Dr. Isis's sporadic posting over the last few days is the result of the fact that she has returned to the Major Metropolitan City of her birth to visit with family. Dr. Isis's cousin was married today in a lovely outdoor wedding and this offered the opportunity to reign over the 13 cousins in attendance, of which Dr. Isis is the oldest.
Today I had the opportunity to do all of the following amazing things:
- Attend a lovely outdoor wedding
- Cook more food than I have ever seen in my life, while laughing with the Isis women
- Hang upside down from some monkey bars with my cousins. We looked like bats.
- School those little wackaloons playing football
- See a dude fall over while sitting on his motorcycle. I couldn't help it. It was funny.
- Listen to my 15 year old cousin tell me about his kick ass science project. Then notice that he had drawn a penis on the side of it in a hidden spot.
- Learn to play Guitar Hero. I am now pretty much a rockstar
- Do the Cha Cha Slide
Video 1: Dr. Isis can both "cha cha real smooth" and "get funky with it."
But coming home for these occasions is always a little bittersweet. Coming home for weddings and funerals means reconnecting with people from the old neighborhood who knew my mother growing up and want to reminisce about the good ole days. You see, Mama Isis died when I was a teenager and has been gone for many years.
Because she died so young, and so suddenly, many people she had been friends with had a hard time accepting her death. One of the ways people have seemed to cope, especially at these events where her presence is notably absent, is to seek me out and tell me all of the ways I am comparable to her. Today I counted and noted that I was told, "Isis, you are just like your mother" 34 times.
Now, granted, my physical resemblance to my mother is uncanny. I got Papa Isis's eyes and his left cheek dimple, but I suspect that is about it. I can remember being back in the old neighborhood two years after she died and being approached by an older woman she had worked with. The woman grabbed my arm, hugged me, and called me by my mother's name. She hadn't seen her in years and didn't realize she had died.
I think that people want to see in me the traits that made them love my mother. My mother was hilariously funny, articulate, outspoken, and brave. She was one of the most animated speakers I have ever seen. She had the ability to make people feel instantly comfortable, and was comfortable interacting in any situation she found herself in. My mother took grief from no one and was never shy to tell someone exactly what she thought of them. My mother was beautiful, a bit of a fashionista and, when she wasn't working in the hospital, loved a hot pair of heels. My mother was a schemer and a planner. As a teenager, she stole the church bell from her Catholic high school's bell tower as a prank. She was also fearless when it came to trying new things. When something broke, she'd be the first one there with a toolbox trying to figure out how to fix it. She encouraged others to be equally as fearless.
It's lovely that people want to remember her this way. But, what makes it painful to be told so often that I am "just like" my mother is that, in addition to all of these good qualities, I remember the selfish side of my mother. The side that made her walk away from our family when we were kids for a dangerous, long-haired, rock and roll drummer. Being reminded of all of her good qualities makes me wonder if I possess the bad ones as well. Does being "just like her" mean that I will someday enter my children's bedrooms in the middle of the night with my suitcase, kiss their foreheads, and run outside to the car waiting in the driveway?
Or, is it more subtle? While I may not run off, does being "just like her" mean that it will grow easier and easier to choose the pursuit of my own selfish scientific whims over being home with my family? Does it mean that I will find myself lying on the floor in my 30s, dying, and wondering if I had made the right choices with regards to my family?
"Who knows?" to any of it. Still, these are the events that, for better or worse, make us the people we are. In an indirect way, trying to avoid being "just like my mother" created Isis the Scientist -- a woman who attempts to find duality in her life. I don't think I would have become Dr. Isis without her. And so, considering what a great community has developed here, I suppose I should simply say "thank you" when people compare me to her.
Comments
Great-Gramma looks like a bit of all that herself.
Posted by: BikeMonkey | May 31, 2009 2:06 AM
Lovely post, Dr. Isis!
Posted by: Comrade PhysioProf | May 31, 2009 6:44 AM
Gut feeling from a loony who doesn't know you from Eve? You will be ok. My aunt died relatively young (in her 50's; alcoholic). I adored this woman and used to take care of her; she was the only family member I've had much in common with. She was a painter/univ prof -- set many examples of where I want to be in life...and where I don't want to be or end up. I understand the struggle and the worry....but, again, gut feeling -- you will be ok.
Posted by: gnuma | May 31, 2009 8:25 AM
I love this post, Dr. Isis, and I feel you. I think the fact that you have made such a deliberate and conscious decision about what you do and don't want your life to be like means that you are going to be able to emulate the qualities you admired about your Mom, without necessarily being "just like her" in every other way.
Posted by: postdoc | May 31, 2009 8:55 AM
Isis, people were probably trying to give you compliments. It was a happy family occasion.
I know that people said things to me at my mother's funeral that made me wonder what they meant. But I realised they were saying nice things about her - not referring to another side that I knew, that was invisible to them. After they said these nice things, they would say I was like her, or I sounded like her. I'm sure they were trying to be kind.
In your case, you and everyone will be happier if you assume your relatives and friends were paying you a compliment.
The other private things you can reflect on, now or later, but remember that now you are YOU - making your own way. Sure, you have been influenced by your mother, but by a lot of other people too - but you have gone in your own direction and chosen your own pathways. Be strong in that knowledge.
d.
Posted by: d. | May 31, 2009 8:56 AM
Isis, this is an absolutely beautiful and touching remembrance of a remarkable woman who, like all of us, is imperfect.
I experience a similar series of emotions when looking within for the good and bad that my deceased, alcoholic father has left with me. When I similarly visit home, I am not Abel - I am and always will be referred to as "Frankie's Boy." Realizing that I am capable of all of the good and bad that he personified has been an important focal point in reconciling my anger about his all-too-short life, up to and including his own dying on the floor. In a strange way, it has become easier to forgive and accept him when I face up to the fact that I am capable of any and all of his shortcomings. And when I look at my daughter, I realize also how warm and big-hearted he was in other facets of fatherhood, especially with my sister.
I love all of your writing but I particularly cherish when you share these gifts of insight with us. This must have been incredibly difficult to reflect upon and even harder to put to pixels and share with us. You are a tremendous writer and I am greatly moved by this reflection on your mother's life. I am certain that many of your readers are as well. So, thank you.
Posted by: Abel Pharmboy | May 31, 2009 10:31 AM
Wow, Dr. Isis...this post left me a little bit teary. I love that you have this large, close family. And I do think it's beautiful that they remember your mother fondly. Those comparisons of you to her are compliments, dear. The paragraph where you describe her admirable qualities does, in fact, sound very much like you. Those are beautiful qualities to have, Isis. And though we all struggle with the light and dark side of ourselves (as your mother did, I'm sure) remember that there was tremendous love flowing into AND out of her and that's what matters most.
p.s. So, yeah, your 15 year old cousin with the kick-a$$ science experiment? I'm pretty sure I'm going to figure out how to draw a hidden penis on my next manuscript. GENIUS!
Posted by: ElectroFizzz | May 31, 2009 10:36 AM
dearest Isis...
you may possess a lot of qualities that others adored about your mother. i'm sure people meant it in the absolutely nicest way when they told you this. but you are your own person, through and through. your life experiences, while shaped considerably by interactions with your mom, are your own. your decisions, your own. don't project her mistakes onto yourself simply because you have similar personality traits.
Posted by: leigh | May 31, 2009 12:35 PM
This is a beautiful piece of writing, Dr. Isis. I got just the opposite when I went to a family wedding last weekend, and on my facebook wall after that when my relatives found pictures of my mother and me from graduation. My relatives don't want to see any resemblance to her because she has become estranged from many of them and this is painful for them. I think it sells her short, though, and that if they love me, they should take another look at her and see that she has crafted a great deal of the characteristics that they adore in me. Even if she crafted them by initiating my rebellion, she still gets props. You DO have an uncanny resemblance to your madre, but we are each our own people and you are a stand-alone amazing person.
Despite the lovliness of this post, I have to say that I really despise the Cha Cha slide and the DJ's need to play it at every social gathering that involves people of a wide age range. If I ever get married, the Cha Cha slide will have NO PLACE at my reception.
Posted by: Arikia | May 31, 2009 2:11 PM
what a lovely post Dr.Isis. You are an inspiration with the many struggles you have overcome. Like the others said, you seem to have learned from Mama's Isis choices - good and bad. You now have the power to choose which qualities you want to emulate.
Posted by: ScientistMother | May 31, 2009 2:14 PM
Just the fact that you are aware of your mother's "bad" traits is a pretty good indication that you won't be following in her footsteps!
I'm just like my mother, too, neuroses and all.
Posted by: unbalanced reaction | May 31, 2009 6:06 PM
A truly beautiful post, Isis... bittersweet, insightful, and most of all touching... a painfully honest look at "family" and freinds. And (Wow!), when you first mentioned your mother's leaving it came out of nowhere... like a punch in the stomach! I can only imagine (no, I can't imagine) what it must have been like for you to experience that. Not to worry though, I'm sure you'll do the right thing and won't be abandoning family OR career. You're Isis!
This post (as well as you write about everything else) is you at your very best.
Posted by: scribbler50 | May 31, 2009 8:10 PM
To be like my mother... yes. At times. I want to emulate her desire for fairness and equity. I don't want to copy her use of a broom or a dish when her ideals of equity and fairness were not realized.
I try to empathize with the issues she dealt with and though I can, they do not automatically resonate with issues I deal with -- just as issues I dealt with do not mean my daughters are dealing with exactly the same.
The strengths your mother had may manifest differently in you, as her weaknesses may be diminished. It is ultimately your choice in your life... and such a choice is one your mother made too... for better or worse.
Judging from what I've read over the past year, your judgments are sound and I think your mother would be proud of you in ways you may not quite understand.
Posted by: Donna B. | June 1, 2009 12:13 AM
As women, we are our mothers. We are also NOT our mothers.
We cannot help but be formed in some way by their nature and nurture. Yet we receive so many other genes (from dad) and influences and experiences that we will not, CANNOT, be exact replicas.
Those who told you this were remembering the good, not the bad, on a happy occasion. If they tell you that when you call for bail money, then you can take it in a negative way...
Posted by: Pascale | June 1, 2009 10:45 AM
Wonderful post! But remember that the good and bad are how other people perceived your mother, her reasoning was her own. Read the Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood, if you haven't. It's an enlightening book, and shows you just how much you can't understand...
Posted by: Patchi | June 1, 2009 11:50 AM
OOOOOH! Loved the Ya Ya Sisterhood!
I second that motion - you really can't understand your mother. Just as your world is different from hers, you will never know the forces that shaped her life!
Great summer reading, too.
Posted by: Pascale | June 1, 2009 12:43 PM
Way to make me cry at work, Isis.
All I can say is that it's pretty obvious what a devoted mother you are.
Posted by: ScienceMama | June 1, 2009 3:38 PM
What an amazing day. I think you're 15 year old cousin is pretty cool. Is the Cha Cha Slide making a comeback, good.
Posted by: Vince | June 2, 2009 3:09 PM
While I may not run off, does being "just like her" mean that it will grow easier and easier to choose the pursuit of my own selfish scientific whims over being home with my family? Does it mean that I will find myself lying on the floor in my 30s, dying, and wondering if I had made the right choices with regards to my family?
Hmmm...or, you could be like someone I know, who did not follow her dreams and go to college and pursue a career, and who is very bitter and angry about it now, and just as jealous as she is proud of her children as they go off to college. Then you could wither in your old age into an angry old bitter woman who feels she gave up all the good chances she had in life in order to raise children.
False dichotomy. Men don't have to make these choices. Be glad you can have both. Your kids will grow up just fine and not be harmed by you having a life outside the home. You are a good woman. You are not abandoning your children by having a career. Fuck that shit. Love, Zuska
Posted by: Zuska | June 4, 2009 1:23 AM