How could you not be curious about the stories told in those files? How could you not destroy them? Your mother’s compassion and searching intelligence shine in the portraits.
In the summer of 1950, my mother spent the summer in her grandfather's village in Ireland, where she met a girl her own age. They were friends the rest of their lives. The two girls, later two women, had a correspondence that lasted almost 70 years. When my mother died, we cleared out her house. I went looking for the letters-- I wanted to return them to her friend, who was now almost 90 and suffering from memory loss and might have treasured them. But my mother had destroyed the letters. I couldn't believe it--70 years of their lives committed to paper and now gone! I had no intention of reading them, but she couldn't know that. She also destroyed a handful of letters my father wrote to her before they were married, along with a lot of personal memorabilia from when she was a young person, including a photo album when she was in a Saint Patrick's Day beauty contest and rode in the Saint Patrick's parade float. She no doubt thought that it was all meaningless to anyone else, and, in the case of the letters, nobody's business. Such a loss.
I am sorry there is no way of preserving personal stories like these, or those of your mother's clients, for future generations, in a way that would ensure that everyone's privacy was respected, and the stories in them were used for the right purpose.
Thank you for sharing this story, which is really poignant. Your mother must have had strong feelings about the past or her legacy or something in order to destroy all those materials from different contexts. That is, her actions don't seem to have been about a specific discomfort but a general principle. In my case (or my mother's) I felt like I really had no choice, because of the professional ethics. But I too wish I could have saved more....
Yes...after 7 years, I can destroy the psychotherapy records. But it feels like a little punch, like tossing a book away. It is the right thing to do, and gives me a kindred feeling, I suppose, for descendants whose ancestors are unburied and put in museums.
I also understand your mother's feelings of "being erased" though they were divorced for 40 years. I felt that way when an elderly aunt died, and I realized that her direct descendants -- my cousins -- second and third -- at that point, knew her far fewer years than I had. That I probably have letters somewhere from her that are 40 to 50 years old, but that for these cousins (and righty so) I wasn't all that much a part of her life.
Yes, so complicated. I think that’s what makes relationships so hard to represent, whether the relationships are personal or professional, and whether the representations are words or image. You just can’t reflect all the nuance—
Love seeing the calendar pages...does it seem unlikely the scribbles were yours in 1966/'67 though? The portraits are beautiful ... first one especially. Having "clues" to illustrate your investigatio process makes it very immediate.
Thanks, Clyde. I guess they look like a child's scribbles-- and I was two and three years old in 1966/67 so it seems possible? Impossible to know for sure, now-- as is often the case.
That erasure your mother felt is so resonant for me with my mother and my father’s art career. Divorce is so complex. They raise us in separate silos and then feel left out. The rules always changing because the emotions are forever unsettled. I’m amazed she help you sort your father’s house. What was that like?, I wonder… Love the use of the portraits in this post. And that first painting looks so much like you, I was startled.
So fascinating to read this post, after reading so many about your father. ❤️ Where will you go next? Will explore more of why you left your mother out of your father’s story? Of why she chose to keep that painting on her wall? To answer your question, yes, I have destroyed evidence. I have also set some aside because I wasn’t ready to face it at the moment but felt I might want to come back to it later. Right now, I have no regrets about either. I just wish I more writing time. Thank you for writing and for inspiring me.
Thank you back! Yes, I think there will have to be some more about my mother, whom I'm close to. The tricky part is respecting her privacy and her profession-- as I try to do here. Not including her would be another erasure, and she deserves to be seen and heard. :)
How could you not be curious about the stories told in those files? How could you not destroy them? Your mother’s compassion and searching intelligence shine in the portraits.
Thank you. Agree, agree, agree. And a happy Thanksgiving to you!
In the summer of 1950, my mother spent the summer in her grandfather's village in Ireland, where she met a girl her own age. They were friends the rest of their lives. The two girls, later two women, had a correspondence that lasted almost 70 years. When my mother died, we cleared out her house. I went looking for the letters-- I wanted to return them to her friend, who was now almost 90 and suffering from memory loss and might have treasured them. But my mother had destroyed the letters. I couldn't believe it--70 years of their lives committed to paper and now gone! I had no intention of reading them, but she couldn't know that. She also destroyed a handful of letters my father wrote to her before they were married, along with a lot of personal memorabilia from when she was a young person, including a photo album when she was in a Saint Patrick's Day beauty contest and rode in the Saint Patrick's parade float. She no doubt thought that it was all meaningless to anyone else, and, in the case of the letters, nobody's business. Such a loss.
I am sorry there is no way of preserving personal stories like these, or those of your mother's clients, for future generations, in a way that would ensure that everyone's privacy was respected, and the stories in them were used for the right purpose.
Thank you for sharing this story, which is really poignant. Your mother must have had strong feelings about the past or her legacy or something in order to destroy all those materials from different contexts. That is, her actions don't seem to have been about a specific discomfort but a general principle. In my case (or my mother's) I felt like I really had no choice, because of the professional ethics. But I too wish I could have saved more....
Yes...after 7 years, I can destroy the psychotherapy records. But it feels like a little punch, like tossing a book away. It is the right thing to do, and gives me a kindred feeling, I suppose, for descendants whose ancestors are unburied and put in museums.
I also understand your mother's feelings of "being erased" though they were divorced for 40 years. I felt that way when an elderly aunt died, and I realized that her direct descendants -- my cousins -- second and third -- at that point, knew her far fewer years than I had. That I probably have letters somewhere from her that are 40 to 50 years old, but that for these cousins (and righty so) I wasn't all that much a part of her life.
Sobering, isn't it?
Yes, so complicated. I think that’s what makes relationships so hard to represent, whether the relationships are personal or professional, and whether the representations are words or image. You just can’t reflect all the nuance—
Thank you for this comment.
It's wonderful to hear about you mother and I hope we will hear more. And I love that first portrait of her.
Thank you, Jeffrey.
Love seeing the calendar pages...does it seem unlikely the scribbles were yours in 1966/'67 though? The portraits are beautiful ... first one especially. Having "clues" to illustrate your investigatio process makes it very immediate.
Thanks, Clyde. I guess they look like a child's scribbles-- and I was two and three years old in 1966/67 so it seems possible? Impossible to know for sure, now-- as is often the case.
That erasure your mother felt is so resonant for me with my mother and my father’s art career. Divorce is so complex. They raise us in separate silos and then feel left out. The rules always changing because the emotions are forever unsettled. I’m amazed she help you sort your father’s house. What was that like?, I wonder… Love the use of the portraits in this post. And that first painting looks so much like you, I was startled.
Yes, lots of parallels here!
What you say about the portrait is interesting-- I don't see the resemblance but I'm sure you're right. It's one of those blind spots.
I’ve had the same thing at my stack. People telling me I look like my mother’s portraits. And I don’t see it at all
😁
So fascinating to read this post, after reading so many about your father. ❤️ Where will you go next? Will explore more of why you left your mother out of your father’s story? Of why she chose to keep that painting on her wall? To answer your question, yes, I have destroyed evidence. I have also set some aside because I wasn’t ready to face it at the moment but felt I might want to come back to it later. Right now, I have no regrets about either. I just wish I more writing time. Thank you for writing and for inspiring me.
Thank you back! Yes, I think there will have to be some more about my mother, whom I'm close to. The tricky part is respecting her privacy and her profession-- as I try to do here. Not including her would be another erasure, and she deserves to be seen and heard. :)