On February 4th
the book “Glitter and Glue” by Kelly Corrigan was released. I am a fan of memoirs. After reading Kelly’s
book “The Middle Place” I was anxious to catch up with my new found friend. In
the “Middle Place” Kelly shared her deep rooted, fun loving relationship with
her Father and their shared battles with cancer. It was a cruel twist of fate at the time in
Kelly’s life where her biggest cheerleader, her Dad, joined her on the
sidelines and they both solicited support.
I wondered what this “Glitter and Glue” journey was about. During my lunch hour on release day I went to
Barnes and Nobler to pick up a copy.
Once the book was in
my hands it became impossible to put it down.
As I finished one page and delved into the next I wanted to continue
journeying along with Kelly. In “Glitter and Glue” Kelly delves into her
relationship with her Mother and ultimately takes the reader to the same
examination room with their own mother. No
matter your race, religion, ethnicity, hair color, political affiliation or
choice of Starbucks coffee every single person on this planet has this in
common, the seed of our being was planted, nurtured and developed within the womb
of a woman. This is the person who gave
us life, the one that we call Mother. Sometimes the woman who delivered us into
this world does not retain that designation. It may be the woman who wills us
into her life, who has prayed us into her life, covets the title but ultimately
the person who chooses to hold our heart wins the role.
Kelly shares the
story of her relationship with her Mother as a child, teen and young
adult. During those years she feels as
if her Mother is much too ridged and serious.
She questions her Mother’s motives and decisions. She wonders why her Mother is not as free
willed as her biggest fan, her Dad. During each life experience she files way
those seemingly insignificant and yet monumental moments with her Mother. She
never fully understands the richness and depth of each one until she is faced
with similar experiences.
It is during a trip
around the world in her early twenties that Kelly finds that she needs to find
a source of income that will continue to fuel her quest. In Australia she takes the job as a nanny.
She is hired by a widower with two young children, a twenty something step son
and an elderly father-in-law. They all
live on the same property but lead separate lives. Each one is doing their best to navigate
through the loss. It is during this time that Kelly comes to understand what a
gift her Mother is.
As quirky as the
title may seem, when you read the sentence that explains it, it makes perfect
sense. “Your Father is the glitter and I
am the glue” was how Kelly’s Mom defined the family roles. When I read this it
sang to me in volumes! Mothers are the
glue that keeps families together.
Mothers are the ones that we call when we need comfort, seek
encouragement and yearn for a hug. Much
like glue their roles are solidified.
Our hearts are bound. Like dried glue Mothers may appear invisible or
transparent. But they are always there, filling in the crevices, making sure
things adhere whether you can see them or not.
This book spoke to me
for multiple reasons. First for my
relationship with my mother, second my relationship with my children and third
my Mother’s relationship with her mother(s).
I have always wanted
to be the kind of Mother mine is. When I was a child my Mom was the fun one,
the cool one. She would make my friends
laugh but if they needed some comfort or advice she was there for that
too. She could be brutally honest and
then wrap her arms around you and make you feel as if nothing would harm you. It
is no wonder that people are naturally drawn to her strong and comforting
spirit.
My Mother embraced the
title and more significantly the role of mother seriously. Very, very seriously
that is. From a young age I understood
the depth from which this evolved. When
my Mother was eight years old her Mother suddenly passed. With a shattered
world and multiple loving relatives trying to reassemble the shards, my Mother slogged
through her childhood. If her life was a
puzzle it would be defined by the one missing piece. That would be the one that was to reside in
the center. It is the piece from where all the others branched from and interlocked.
It is the core, the center, the single one that provides stability.
It wasn’t until I was well into my thirties
that I learned that it was not just me who dreaded my eighth birthday and
counted the days until I turned nine years old. My three sisters did the same. Secretly we all felt as if we made it past our
eighth birthday and into our ninth year our Mother would be alive. The curse would be broken. I am so happy to
report that our childhood fear was just that, an unfounded fear. Our Mother continued to make our favorite
chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and pink writing for our birthdays. She pressed our Easter dresses, curled our
hair (yes with those pink rollers that dug into your scalp as you slept) shined
our shoes, made our favorite meals helped us with our college applications,
held us close, ran her fingers through our hair and wiped the tears from our
eyes when our hearts broke and comforted our children when we ran out of energy
to do so ourselves.
This past Mother’s
Day my mother and I spent it the same way, in the car. My daughter’s college graduation was on the
Saturday before the holiday. My parents
made the six (well seven hour drive with traffic) to Virginia to share in her
accomplishment. I loved having my
parents with me on that day. Not just to
share in my daughter’s achievements but also because they were unable to attend
my college graduation. Life sometimes
deals us difficult blows and my parents were dealt one around the time I
graduated from college. If they could
have been there they would have. So this was one of life’s truly circular
moments.
Later that day I
called to see if my parents had arrived home and to wish my mother a happy
Mother’s Day. Even though we had spent
the prior day together I was happy to hear my Mother’s voice on the other end
of the telephone line. After reliving the graduation ceremony and our
travels we began talking about the significance of the day. From the time I became a mother Mom always
made sure that I knew that it was my day too and that I needed to enjoy it. I have always appreciated Mom’s
wisdom and unselfish attitude about this day.
As our conversation
continued it turned to flowers, carnations, that is. Unbeknownst to me when my Mother was a child
on Mother’s Day you would wear a carnation on your lapel. If your Mother was alive you wore a red one
in her honor. If your Mother was
deceased you wore a white one. I had never known this and I could only imagine
how pinning that white flower to her lapel marked my Mother in multiple ways.
Kelly eloquently
wraps up “Glitter and Glue” with the conclusion that when you no longer have
your Mother in your life the game is forever changed. From my experience as the child of a woman
who lost her mother at a very young age I know this to be true. For many years my Mother wore a white carnation
on Mother’s Day, the color that signifies loss. No, it was not a scarlet letter but one that
was equally defining. A white carnation told the world that you did not have
what they did. You were different. However
when I think about it wet glue is white and when it is dry it retains that
color or turns opaque. No wonder the
carnation color that represented a deceased mother was white………whether you see
her or not she is there, loving, securing and binding all of life’s most
important connections.
