You can rewrite the story
(Trigger warning. This one gets a bit emotional towards the end.)
The envelope, as I recall, was lavender. The card inside a flowery, glitter-encrusted thing, Happy Mother’s Day written in flamboyant script. She’d presented all three of us daughters-in-law with similar cards. The awkward thing was, two of us were childless.
“Do you think she’s trying to tell us something?” I quipped, only a bit sarcastically, to the other DIL who had yet to produce a grandchild. If anything, it reflected worse on her. My husband and I were celebrating our first anniversary that weekend and, in fact, were planning to start trying soon, whereas she’d married an older brother years before and they both seemed iffy on kids. I thought I knew what she was telling us: Hurry up and start giving me grandchildren. I added it the other ways I didn’t quite measure up to my mother-in-law’s expectations.
- I wasn’t Catholic.
- I didn’t eat meat.
- My parents were divorced.
- I moved in with her son a year before we married.
All this before our Catholic wedding imploded. (A great story by the way. If you want to hear it, ask me sometime.) My husband had been clear with his parents that this had nothing to do with me, everything to do with his questions around faith. Regardless, I couldn’t help feeling that they held me somewhat responsible for his parting ways with Catholicism—which ultimately would result in another disappointment:
- However many grandchildren we gave her, they would not be Catholic.
Let me take a minute to say, I loved my mother-in-law. She had an enormous heart. She welcomed me, she included me, she loved me. She adored her grandchildren (the Catholics and our little heathens). Our relationship was good for the most part, only occasionally strained. But at thirty, I still wrestled with the outsider mentality I’d had at thirteen—insecurities I’m tapping as I write the protagonist in my upcoming novel. Eventually, I would come to realize the judgments I heard weren’t coming from her. They were coming from inside me.
What I didn’t fully realize at thirty: Events occur as facts. Our brains then use our personal experiences to spin these facts into fiction. Fact: My mother-in-law bought me a card. Fiction: I took it to mean she was judging me. But what if I’d chosen to see it as a gesture of love? The truth is, the why didn’t matter. But I didn’t ask her so now I’ll never know. In July 2003, when I was pregnant with our youngest—her eighth and final grandchild—we lost Pat to cancer.
(Don’t say I didn’t warn you things might get a little heavy.)
On a cheerier note: Less than six months until I officially step into the mother-in-law role! So far, my relationship with my future DIL is great. (I think?) Abbey, if you’re reading this, please know whatever I might say or do, you are perfect the way you are, and I love you. And rest assured I won’t be sending you a mother’s day card. Because seriously? No matter how you spin it, that is a little odd.
WHERE TO CONNECT WITH LISA
Sat, May 9: The Poisoned Pen Bookstore, 4014 N. Goldwater Ave, Scottsdale AZ, 2nd Floor. Local Author Fair, 10am – 1pm, free admission.
CALLING ALL BOOKCLUB MEMBERS! I’d love to speak with your group! Reply here, or visit my website for more info.
What I’m reading: More Courtney Maum. She spoke at the WFWA conference I recently attended and I am still swooning. I just finished, I’m Having So Much Fun Here Without You, and am eagerly anticipating Alan Opts Out, which I preordered. I also want to give a shout out to Michele Montgomery’s Adventures of a Maybe Human. Wildly original and so, so fun. If you like humor and a touch of paranormal, check it out.
Pair with: I’m going to break with tradition here, and defy my beloved Arizona for France. Maybe because I’m Having So Much Fun Here Without You is set in Paris, or maybe because I suggested it to my kids as a mother’s day gift. My recommendation ahead of Mother’s Day is to splurge on a bottle of Sancerre. It’s gonna set you back $30 or more, but I promise you’re worth it.
Cheers!
Lisa
lisabinsfeld.com 