Seeing My Mother From All Sides

Death can give me a new perspective

A souvenir postcard of my mother and brother in Tijuana. Photo from author’s collection.

My mother died three weeks ago. Since then, I’ve made the memorial and burial arrangements, alerted people of her death, and sorted through old letters and photos. And in doing so, I’ve discovered a more complete picture of my mother, Barbara.

I’ve gotten to know her much better than I did when she was alive. Her death has given me a new perspective. I’m not clouded by resentment, disappointment, or the vision of how I wished my mother had mothered me.

Mike was an effeminate, makeup-wearing, and handbag-carrying child. He adored me, especially after I’d stood up to our classmates who bullied him in first grade.

But as much as Mike loved me, he loved my mother even more.

In high school, he’d come over after school to hang out with me but always ended up chatting with my mother about vintage movies, fashion, and old Hollywood glamour.

I wasn’t jealous but didn’t understand my mother's appeal for Mike.

“Mike’s neither fish nor fowl, but he sure knows his 1940s actresses,” my mother said without judgment.