Think twice before firing mom from your life

By: AGNES DIGGS - Staff Writer | Wednesday, May 4, 2005 11:51 PM PDT ∞

As a kid, it used to drive me absolutely mad when, just as I thought I was making a point, my mother would put an end to an argument with some version of the phrase, "Because I'm your mother and I said so."

Inevitably, in most of our debates, a "because" from her led to a "because why?" from me. After about five minutes of that, well, she dropped the hammer.

I hated it because it left no room for further discussion. It was final. Irrevocable.

"Because I'm your mother."

It's why I wore a dress I hated to the prom.

It's why I couldn't play with certain kids in my neighborhood.

It's why I had to be inside our house the second after a nearby street light went on.

"Because I'm you mother, and I said so."

But there came a time, after I had moved into my first apartment, that I began telling instead of asking.

I told her about guys I dated, clothing I bought, and books I read.

One day, as I was chatting on and on about an upcoming trip to Canada, I turned and saw her looking intently at me. And I saw something that looked like fear in her eyes.

Much later, it occurred to me that she hadn't said a single word in our supposed conversation.

Later, I called her on the phone, made some small talk, then asked her why.

"It's your life," she said. "What you do is your business."

That was true, but I knew for a fact she disliked me traveling with one of the women I had told her was going on the trip.

I deliberately mentioned the woman's name to her, but, try as I might, I couldn't provoke her. And it came to me that we hadn't had a good fight in quite a while.

The thought stayed in my mind, colliding with the memory of the fearful look in her eyes.

And finally it dawned on me.

She had developed something I had observed in other women as their children aged out of the nest: she was fearful that interfering in my business would cause me to stop visiting, stop sharing, drift away. What I had seen was fear of abandonment.

By taking over the decision-making, I had unemployed her from the most important, all-consuming job she had held for a couple of decades ---- being my mom.

I invited myself to dinner shortly thereafter.

First I overindulged myself, then I told her what I had been thinking.

"You know, mom," I said. "Just because I'm on my own doesn't mean you can't give your opinion about the things I tell you."

"You're grown," she said. "You don't need me to tell you anything."

"It's like this," I said. "My life is like a corporation. I'm CEO now, but you're not fired. I'm kicking you upstairs. You can be the President of the Board of Advisors. I expect to consult you on all important decisions. I'm the major stockholder, but I'll always at least listen to your opinion."

She was thoughtful for a long moment, then said, "When you get to Montreal, don't share a room with (so-and-so,) and you stay with the group, you hear."

I was tempted to laugh, wondering how she had held it in for so long.

"Yes ma'am," I said. "I'll be careful."

My mom died 19 years ago. I'm making all my own decisions. Sometimes I desperately wish I could ask her to help me figure things out. One more bit of advice, one more time.

I should have paid closer attention. I should have given her a better salary and more benefits.

I hope they have golden parachutes in heaven.

Because she was my mother, that's why.

Contact staff writer Agnes Diggs at (760) 740-3511 or adiggs@nctimes.com.