In the last READ post, I made the comment about Anne Lamott’s novel Blue Shoe, which I was reading in the hotel by myself down the street from the convalescent hospital where my Mom passed away.
When I got home from that excruciating trip, I was going to post a 5-star review on Amazon.com something like: “This book is so good it will take your mind off your dead mother’s face that you saw and didn’t know it was dead but couldn’t figure out why she looked so bad and yellow that you went to ask the nurse why Helen didn’t have the oxygen tubes in her nose and then when the nurse said nothing but just stood there with a look of sheer distress on HER face, you finally figured it out and said ‘Ohhh’ —and burst into…..” You get the picture. (And I’ll have those nightmares tonight!)
But I thought that review would be too much sharing and decided to wait until I could be more objective—and less emotional. Five and a half years later—still waiting.
Which is why I was drawn to the book: The Lives Our Mothers Leave Us by Patti Davis. I will tell you who Patti Davis is because the sales girl at Borders Books in Los Gatos, CA did not. Sheesh—these youngsters today. She is Ronald and Nancy Reagan’s daughter.
I have always liked Patti: the fact that she was a “rebellious daughter” of famous parents (I didn’t like her father’s politics either); that at one time she was the girlfriend of a member of the Eagles (very cool in my book); the off-beat marriage to a yoga instructor (what—no political activist?); that she kept her hair long when mothers will tell you you’re not supposed to after a certain age; and mostly the fact that’s she’s a terrific writer.
[Another reason I like Patti is because at one time there was a teeny-tiny possibility we were related. She would have been a fun relative to have. My Mom's second husband was a chap named Al Davis. Not the Oakland Raiders owner, but a steel executive from Anaheim. I called him "Fred Fred" because his name was Alfred Frederick—back-to-back Freds in his name. After my Mom gave him the boot, she hooked up with "Pete Pete," a guy named Pete Peterson. With Fred Fred and Pete Pete, it was like living in a Dr. Seuss book. I figured Nancy Davis Reagan would not have elements of Dr. Seuss in her family, therefore, probably not related. Darn!]
I remember reading articles Patti had written for magazines—about her father’s illness, of course, but one in particular about the death of her sister (not half-sister) Maureen—and thinking she wrote with kindness and wisdom. I’d cut out the articles and mail them to a friend of mine who I had met in a writing class. Across the top of the articles I wrote: “She writes so well!” I figured he would get a kick out of them not only as a writer himself, but because he is the head of security at the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library in Simi Valley. (small world)
I remember thinking about Patti’s writing that she had insight about life and the human condition that I did not. This book is a perfect example of that.
Page 1 – first sentence: “Sometime around the age of 40, most of us realize that our mothers live deep inside us and always will.”
I’m past 40 by over a decade and no, hadn’t really thought of my mother’s influence as so pervasive and so permanent—mainly because I don’t want it to be.
Page 2 – “Some women have already seen that death doesn’t end the relationship.” OK, I get that now.
But this sentence made me pause in a queasy sort of way the first time I read it: “If you burrow under the surface of any woman, you will find what her mother thought about her.”
Whoa! I really would like this sentence NOT to be true. But I know it is.
In the book I related to the tales of the women and their mothers, especially Candice Bergen’s story. Candice says, “My mother was very talented and would have loved to have had a career. She was deeply frustrated that she didn’t.”
This is true of my Mom, too.
If my Mom got to pick, this is how she would have chosen to live her life:
1. British royalty
2. American socialite
3. College professor of English literature (preferably the British Romantic Poets)
4. Wife of a successful dentist and President of the Ladies’ Dental Auxiliary
Nowhere on the list is being a mother, being a hairdresser, or coming from a home (or society for that matter) that didn’t value women. She did get No. 4 on her list for a short time. But things change; she made decisions; life goes by quickly.
I know my Mom did not like the life she ended up with. As Marianne Williamson says in the book, her mother got “short shrift” with her life-style choice. I also know had my Mom been born a generation later, her life would have been totally different. She definitely would have had No. 3 on her list and who knows, maybe even No. 2. (But sorry, we’re not the Windsors. Have never even been British. Although living in Buckingham Palace might be a hoot.)
Like Candice Bergen’s mother did with her, my Mom saw me get opportunities she never had. In both cases, the mothers were glad and envious. (My Mom more the latter.)
I’m still haunted by my mother’s death. But after reading The Lives Our Mothers Leave Us, I’m (a tad) more accepting of her imprint on my life.
Thanks, Patti. You are on to something!
