When the writer Maya Angelou’s mother Vivian was very ill, she apologized for not being the mother she ought to have been. Learning about the young Angelou’s life through her memoirs, one can see that Vivian wasn’t wrong. When Maya was just three and her brother Bailey only five, she put them on a train and sent them from St. Louis in Missouri to live in the town of Stamps in Arkansas, with their paternal grandmother. The children traveled alone, on a journey which took hours, with only kindly porters looking after them. The 21st century mind boggles. A few years later Vivian sent for her children to be returned to her, and back at St. Louis, at the age of seven, Angelou was raped by her mother’s boyfriend—a violation which left her so traumatized that for several years she became a selective mute.
In the last book she wrote, Angelou explores the relationship she had with her mother, who initially failed so miserably in the role that Angelou refused to acknowledge her as such and simply addressed her as “Lady.” However, when Angelou went back to her at age 13, they forged a close, loving bond. While they could never reconstruct those lost years, Angelou discovered other aspects of her mother’s character that she respected: her kindness to others in need, her feistiness and pluck. This was a woman who would never be cowed because of her color, regardless of racial segregation. So, when Vivian asked for her daughter’s forgiveness, Angelou, exercising her typical grace and magnanimity, gave it. While accepting that she may had failed in her role at parenting Angelou as a child, she was more than good at being the mother of a young adult, and beyond.
The British psychotherapist Philippa Perry states that the strongest relationships are those which have experienced rupture and then repair, and so I take tremendous heart from this story, because it delves into the very core of what it means to be human. The filial bond is a testing and complex one, so of course there will be hurt and misunderstanding and challenges. Given the amount of exposure my two girls have had to me in these past months, I hope they will be very generous when they look back at them in years to come.
Love heals, says Angelou, and I think she’s right. She also says that mothers liberate their daughters by never diminishing, and always encouraging them. “Above all, be patient and TELL your girls they are marvelous,” she counsels. As a mother, I know I’m not patient enough, and I probably haven’t given my children the acknowledgement they deserve for the resilience that they have exhibited during this last tumultuous year. But what I have learned from Maya Angelou’s story, is that forgiveness with yourself starts first, and when you have healed that rift, then you can nurture others. So this Mother’s Day, I’m going to start by showing myself some love and acceptance. Once that’s done, I’ll have more positive energy to devote to my children and perhaps then we can all practice being marvelous together. In these, the most exceptional of times, perhaps we should just embrace that message, from a true and wonderful matriarch.
Helen McClements is a mother, writer and teacher from Belfast. She can often be heard on BBC Radio where she shares her musings on “Thought for the Day.” In contrast to this, she writes a blog called www.Sourweeblog.com, where she unleashes her frustrations at juggling parenthood with work and the vagaries of life.
