The Scent of the Past

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THE SCENT OF THE PAST

I’m about to call my soon-to-be, nineteen-year-old, daughter. Christmas is coming and with it, unrealized dreams and expectations for family life. She and I will celebrate neither Christmas Eve nor Christmas Day together.

I’ll try to set up a time to do something special together and exchange presents. Spending the holiday together isn’t important to her. But getting presents is.

Despite years of confronting the folly of sustaining idealized dreams and expectations for my daughter and our relationship, I can’t seem to totally eliminate them from my psyche. She is not my "dream daughter," and I am not her "dream mother."

For many years I tried to be super-mom, doing everything possible to demonstrate my love and interest in her. From the time she was eleven, on, most of those efforts backfired. Then, after six years of struggle, as she charted the dangerous and defiant course of a troubled teen, I ran out of steam. Trying hard became futile and self-punishing. As a result, I have become semi resigned to our current, lukewarm relationship.

Forecasting the immediate future, I doubt that anything between us is likely to change (maybe when she’s in her 20’s). I know that I can’t be the only one tending our relationship. And as far as I can tell, she’s content with things as they are "calling when she needs or wants something from me" a ride to her apartment, a free dinner, a chance to stay overnight in a clean home.

Her toxic acting out has ended. I’m free of old terror. But I remain guarded. It’s the end result of having gone through far too much trauma for far too long. Like a dry drunk, her bad behavior has stopped, but no amends have been made. And our present reality still carries the scent of the past.

I’ve asked myself what, if anything, would revitalize my enthusiasm for my daughter. The initial answers that surface are, "She would be living an admirable life. She would express genuine remorse for past actions." And, that’s not who my daughter is. Wishing her different is old quicksand. Wishing myself different is equally treacherous territory.

I am wishing instead, that this holiday season present me the grace and ease to accept myself AS I AM and my daughter AS SHE IS. THAT would be a wonderful gift to both give and receive.

Merry Xmas. Happy New Year.