Today would have been my mom’s 78th birthday.
She passed away in 2020 from complications from pneumonia at the age of 72.
It's strange how birthdays and celebrations continue long after someone is gone. The calendar still remembers. And so do I. Even when I tell myself I don't.
My relationship with my mother was of the “it’s complicated” variety.
When she died, we weren't speaking. Which wasn't that unusual for us. Throughout my life, we'd go through phases where we wouldn't talk for days, weeks, or even months. Eventually, one of us would break the silence, and we'd cautiously find our way back to each other. Only to drift apart again after the next disagreement or misunderstanding.
Something about us brought out the worst in each other.
She had expectations I could never seem to meet. And I have a stubborn streak a mile wide that refuses to bend. Looking back, I see two people who wanted to be understood but never quite learned how to speak the same language.
I suspect we’re not alone.
Contrary to popular belief, not every mother-son relationship resembles a Hallmark card. Some are messy. Some are exhausting. Some are filled with love, disappointment, loyalty, resentment, admiration, and frustration. All at the same time.
From my perspective, we loved each other the best we knew how at the time.
Our biggest problem was that we both carried so much emotional baggage that there wasn’t much room left for grace.
She grew up in a different world, shaped by different expectations, fears, and ideas about family, faith, and success. I grew up trying to become someone she often couldn’t accept much less understand. Neither of us was willing to meet in the middle.
Since her passing, I’ve softened a bit. And smoothed out some of my rough edges.
Not because the past has changed. But because I have.
Time has a way of sanding down the sharpest edges of memory. The arguments fade first. What remain are the quieter moments that never seemed important at the time: hearing her laugh at a dumb joke, watching her lose herself at the casino, or listening to her tell a story I’d heard a hundred times as though it were brand new.
Grief is strange that way. It doesn’t erase what was difficult. It simply reminds us that people are rarely defined by their worst moments.
The older I get, the more I realize both my parents were simply people. Flawed, frightened, hopeful people trying to figure life out while pretending they knew what they were doing.
Just like the rest of us.
If I had one more conversation with my mom, I don’t think we’d suddenly resolve the decades of hurt feelings and misunderstandings. Life rarely works that way.
But I do like to think we would laugh a little more. And argue a little less. Maybe even ask a few more questions instead of assuming we already knew the answers.
I’d love to tell her about COLLIDE PRESS, which I started after she passed away. I’d tell her about the people I’ve met, the stories I’ve shared, and the little community that’s grown around this creative outlet.
I’d like to believe she’d be proud, even if she didn’t fully understand it.
Today, I’m choosing gratitude over regret.
I’m grateful that she was my mom. I’m grateful for the lessons she taught me. Intentionally and unintentionally. From her, I learned resilience, independence, and the complicated truth that love isn’t always easy or simple.
Happy birthday, Mom.
I hope you’ve found the peace that eluded both of us for so many years.
And maybe, wherever you are, you finally understand your stubborn son a little better.
I know I’m finally beginning to understand you too, boo.
Keep calm and love on!
Clint 🌈✌️
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FROM THE ARCHIVES
NSFW MONTAGES = On Substack
SFW MONTAGES = On YouTube
BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY
07-31 = Barbara Gittings (1932-2007) = American activist 🌈
07-31 = Ian Roberts (1965- ) = Australian actor and rugby player 🌈
07-31 = Nels Anderson (1889-1986) = American sociologist 🌈
07-31 = Susan Flannery (1939- ) = American actor 🌈
MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY
“I didn’t think I liked country music. Then I got into Garth Brooks.”
Zac Brown
In a sense, you have written our story for us, mine and yours. My mother was a redoubtable Southern lady (emphasis on lady). Our relationship was full of complicated and in my case unspoken elements. I resented her heartily for much of my young adulthood, but we also had a lot of shared moments that I miss. She, too, did the best she could. Not the best, but the best she could. I was present at her passing, a transformative moment if ever there was one. You never forget, but gradually you forgive what you can. I'm glad your mother gave you so much that made you who you are, and as spicy as you are. Thanks for sharing this.
Clint, Happy Birthday to your mom. Yes, parents are just people. I wonder why that is so hard for most of us to understand until much later in life. Was you dad in the picture while you were growing up? I too now am happy to acknowledge the my mom and my dad did the best they could. Fondly, Michael