Marge’s Daughter

I am my mother’s daughter, full of contradictions and mysteries.  I do not have her sense of adventure nor do I have her academic bent.  I do have her love for learning and laughing.  I read fiction more than nonfiction.  I am not sure but I think mom only read fiction out of desperation or looking for deeper meaning.

My mom wanted to have deep meaningful discussions about how people feel and react.  Sometimes I do.  My mom always seemed to know some things before I knew them myself.  It wasn’t just me – it was my friends too. Recently I had a friend write to me and tell me that my mom never gave away her secret and I was shocked – what secret from when we were teens?  

My mom never thought she was intelligent until she was older.  She had a number of degrees before I think she felt smart. Growing up in a family with genius tends to skew the understanding of how smart people are.  She loved to learn and wanted to understand more.  I think if she had had the chance, she would have studied mathematics for a degree in college.

Number two well sharpened Ticonderoga pencils were needed to solve problems.  A good eraser was part of the equation as well.  She preferred to hold them in her hand when she was helping us.  

She loved blue glass and antiques.  She loved to go to books stores and always found more books to bring home.  I have her love of music, providing she didn’t sing out loud.

She loved to watch birds and often would walk out on the Marginal Way in winter to see various ducks.  Once she backed up on 495 in the break down lane because she thought she saw a snowy owl. She did.  To this day my aunt is still in shock she did that!  

She loved her family and friends.  Even with all the trauma inflicted on her growing up,  she loved us the best she could.  Not understanding that generational trauma would be passed down to us, until later in life.  Mom didn’t always love us the way we might have wanted, but she always loved us.  Even at the end when Mom no longer could verbalize anything, I knew she knew who I was when I came and remembered the love.

Missing her today,  Marge’s Daughter