The Motherless Daughter

Thirty-two years ago today my mother died. She was 57 years old, and I was 29.

They say time heals all wounds, but sadly I know this axiom isn’t true. Sometimes the pain of this loss is dull and distant, at other times it is sharp and immediate. Over the years there have been many occasions when I was able to talk about her with great objectivity and little emotion. There have also been many times when I’ve found myself suddenly and unexpectedly overcome with grief, regret, guilt, longing and sorrow.

Today I felt her presence very strongly and missed her very deeply. I am actually glad for that. It would be sadder still to no longer feel a connection, a deep love, a longing for my mother. My father passed away almost two years before my mother, and though I was a daddy’s girl and loved my father very much, it is simply not the same. Children seem to continue to love even the worst of mothers -- I believe it’s a biological imperative -- and mine was among the best. No matter how old we get, we still need our mommies.

This morning, in yet another affirmation of the serendipity of life, the kismet that threads through our days, the coincidence that is really thinly veiled guidance along our right path -- as I was searching for an address book so I could call my aunt, my mother’s oldest sister, I instead came upon an accordion file of my mother’s many writings -- which I had organized and categorized a few years ago. Among her many talents, my mother was a gifted writer -- yet she never shared her written voice beyond putting typewriter or pen to paper. Perhaps she would have done this later in her life, when the internet made sharing your words as simple as putting fingertips to a keyboard. But she ran out of time.

I have time. So I will make sure my mother’s voice is heard for any who want to hear it, but most importantly for those of us who loved her -- and whom she loved.  It will be my ode, of sorts, to my mother.

I love you, Mom.

Accentuating the Negative

When I was a kid my mom would always get on us whenever we slacked on a particular chore -- like leaving our drinking glasses in the sink instead of rinsing them and putting them in the dishwasher. But she never said anything on the days we DID rinse them and put them in the dishwasher. One day I called her on this and said, "You always notice and point out when we do something wrong. How come you don't do that when we do something right -- especially because we do the right thing way more often than the wrong thing?" She didn’t have an answer, and I think there’s a reason for that. It’s just the way we tend to be.

From my perspective, it seemed obvious that if she rewarded the good behavior more often, she'd get more of it. Only pointing out when we didn’t do it the right way and not praising us when we did pushed me towards a “why bother?” attitude. After all, it was easier to not comply and if it went unrecognized when I did -- well….

Apparently thousands of behavioral psychologists and others agree. Volumes have been written on the power of positive reinforcement. We can preach about the merits of frequent positive reinforcement, but we seem to have a hard time living it. It's as if we have a natural tendency to accentuate the negative. As parents we are quick to reprimand, but we often have to consciously remind ourselves to praise the good. And why is it that one C on a report card will get more attention than the four A’s that accompany it?

I've noticed lately that our thinking -- the collective "us" -- seems to be deeply ingrained and patterned to focus more attention and to give more weight to the negative. We love gossip -- the juicier the better. We glue ourselves to reality shows comprised almost entirely of people treating each other badly. We immerse ourselves in unhappy news on the television, online and in print. We are quick to judge and criticize each other while overlooking accomplishments and appealing qualities. No wonder there is such a high rate of depression in our society.

What if we stopped? What if for any negative comment or thought we had about someone else, we balanced it with a positive? What if anytime we judged another person, we bestowed upon them an equally weighted kudo? I think if we did this on a regular basis, our relationships would improve, our criticalness would dissipate and eventually the world -- certainly our own world -- would be a better place.

Let's accentuate the positive.