Happy Mother’s Day!
The word
mother conjures up a vast array of reactions and emotions. For some, mother is synonomous with nurturing and uncondional love and for others (like me) the very mention of that word stirs up a deep longing for what we never got. One thing is certain, the relationship we have (or had) with our mothers has more than any other, shaped us into who we are today and affects every other relationship we have – most importantly – the one we have with ourselves.
I never really understood my mother and she died when I was sixteen – long before I had enough life experience or insight to be able to see things from her perspective. But this past year I received a gift – a miracle that was 48 years in the making.
We often think of miracles as something huge that happens to us, that is external – something visible and tangible. However, A Course in MIracles defines a miracle as simply a shift in perception – that moment when we are able to see from a new and higher perspective than from our limited ego-based viewpoint.
In this very special Mother’s Day blog post, I want to share with you a story that has allowed me to see my mother through the eyes of God. It’s story of compassion, understanding, forgiveness and one that has healed me on a deep and profound level.
A Miracle 48 Years in the Making
This fall, my husband and I spent two glorious weeks in Italy to celebrate our 30th wedding anniversary. We began in Rome, then went north into Tuscany, up and over to Venice and then down to the Amalfi Coast. One of the stops on our tour was Sorrento, a beautiful seacoast town known for marquetery; a pattern of inlaid veneers of wood, fitted together to form a picture or design, used chiefly as ornamentation in furniture. We stepped off the bus and we were guided into a factory and got an actual demonstration of this art form.
To be honest, when our guide Daniella told us about this stop on our tour, I wasn’t that excited. I wanted to get down to Positano to see the location for the movie “Under the Tuscan Sun” when Frances, played by Diane Lane, wearing that beautiful white dress, yelled “Marcello” up to that hunk standing on the balcony! But the minute we walked into the storefront of the furniture factory, a chill came over me and I had this knowing – as if I had been there before. I was whisked back in time to 1965. I grabbed my husband by the arm and said, “Oh my God, hon. I think this is the place where my parents bought their three-tiered Italian tables.”
So? Your reaction, like my husband’s, may need a little more explanation. I was nine years old at the time and my parents were on a trip to Italy. While they were gone, my Uncle Jim stayed with us and we had to survive The Blackout of 1965 with no power for days on end. The entire eastern seaboard was in complete darkness. I remember it vividly because at the time, my dad was an executive VP for New England Electric Company and everything in our home was the latest electronic gadget! We were like the Jetsons – a thoroughly modern family. Except nothing – and I mean nothing worked!
When our parents got home from their trip, we ambushed them in the driveway and bombarded them with stories of how we had to survive without power. It would be days before they finally got to talk about their vacation and all my mother could talk about was her Italian tables which were being shipped. She described in detail the tour they took of this furniture factory in Sorrento, and how she just had to have these gorgeous three-tiered tables, which were hand made works of art… but the best part was that the smallest table had a music box built right into it.
The day the tables arrived, you would’ve thought the Pope himself had come for a visit! We all gathered around my mother as she ripped into the packing crate. We all oohed and ahed when we saw the intricate designs and one by one, my dad screwed the legs into each table top. But when he got to the smallest of the three tables, my mother’s face dropped and she burst into tears. They didn’t include the music box!
Her tears turned into downright rage and she stormed out of the room and locked herself in her bedroom for hours. None of us kids understood what the big deal was. They were beautiful tables. Who cared about a stupid music box anyways?
So there I was, standing in the very place where my mother must’ve tugged on my father’s shirt sleeve and said “I just have to have these tables!” I turned to my left and all along the wall were the very same three-tiered tables. I walked over to them and a sales woman immediately rushed over to me to make the sale. I asked her “does every set come with a music box in the smallest table?” and she responded “Si”… and opened up one of the tables – thinking she had a fish on the line!
I turned to her and said “Do you speak English?” and again she responded, “Si.” So I told her the story about my mom ordering the very same tables back in 1965 and how she never got her music box. The poor saleswoman looked at me dumbfounded and did her best to try to sound understanding, but the look on her face spoke volumes, like – what the hell do you want me to do about it? It was 48 years ago!!
I assured her that I wasn’t expecting any sort of recompense, but just felt it was important to speak on behalf of my mother who never got the chance to complain about it. Back in those days, there were no Fedex or UPS stores on every corner, nor could you just go online and submit a complaint through their website. All she could do was feel her anger and live with it.
When I was a little girl, I never understood why she was so pissed off over a stupid little music box. But in that moment, I felt a shift and I was filled with so much understanding and compassion for the powerlessness my mother must have felt all those years ago. I saw my mother from a whole new perspective and was able to relate to her as a real person with valid feelings and with no outlet to express them except for turning all that disappointment into anger – most often, directed at us kids.
The year after my parents took their Italian vacation and bought those tables, my father died. All of my mother’s anger, got amped up a million times bigger and every time she looked at those, they represented the loss and disappointment in her life.
I seriously never understood my mother or was able to see her from this vantage point before. I only saw her as an angry woman who lashed out at me. It was when my dad died that one of my character traits of people pleasing got amped up and I tried and tried to make my mother happy – to no avail.
When she died, I was only sixteen years old and surely not old enough to comprehend why she was the way she was or fully understand that none of it was my fault. But standing in that furniture factory in Sorrento, Italy – I saw my mother clearly for the very first time as a flawed human being – just like the rest of us. She wanted so much out of her life and never got it. She didn’t know how to deal with life on life’s terms or how to be a widow with five kids.
Many of us believe that a miracle is something tangible and magical – like the parting of the Red Sea! I believe I received a miracle in that furniture factory in Sorrento, Italy… but then something really magical happened too!
A few weeks after arriving home to Naples, FL, after leaving yoga one day, I got a nudge to stop into a nearby consignment store. I was in the process of redecoratiing my living room and am always looking for unique things that you could never find in a regular furniture store.
As I browsed through the ecclectic treasure trove of castoffs, I glanced down and saw a small marquetery table, that I swear to God looked nearly exact to the pattern of my mother’s Italian tables. I literally gasped outloud and the sales woman heard me and said, “Oh, I just marked that down to $35.00, and it even has a music box inside of it!” I nearly fainted! I blurted out “Sold!” and went on to tell the saleswoman my amazing story. She said, “I think you were meant to find this today.”
I carefully placed it in the front seat of my car, and while driving home, I yelled out, “Mommy, I found your music box!” When I got it home, I polished it and filled it with jewelry and put it into the corner of my bedroom. I wound up the music box and the tune “Take me back to Sorrento” tinkled one note at time, the way music boxes do.
That night, when I climbed into bed, I glanced over at the table and offered up a prayer of thanks and just as I was switching off the lamp, the music box chimed just three notes. In that moment, I knew it was my mother saying “I love you.”
With tears in my eyes, I whispered “I love you too Mom.”
Call me crazy, but I believe with all my heart that this was an answer to a lifetime prayer. I also believe that my mother was exactly who she was supposed to be so that I could be who I was born to be. I am so passionate about my work with teen girls and with mothers and daughters because of my own struggles and challenges with self-worth and because of my own turbulent mother/daughter relationship.
Please, in the comments below, let me know how this story affected you. Tell us about your mother and share your own stories about how you’ve healed your relationship with her. Or simply, offer your Mom a message of thanks for her being exactly who she was meant to be so that you could be who you are today.
