Mothers and Daughters (and oil and water, and Israel and Palestine…)

One day while driving home from work, I called my friend Kyle in tears.

“My daughter hates me.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” she said, “I have two daughters. Double the hate. In fact, I made [honey] kosher chicken noodle soup last weekend and she gave me shit about it.”

“?”

“We’re Jewish, but [honey] is orthodox. She only eats kosher. And she has to have her kosher food made in separate pots and pans and served on separate dinnerware. I make [honey] kosher chicken noodle soup every Friday night to make sure she’ll have something kosher to eat for the weekend.”

“Wow. That’s really nice of you.”

“Except for the fact that I was chopping the carrots and celery with my bare hands, which made [honey] wretch and gag and proclaim me disgusting.”

“You asshole!”

“I know! I feel horrible!”

A couple of days later, I was telling my boyfriend about an incident with my daughter. “You know,” I said, “this sounds like hyperbole, but going through cancer was easier than living with a teenage girl who absolutely hates me. No matter what I do, it’s wrong. And not only is it wrong,  I am wrong. Everything about me is disgusting, including my voice, my appearance, my beliefs, my approach to life, my relationships, my job, everthing. When I was in treatment, I may have been scared to death and tired, but my own sense of self-worth actually increased.”

“When you had cancer, you probably thought, there’s an end to this,” he said. “With daughters, it can feel interminable. You lose them for about four years, and it’s an agonizing four years.”

I don’t know when this tumultous mother/daughter relationship will resolve itself, and sometimes in the moment it feels impossible to repair. But the one thing I do know is that all I have is this day, this moment in time when I have the absolute luxury and honor of angsting about my relationship with my daughter instead of worrying about my post-op drain. Or my sore post-chemo arm. Or my post-radiation narcolepsy. But this morning as I sit at my kitchen table wearing embarrassingly old pajamas with unhighlighted hair and unmanicured nails, drinking coffee out of the mug my daughter gave me “just because” when she was nine, I am beyond grateful.

photo: feet belong to another, hipper, mom and her daughter…

Those three little words. by throwslikeagirl

“You’re no fun.”

A couple of weeks ago, my oldest child said this to me, followed closely by, “You never do anything anymore.”,  not realizing at all how that cuts.   Some of you are probably thinking, “Big deal, Nicole.  Kids say stuff like this all the time ”

But it is.  The last three summers I haven’t been any fun.  Surgery/Chemo.  Surgery/infection.  Surgery.  And in this case she wasn’t referring to some parental comment like “Our sofa is not a jungle gym, please sit down.” (Which she has heard on occasion.)  She was sad because she couldn’t go somewhere due to my inability to drive post surgery.

When I was first diagnosed, I worried about how she would cope with all the weirdness of having a mom with cancer.  At first, I thought she’d be afraid.  But she wasn’t.  I thought she might be clingy.  But again, she was her usual gregarious self.  She would talk to anybody and everybody about my cancer.  (I’m sure she gets that from me.)  There is no playground conversation stopper quite like, “Hi there!  Did you know my mom has one boob?”  (And no, I’m not  exaggerating.  She actually said that.)

So then I worry that my children have become intolerant of my medical issues.  The boy still cuts me some slack, but man, the girl is giving me a hard time.   “Do I have to do all your jobs for you?”  Let me tell you how well that one went over.    Thankfully, my mama friends say that their 7 year olds are the same way, which makes me feel better.  I’m hoping to chalk it up to my horse blinder theory in which kids (and some adults, heh) can really only see the world as it relates to themselves with little regard to the bigger picture.  One of our job as parents and educators is to help our children learn the empathy skills that enable them to see the world outside of themselves.

I don’t want you to get the idea that the girl is nasty all the time.  She’s not and is generally very helpful.  I think it’s just those well-timed zings that she doesn’t truly understand that prey upon my fears as a parent. 

Am I no fun?  Has cancer made me a bad mama?

Of course not.

But I think it’s time for empathy training boot camp. 

Crossposted to Throws Like A Girl

Roll Call!

Periodically, the Mothers With Cancer hold a roll call for everyone in our community — that’s you, if you’re here reading, on behalf of yourself, your spouse, or your friend.  We’d like to hear how you’re doing, what you’re up to, and if you have any questions that women on this site can answer.  I’d like to invite everyone, writer, commenter, or friend, to leave a comment below and let us know how you are!

Thanks to our writers for July — check them out, and visit their personal blogs to read more!

• ClergyGirl, who is writing about how to assess and let go of a hurtful comment;
• Frances Barrie, who just had her yearly mammogram;
• Judy, writing about life, adoption, and a fish tank;
• Lahdeedah, who just walked the Avon 2 day walk;
• Lyn, who just finished Herceptin and may be getting her port out soon;
• Sarah, who is ROCKIN’ the chemo again;
• Stella, who has walked 300 miles in her training for the Avon walk this year; and
• Toddler Planet, where I’m writing about the Avastin decision.

And before you go, check out Laurie Kingston, who talked about surviving cancer, blogging, and Mothers With Cancer on CBC this week!