Mothers, Carnations and Glue

 

 On February 4^th 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.