Mothers and Daughters

Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime.
                                                            ~William Shakespeare

In some cultures there is a reincarnation belief – elderly family members who have passed away come back as children in the same family and the cycle continues. In theory, a mother with a daughter may be parenting the reincarnated essence of her mother – the child and the grandmother have the same spirit. This is simplistic, of course. There is a complicated belief system involved but what I wonder is, can the child be born while the grandmother is still alive and still be inhabited by the spirit of the grandmother? And the bigger question – how does the mother, caught between two such powerful female forces, fit in? Talk about being caught between the proverbial rock and hard place. The solution, I suppose is to be still and listen and learn.

One of my daughters resembles her father’s mother and the other, alas, is my mother reborn. Strange that I should say “alas” when all my friends thought my mom was THE BEST. They enjoyed her acceptance and hospitality but Mom and I circled and locked horns over almost everything until I moved away from home. It took time and distance to transform us into good friends.

When daughter number two, the one just like my mother, was growing up, my spider senses told me to watch out. She had inherited what we called the “Grandma” gene. This child of mine was someone to be reckoned with. Her fierce determination and persistence, her stubborn pride, her ability to meet challenges head on, and her open honesty were, at first, points of contention, especially with her grandmother. “Dear, you can have a cookie if you help me in the kitchen.” “It’s okay Grandma, I don’t want a cookie.”

 

I watched in wonder as the child and the grandmother took turns, shooting and scoring. One or the other was always saying the wrong thing, looking at each other sideways, pushing away rather than drawing together. They circled each other like the opposite poles of a magnet not knowing that if they each just turned a little bit, they would be drawn together by a mighty force. I wasn’t the referee in this action but a fence-walker, often losing my balance and falling soundly into one camp or the other.

These women, my mother and my daughter, never knew each other as adults, but as my daughter grew older, I noticed something else. I learned that these powerful characteristics – the ones that made me crazy – were good and honourable and incredibly handy when it came to dealing with the curves life throws at us. Tenacity, determination, persistence and her constant open honesty have serve her well. Through my daughter, I learned to understand my mother better.

 Sometimes I hear a voice coming out of my mouth that isn’t mine, but I surely do recognize it. And sometimes, when my daughter speaks to her children – my lord, it sounds like me. Have I been an active participant in this dance all along? If you were to ask my husband, he’d tell you the “Grandma” gene didn’t skip a generation at all – that I am my mother and my daughter is me.