The Judy Miller Show: Season Four

Today would have been my mother’s 74th birthday. I never meant to make her birthday an annual event on this blog but she is always on my mind on May 10th, just as she was for her 71st,  72nd, and 73rd birthdays. All three of the photos above are of my mother and my grandmother, the first one taken in 1937, the second one ten years later when my mom was the age my daughter is now, and the third ten years after that in the late 1950s. My grandmother died in 1990 and my mom in 1999.

I’m feeling particularly sad today and part of me is quick to judge those feelings as somehow dysfunctional, that it must mean I’m living in the past and refusing to move on. Can I please give myself a break? Especially since tomorrow is also Mother’s Day? Not to blame my mom, but I do believe this tendency towards self-criticism and especially my reluctance to accept my feelings is part of the legacy I inherited from Judy Miller. Though extremely beloved by her family and friends (and my mom had more close friends than anyone I know), she was terribly self-critical and very uncomfortable openly expressing any “negative” emotions. When my mother was feeling sad or scared or in pain, she didn’t like to show those feelings, even to her loved ones. As I write that I suddenly wonder if maybe this was more true with her family than her friends, maybe she was more comfortable expressing those parts of herself with other people in her life.

It was only in the last few weeks of her life that my mother and I broached topics that she never wanted to discuss such as what was going on for her in the early 1970s when her marriage ended and we ended up living with my dad. Throughout most of her life, we all colluded in the steadfast avoidance of this topic. I, for one, never wanted to acknowledge my own feelings back then, partly because of my strong desire to “protect” my mom from her own sadness and guilt about a really difficult period in our lives. I mistakenly thought, as I think she often did, that acknowledging the existence of certain feelings was tantamount to a condemnation of others, that I didn’t have a “right” to my actual feelings and just needed to suck it up. “Everyone did the best they could” was my whitewashing mantra, and while that was certainly true in the bigger picture, it was a convenient way to erase all of my feelings like a magnet being held up to my internal hard drive.

Even as I write this psychobabble, I can see how my thoughts about my mom travel through the careening twists and turns of my own screens and lenses before they are able to make their way into print. I’m aware that nothing I say about my mom or my family or my childhood on this blog could ever be considered any kind of expository “truth.” If I were reading such ruminations by other family members I’m sure I’d be fascinated but I know I’d also be horrified by the “inaccuracies” or assumptions they make as they interpret past events. So be it.

Still, there’s one bit of expository truth that I have no trouble imparting and I know I’d get no arguments from anyone on the planet. And that is how much my mother loved all of the people in her life and how much she was loved by us. No interpretations necessary on that front, thank God. A big part of my sadness about my mom’s absence is the lost opportunity to get to know her in a deeper way. As I see my thoughts about her changing over time, I find myself wondering what it would have been like to have other frank conversations with her, I find myself longing for the opportunity to more fully understand her. But maybe that concept is just as illusory. Maybe if my mother had lived to be 100 years old we still never would have been able to cross certain emotional chasms.

There are so many questions I’d like to ask my mother if she were still here, so many things I’m curious about. Being an archivist at heart, I pore over every image and document that pertains to my mother’s life looking for clues about what made her tick. They are of limited use, of course, and without her here many of them are dead ends because no one else remembers anything about the photos. I’ve shared many of the choicest pearls of the finite Judy Miller Collection on this blog, but every once in a while a new document appears that provides a tantalizing glimpse into another part of her life and brings up many more questions that I long to ask her.

After my computer was stolen last month (containing a big chunk of my family archives), I did a firewire transfer from my sister’s MacBook of many of the photos and documents we scanned last summer. Included in that cache was a letter from the early 1950s that I don’t remember seeing, a letter that my mother sent to her sister, my Aunt Bobby, during my mother’s brief stint as a freshman at the University of Colorado at Boulder. It’s pretty benign as far as such letters go, but to me it’s like a Holy Grail in its banal depiction of a day in the life of 18-year-old Judy Karoll. I made a vow last year that I’d never again print a letter from one family member to another without permission but I’m breaking that vow since I can’t imagine that my aunt or mom would object (slippery slope alert!).

What a thrill it is to see my mother’s distinctive handwriting. I’m also struck by her use of green fountain pen ink, an affectation I adopted as a kid without realizing where I got it from. My grandmother, no OCD hoarder like the rest of my clan, threw out most of her children’s papers decades ago. I have no idea how this letter survived and I am riveted by every word:

Dear Bobby,

You don’t know how glad I was to hear from you. I never realized how much I could miss you.

Doll, I’ve got so much to tell you I don’t know where to begin. Here goes—

Even tho I’m homesick I still think C.U. is wonderful, the kids around here are just the greatest. I’ve never seen such friendly people in my life. Of course, sometimes they can be a little bit too friendly! I’m still recovering from a dose of campus friendliness (?) I experienced yesterday. My girlfriend Diane (more about her later) and I were calming walking down “Frat Row”—the block where most of the Fraternity houses are located—when all of a sudden we were grabbed from behind by six boys screaming “Moat Party” at the top of their lungs. Before I relate the rest of this sad story I’ll have explain the lovely moat system at C.U. As you well know, Colorado is very dry country and they’ve got these little irrigation ditches running through the ground to keep everything moist. In some places the ditches are very wide and these deals are called moats. Unfortunately, most of them are located near the frat houses and the boys have a simply peachy keen time with them. To continue, these six boys grabbed us and threw us face first into the moat. We were just drenched and both of us had on white blouses you could see right through. Before long there were about 50 boys just standing there laughing at us!! That was enough for one day but no—as we walked past the Zeta house a whole bunch of Zetas grabbed us, sat on us, and painted big “Z.B.T’s” on our Levis. (I’ve already got one pair with ZN, Sigma Nu, on them.) We found out later that all this roughhousing is only allowed during the first month of school—cute!

Why is it so thrilling for me to get this funny glimpse into a typical day in the life of my 18-year-old mother? I wonder if she’d remember this incident today. How weird is it to imagine my own mom being “attacked” by these obnoxious Frat boys (and obviously enjoying it!) with the knowledge that all of those raucous boys are now in the mid to late-70s if they’re alive at all. What would my mother’s life have been like if she had stayed at the University of Colorado (which, true to this description, was voted the country’s #1 Party School in 2003)? Instead, when she went to Chicago for spring break that year she met my dad, fell instantly in love, and never went back to Boulder. My parents were married that summer and had my brother Bruce nine months later, all before my mom turned 20. And so it goes.

What am I hoping to extract from all these documents and photos? Do I view them as talismans that will help me reach into the portals of time and touch a world that no longer exists? It doesn’t work, of course, and yet I remain grateful for every morsel I can find. I wish I could ask my mother about her past experiences but what’s way more painful to realize is the fact that we are no longer creating new memories together, that she is not able to have a physical presence in our current-day lives and the lives of our children. Maybe we can never really understand our own parents, especially while they’re alive and we’re still interacting with them in the physical world, but I know I will continue my quest to know myself a little better through my evolving understanding of my mother.

I miss you, Mom. Happy Birthday and Happy Mother’s Day.

Comments

[your sister]

Thank you Danny. I feel the same way.
It's been 9 years, it feels like 9 minutes, and it doesn't get one drop easier. I miss her so much.

xo

[Jane]

Beautiful post, Danny. My mother was a very difficult woman, not as loving as yours, but I believe much of that generation didn't learn to express feelings as we do now -- or maybe they unlearned it early in childhood.

My mother died in 1999, and left few tangible memories, but many, many mysteries. I understand so well that feeling of wanting to delve in, understand, and tie up all the loose ends they have left us. It's frustrating and sad to know that the One Important Talk, in which All Will Be Revealed can never happen.

I think my mother's mysteries are one of the reasons I began to write so early. If I could not get answers, at least I could invent some.

Your mother was beautiful, and her love left a wonderful legacy, namely you and your siblings, and the lives you have created, and the love that endures.

[communicatrix]

Another beautiful testament. Love to you on a bittersweet day.

[Elaine Soloway]

Hi Danny,
Thanks for a wonderful Mother's Day post. Although you feel there were unanswered questions between you and Judy, there certainly isn't any chasm. The love that you and your siblings still feel for her, and the impact she continues to have on your lives, is proof she was a success as a mother. To be remembered and revered, as she is, years after her death, is a terrific Mother's Day gift to her.
Love,
Elaine

[tamarika]

Happy Mother's Day, Danny. You were on my mind this morning ... as I am writing a blog post about writing.
Smiles.

[Pam G]

A wonderful post in tribute to your mother. My father died 32 years ago when he was only 45 and my mother, while still with us, is in her 80s now and is fading slowly away, very poor memory to the point where she often can't complete a simple sentence or remember something told to her a few moments before. Neither one of my parents were very loving or affectionate people and the little I remember of their lives together is not at all pleasant. As you and another commenter said, many mysteries and no important talks leading to revelations.

Well, for this Mother's Day weekend, I took my mother after our fancy lunch to look at the Craig McPherson mezzotints now in the Frick Art Gallery that depict the Pittsburgh steel mills where my father and grandfather spent their entire working lives. She was silent most of the time, but did point to the slag-covered hillside in one of the mezzotints and remark, "That's where Lover's Lane was back in the early '50s. You can't go back there today. It's blocked with barbed wire now." And she said nothing more. So I'm left this afternoon with the image of my twenty-something parents "making out" above a steaming pile of polluted junk in that summer before their November 1954 wedding. Through this off-hand remark I've finally discovered that they once really did have a "fiery" passion for each other. ;)

I think your posts about your mom and family help you and help all of us who read you gain better understandings of our parents and ourselves as we, too, get older. Many thanks,

[Kate McLaughlin]

Dear Danny,
...to be brought into this world by such beauty and to be left here with such love.
Blessings!

[Julie Brown]

I just (thankfully) ran across your wonderful blog when I googled Christina Crawford, of all people, being the seeker of information I am. Lovely tribute to your mother. Your feelings are very natural. Just coming up for healing. I'm sure losing one's mother is especially hard on birthdays and Mother's Days, and to have them close together, all the more so. Blessings to you-
Julie

[Your big brother, Bruce]

We were so lucky. With all the mishegas, weren't we lucky to have Mom in our lives and know her like we did. I've known those who didn't appreciate their mothers until they were gone. Others who never liked them much. We had fun with her and loved her while she lived. Just not long enough. Thanks for your thoughts, Danny.

Love, Your big brother

[Patsy]

Wonderful Danny, This hits home. My moms Birthday has always been a few days before Mother's Day. I lost her a couple weeks before in 1992. I won't lie, It's a rough time, very reflective, and sad, yet grateful to celebrate her life. It doesn't seem that long ago. I want to pick up the phone at times, and ask all the unanswered questions. I'm sorry I didn't pay more attention while I still had her. We take it for granted our moms will always be there. My mom has a sister whom I hound and drill everytime I can. It's mostly the same stories but as you know, you can never hear enough. Once in a while you learn one new small piece to the puzzle. So Danny keep remembering, cherish and embrass every piece of information. I will be looking forward to your moms 74th Birthday blog.
Patsy

[Judy]

Your blog about your Mom is beautiful. It hits home to me as well, only it is my dad who died almost 25 yrs ago about the same age as I am today. His birthday was last week, and for the first time I had to remind my Mother who was in the hospital with dehyration (84) what day it was. My dad would have turned 85 that day. My husband's Mother died 50 yrs ago last March 28th...it doesn't get easier.I think everyone has those "emotional chasms" which prevent us from getting really close to those we love. My daughter called me this morning to apologize for not being enough of a daughter this Mother's day. While I wanted to apologize to her for being too much at her graduation luncheon with her boyfriend's families...His dad and his mom now divorced with his mom and her longtime companion and and his dad's new family.. younger wife and 7yr old son. My daughter's gift to me was her graduation from NYU, as well as her boyfriend's graduation to his family which we all celebrated together for the first time. I think my daughter and I aren't comfortable with the roles society expects us to enact but which we know...Hallmark families, etc. Who is?

[Arlene]

Hi Danny, I think it's great that you have such wonderful memories of your beautiful mother. I understand how you feel. My parents both died within a year of each other a few years after we graduated from Von. That's a long time ago, but not a day goes by that I don't think of them, especially yesterday when I went to the cemetary. I was wishing that I didn't have to be wishing her a happy moms day that way. Anyway, I think you do an amazing job keeping your moms memory alive.

[Frances]

Your remembrances of your mother and your work towards understanding and acceptance are so moving and inspiring. Your family sounds every bit as wonderful as I imagined way back when we waiting on the corner of Drake and Thorndale for the summer camp bus.

[churlita]

I love your posts about your mom. I think it's harder to come to terms with things when your mother is no longer living. It's so sad that so many questions will have to go unanswered. At least with me, there's so much guilt involved because I never got the chance to be anything other than a needy, pain in the ass kid around her. I'm glad you got to have at least a little of that with your mom.

[Jeff]

Beautiful Mother's Day post Danny! I can't think of a more fitting tribute to your mom then revisiting her life.

And while, I don't pretend to have any qualifications to analyze your "psycho-babel" I feel compelled to point out that missing someone is perfectly normal. In fact not missing someone you loved would be a reason to visit an analyst. So yes, give yourself a break!

[Emily Barton]

What a double whammy for you: Mother's Day AND her birthday so close together! I adore your mother through what I've learned about her from you, so thanks for sharing her with us. I hope you're feeling a little less sad having written and shared all that.

[David]

Wow. Beautiful post, Danny.

I'm lucky enough to still have both my parents. And I have to say my mom is in many ways a different person than the stressed, irritable, temperamental (and, she has said), menopausal and occasionally depressed person she was when I was a kid.

In her defense, I was the youngest of 6; she had to be sick of the parenthood thing. When I was quite young, she went back to school (she'd quit college to marry my dad when she was 18), and all through my childhood and adolescence, she was in school. She was multi-tasking before there was multi-tasking!

She's more easy-going, she indulges her propensity to philosophize freely, and she doesn't hesitate to say what she's thinking. Ever!

When the era of active parenthood is over, a whole new relationship begins. I'm sorry that you didn't get to experience more of that with your mom; as your sister says, it's a hurt that doesn't go away. But it's also part of what drives the singular artist and archivist that you are.

[Shari]

I was fascinated by the letter that you posted, from your Mom to Bobby. For one thing, my Mom always used the term of endearment, "Doll", when addressing us kids or my Dad. I realize I haven't heard anyone say that in a long time and it brought me back to her voice; I can hear it so clearly.
Secondly, the description of being thrown in the moat--I did not detect a tone of enjoyment in that description-it sounds perfectly awful, but perhaps I am projecting? I hope you know better in this situation!
Thanks-I love these kinds of posts the best. Sending you a hug.
--Shari

[Shannon]

I think out of all the people I've ever read about on the web, your mother sticks out the most to me. She's so... striking.

And this is so much better than reading about George Bush. Crying for a GOOD reason is ALWAYS better.

[Mark]

Lovely. Just lovely.

When I looked at the photo of your young mother with the scarf tied on her head, I immediately saw your daughter.