My Narrative Essay for Honors Comp

Howdy Blog land!
I was writing my honors composition essay and thought it might actually be read worthy. It will most definatly give you insight to my relationship with Mom, Hope you like it!

           

Phone Calls with My Mother

            Over the years I have endured many ear-bending conversations with the woman I call Mother.  I can always count on her inquiries about my health, school, and emotional state.  Most of these questions would not result in an outbreak of raised voices; however, I regularly found myself gritting my teeth with every well-intentioned probe.  I am blessed that age has brought a pinch of wisdom along for the ride.  I can now admit to treasuring every moment we converse via the wireless technology of cellular phones.

In the past, my immature self-induced fantasies of being “grown up enough” to deal with my own life would often abbreviate any possible amicable conversations. As I wound myself to the peak of angst over a trivial inquiry, Mom would blithely remark “Oh the joys of youth, Jeanine!”  Frequently my responses to her would be unintelligible; my rage getting the best of me.

Reflecting on the many times I argued with mom, a common theme would be my relationship choices and the fact that I had given up on college. “You can’t move forward if you are in reverse.” Mom would tell me. “But Mom, you just don’t understand! You have never taken a risk in your life! (Insert boys name here) is the one for me! I know what is right for me!” I would whine to her as if an annoying tone would get her to see my sense of reason.

My late teens to early twenties were a rush of constant disagreement as we failed to see eye to eye. Despite our arguments, she was always there for me in a time of trouble. My selfish mindset wouldn’t even think twice at asking for what I thought I needed for myself, even if it meant Mom denying her own needs to bestow to me what in truth was merely a want. Every new apartment or car was usually provided for me by my giving mother. I could not see it then, but I broke her heart and her bank with my constant query of “give me”, as in “Give me money!” or “Buy me (insert any random thing)”. The truth is I was a spoiled brat. It was only by attempting to spread my wings and fly that I learned to look beyond my own plight. Failure that sent me home to mommy helped me to see just how much hurt I had caused to my mother over the years.

My thirtieth birthday heralded a new-found calm inside me. I was gainfully employed, married and somewhat settled into a life I thought I was content with. Mom and I were keeping the peace due to recent losses of close family members. While we did not see eye to eye, much of the angst was shoved aside or buried. I was looking beyond my own nose. I can still see the walls of my apartment; I would often stare at the peeling paint as I listened to Mom talk about her day. My step –father Bill was very sick with cancer and unless she talked to me, she was basically alone with no outlet for her stress.

Those conversations we had then are blurred together. I can almost feel the worn carpet under my feet from where I would pace as she talked about people getting upset at work. I can hear the whimpering cries of Mischief, my puppy begging to be let out as Mom cried through the phone line about how treatments were not working for Bill. And I can smell the burning charcoal remains of a meatloaf I accidently left in the oven too long because I was deep in conversation with Mom about our schedule for the following week. That was the day she laughed and said I should have paid attention in my high school home economics class.

Time passed, and I realized I wasn’t a happy little wife. Mom was there with advice and a shoulder while I decided how to finalize my divorce. Bill was still very sick but hanging onto life for the time being. Every day was a huge pile of stress on Mom. Our phone calls were usually the most relaxing part of her day. She would tell me that listening to someone else’s issues would help her deal with her own.  This is why the phone calls to my mother would no longer bring forth the inner angst worthy of a sixteen-year-old girl. Maturity had reared its head and calmer tempers were the way of the future. The phone would keep us connected as we went through some of life’s most challenging adventures. Her motherly advice is now taken willingly and appreciated.

I was in Oklahoma when Bill passed away. It was late at night and my phone rang. Mom was crying so hard, I could hardly understand her. Hours of crying and soothing took place as I scanned the internet for a flight home. We talked funeral plans and got my airline ticket readied. I was thankful I could be there for her, the phone calls kept us sane. It has been almost two years since that awful moment when she called grieving. Now our conversations reflect on the happy times she had with Bill. We talk about school and discuss plans to visit each other. Plans to visit usually include a discussion about the World Wide Web and finding a good hotel or airfare. “I just don’t know about those inter-webs,” she tells me, “there are those crackers trying to steal your information on there!”  No matter how many times I tell her that it’s the internet and crackers are food, hackers steal information, she never gets it right. It’s one of the numerous reasons I love her. She still talks about the stress she deals with at work and I listen to her vent. Phone conversations with Mom are a joy in my life that I hope to have for a long time to come.

~Nina