Mom (Gail)

MOM

My mother was the youngest of 5 daughters and often referred to being “spoiled” as a child. Her father, Hosea White was a country doctor, having completed his one year of training in Iowa, and was the first doctor in Brown County to make his house calls in a car rather than horse and buggy. Her mother, Harriet, was still living until I was 8 or 9 years old and I recall Sunday dinners after church at grandma’s house when she always made three kinds of pie; apple, custard and mince meat.  During those years she was living with my Aunt Kate, the Aunt I was closest to.

During her school years my mother was active in music, playing the piano for functions at school and church.  She later was a paid performer, playing the musical background for silent movies shown at the local theater.  This was accomplished without a musical score, constantly changing the music to reflect what she viewed on the screen.  She could play by ear but also read music easily and had the ability to transpose anything she heard to any key that was valuable when she accompanied singers with limited vocal ranges.  She played the organ at the Congregational Church on Sundays as well as for weddings and funerals.  When she got older she would sometimes find herself playing popular secular tunes by ear at funeral services (once it was “Mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy”) but with sufficient vibrato stops pulled and in a style that made the congregation fail to notice it.  She also sang with nearly perfect pitch and a volume that caused her to be heard over others in the choir.  She gave piano lessons and unsuccessfully tried to teach me to play.  I never got past Thompson’s Third Book.  I was finally given permission to quit when my required practice time was pared down to one half hour session weekly and I waited until 11:30 PM on the last day of the week to fulfill my obligation. My capacity for passive aggression and stubbornness was even better demonstrated as an 8 or 9 year old when I sat at the kitchen table from noon until supper time when told I couldn’t leave until I ate one bite of cabbage. In retrospect this was basically the way I individuated myself from her along with becoming involved in many activities that kept me away from home much of the time during my school years.

I found some of her behaviors confusing and others without consensual validation.  We almost always attended the Sunday afternoon movie.  We would get there at least 30 minutes early so she would be able to choose the best seats.  She would then keep us moving to different spots right up until show time, never satisfied she’d found the best spot.  She bragged about her father being a physician, and later about my being a doctor to others but trusted her care to chiropractors and over the counter vitamins and herbs.  She insisted that I had uttered my first words before the age of 6 months, this story being bested by one about how my brother Bill’s dog, Skippy, had talked to her on many occasions. She was unable to understand my embarrassment when she invited the basketball coach to our house for an evening meal when as an underclassman she didn’t think I was getting enough playing time. She expressed anger that usually came about because she didn’t get something she wanted but wouldn’t say what it was, by becoming sullen and mute and taking to her bed.  I don’t recall her ever showing genuine vicarious pleasure in anything I did; rather her emphasis was upon how I might accomplish things for which I could and would someday publicly  give her credit.

With occasional ambivalence I sang at church and for weddings and piano recitals in addition to participating in band (percussion) and chorus at school. My mother would accompany me on the piano or organ for outside of school performances. After high school I dropped singing except for my freshman year in college when I was part of a small choral group and rejected further offers of mother son performances.  I still have occasional dreams in which I am visiting home, now an adult, and being coerced into singing at some type of gathering, being neither prepared nor willing to do so.  I do have pleasant memories of gathering around the piano at home with others and even alone to sing as a form of entertainment and I have pleasant memories of listening to my mother play. Money she earned giving piano lessons helped me through my first year in college.

In retirement years I would visit mom and dad at their trailer park in Mesa, Arizona.  It appeared she had made many friends there who appreciated her wit and flair for the theatrical that she put to good use at their community center.  She was also respected as an outstanding bridge player. 

So how did things get resolved in my sometimes complicated relationship with my mother?  Quite unanticipated by me it happened when she became demented and feeble over the few months prior to her fatal heart attack.  Suddenly the ambivalence cleared and it felt comfortable and natural to nurture her. Left far behind were any grievances I might have felt, not having felt loved by her in the ways I would have wished but simply in the best ways she was capable.  I can now see how my inability to please her probably increased my drive to excel in whatever I did.  My inability to understand her behaviors may have made me more inquisitive and scientific in my approach to my profession and almost certainly helped me to empathize with my more difficult patients. I inherited my intellectual capacities from her as well as whatever ability I have to write poems or prose.  The music she exposed me to formed the basis for the enjoyment in listening that has enriched my life.  She is part of me. 

September, 2002