Mary-Gene-Asp-1930ish

Long Time Gone

by Linda Hoffman Kimball

Long Time Gone

This was the month my mother died.
16 years already.
Long enough ago
That I could have been
Again a teenager,
Straining and wrestling
With her strange brand of love,
her impulse to lay blame,
To foster shame,
With her passive game
Of parenthood.

Long enough ago
That I can now see
She did the best she could
With what she had,
Undiagnosed, unaided;
That in her own
Wounded heart
She wanted as much
Unconditional love
As I did.

In her awkward care
Somehow I flourished.
She nourished some part that
Now can see her precious core,
Her singular beauty,
Her shimmering self
Holy, relieved and Alive.

8 Responses

  1. I loved this poem too, Linda. It came at a time when I’ve been thinking about this with my own mother. We had a really rocky time when I was a teenager, and she said and did some shockingly/unbelievably abusive things during those years. Yet, she said once then that she was doing the best she could, to excuse what she did. I remember being hurt that it was the only acknowledgement I ever got from her.

    She was over at my house last week, and out of the blue told me that now I’m a mother she hopes she realizes she did the best she could. I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Yes, I’m sure she did the best she could. But somewhere, I would love for her to say she’s sorry. Or that she realizes she caused me pain.

    Now that I am a mother, I realize the tremendous love my mother must have had for me as she breastfed me, changed my diapers, taught me to talk and walk, etc. But now that I am a mother, I am horrified at the abuses parents will inflict on their children. Being a mother has, in a way, made me less understanding of how a mother could say that she wants her child to get raped, or that she will murder her child’s pets if they don’t do the dishes spotlessly. So being a mother has made me less understanding of these things. The love is so intense for my little one, I can’t imagine telling him I would place him in a situation where he’d be at risk for rape as a punishment for something he might do.

    I realize she did the best she could. But still, I would appreciate an acknowledgement of how some of the things my mom did were so damaging, even if she couldn’t help herself at the time. Anyway, it’s not so much a reflection on your poem, but just my thoughts about mother-daughter relationships. They’re complicated, aren’t they?

    And, I’m not holding my breath for that apology. But it would have been nice.

  2. Thank you for the comments, ladies.
    Alisa, I hear you. Happily my childhood was on the whole happy and I don’t think anyone would call it abusive in any deep sense. Your examples sound so wounding and unconscionable! Yes, an “I’m sorry” at least somewhere in the mortal life span seems like the least you could get! Unfortunately, in the complicated relationships of life, sometimes the ones most in need of apologizing are totally clueless about the impact their callousness, selfishness or downright cruelty has on the people in their orbit.

    There’s a wonderful book called Prayers of the Cosmos that talks about alternative translations of some of the more familiar passages of the New Testament. For example, in the verses that say to “Love your enemies, pray for those who persecute you” the love verb is not the same one used for loving God. Instead it has more of a sense of trying to regain a harmony in walking when someone has thrown you off step. It doesn’t say anything about whether the other person will also straighten up and walk right or even whether they will stop trying to knock you off balance. That kind of love is to seek to establish some kind of harmony in your own pace. I like that interpretation.

    Thanks for sharing your perspectives.

  3. I’m kind of amazed/embarrassed I published such a personal comment, but maybe there was a reason for that. Thank you for your sharing your thoughts on harmony about that, Linda. I really think that’s one of the best things we can do when we look to our parents and their imperfections.

  4. This poem really resonates with me as well. Thank you for sharing. I always thought parents should be perfect, even though mine were not, and just wonder what my children, if I ever have any, will say about me.

  5. Very touching. Thank you for posting this, Linda. It is a beautiful sentiment.

    I am far from being the kindest mother at all times, but I think I’m pretty good at saying “I’m sorry.”

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Our Comment Policy

  • No ads or plugs.
  • No four-letter words that wouldn’t be allowed on television.
  • No mudslinging: Stating disagreement is fine — even strong disagreement, but no personal attacks or name calling. No personal insults.
  • Try to stick with your personal experiences, ideas, and interpretations. This is not the place to question another’s personal righteousness, to call people to repentance, or to disrespectfully refute people’s personal religious beliefs.
  • No sockpuppetry. You may not post a variety of comments under different monikers.

Note: Comments that include hyperlinks will be held in the moderation queue for approval (to filter out obvious spam). Comments with email addresses may also be held in the moderation queue.

Write for Us

We want to hear your perspective! Write for Exponent II Blog by submitting a post here.

Support Mormon Feminism

Our blog content is always free, but our hosting fees are not. Please support us.

related Blog posts

When blogger April Young-Bennett's cat died on her son's birthday, birthday plans were replaced with a pet funeral. But what could this mom say at the funeral? As an adult, she was questioning the comforting doctrines about the afterlife that soothed her back when she was a kid mourning her beloved first pet.
So, for me: enduring to the end really has nothing to do with me thinking about some end that I struggle to imagine. Instead, enduring to the end means learning how to feel Christ on those stressful random Tuesdays when the purple cup threatens to push me over the edge. It means learning to rely on Christ to help me make decisions for my family. It means learning how to rely on Christ to help me when I realize I’ve made a decision that I need or want to change. It means learning how to rely on Christ when I’m wanting to develop my relationships with my family or friends. It means learning how to rely on Christ when I’m seeking forgiveness. More succinctly, for me, enduring to the end means learning how to love the Savior who loves me. 

Never miss A blog post

Sign up and be the first to be alerted when new blog posts go live!

Loading

* We will never sell your email address, and you can unsubscribe at any time (not that you’ll want to).​