Milestones

I don't know my mother. A shocking statement, since she lives with me and we have lived together practically all my life. But I really don't know her. In contrast there are people with whom I have spent such little time that it doesn't seem plausible that the space they occupy in my heart is so large. 

Of course I love my mother, and I probably say I don't know her because I can't quite tell where she ends and I begin. That's the cause of a lot of conflict between us because I am constantly - sometimes subtly, and sometimes quite desperately trying to make that distinction. She turns 67 in 2 days, leaves the house at 6 am each morning and, for the past 7 years has skewed her work schedule so that she can pick up my son from after-school at 5.

Sometime last month, my 12 year old son declared his independence. There was a minor skirmish, some hastily drawn lines in the sand, and a tiny flag was raised. He announced that he wanted to walk home rather than stay in the after-school program which was 'boring'. And, just like that, my mother no longer has to pick up my son. He walks home and that spot next to him is empty - or is filled by a school friend who lives nearby. You could say that there has been some erasure of my mother from the landscape of my life. As it happens, I don't know how I feel about that just yet.

Photo: Exploring the jailhouse at Fort King George, Tobago - 2007