My mother and I are like the ocean and the mountains, yet we hear each other without saying a word. She delights in pretty dresses and homegrown roses, while I am the boisterous daughter who despises rules. Despite all our differences, our bond is strong.
The Embroidered Coat Hanger
Among the myriad things I doubt my mother realises reminds me of her is the embroidered coat hanger. These hangers, with delicate lace cloth designed to protect, are handmade with personal touches no global chain would bother with. Just like a lifetime of maternal love, if you are lucky, it is sewn with slow, attentive care. Sometimes, when I spot a row of them in my closet, I imagine a time when she will no longer be able to cushion my life with the same consistent warmth I once naively assumed everyone had.
Taking Nurturing for Granted
As a young adult, I took for granted such Christmas stocking fillers and small surprises of daily thoughtfulness, along with exceptional nurturing that covered not just wardrobe essentials but all my emotional needs. Perhaps I once felt hanger apathy because my mother does not share my disdain for needle crafts, and there are many unaligned threads of our lives we often laugh about.
Different Lives, Same Love
She grew up in the Sydney suburbs of post-second world war austerity and, now 88, has been married to my father for 65 years, helping run businesses and devoted to being a mother and grandmother. I am a gay woman, never married and with no children, building my life around strong friendships, siblings, journalism, and global travel. She was always a girly girl with slender feet and delicate hands, who sewed her own clothes in the 1950s because who could afford to buy any? She laughs softly, delights in pretty dresses and homegrown roses, drinks one glass of bubbles and craves no more, favours pragmatism over romanticism, dislikes the limelight, and goes to bed early. I was a boisterous daughter with flat feet, a love of black pants, a tendency to drink a glass of bubbles and crave ten more, who despised rules, was too often idealistic, and went to bed too late.
Generational Gaps and Unspoken Understanding
She still meets with friends fondly called the jet setters, who once spent weekends away hardly leaving the state. I have lived in four global cities, reported from conflict zones to the Oscars, and reaped the benefits of a generation that travels widely. But she never complains about the generational gap in women's education, careers, identities, and freedoms. In an age of self-centred politics and look-at-me social media, she is more interested than in appearing interesting. Despite our differences, our bond is such that we can read each other instantly without words. I have inherited from her a penchant for asking questions, a wonder for the world and its natural beauty, and a sensitivity from too much empathy.
Coming Out and Unconditional Support
On life's big question, if it all ended tomorrow, no regrets or skeletons hang in her closet. When it came time for me to come out, despite her growing up in times when gay meant jolly or something to do with Rock Hudson, after her initial loving acceptance she wrote to me as I moved across the globe, 'I truly believe that it's the strongest people in life who are given the biggest challenges,' sensing and sending strength in my time of greatest need.
Remembering Love Before It's Too Late
A friend and I were discussing funerals the other day, knowing one day we will face what we have always dreaded: a time when the person who has centred me, never hung me out to dry, will be leaving for somewhere beyond. We both thought, why do we wait until they are gone to tell the world what they mean to us? Because Mum, will you hear me when I impart to the pews the sort of person you are: your life trajectory from shy child of frugal times to assertive grandmother, the way you embraced your marriage, made your friends feel seen, and most of all, your devotion as a mother. If we become what we behold, as William Blake wrote, then you embody what it is to love.
Carrying On Their Wisdom
And so, we realised, instead of sorrow, we need to remember that these women who cradled us in the soft cloth of selfless love will always be hanging in the closet of our souls any time we need them. Padded with care, kindness, and strength. We carry on their wisdom, their love for us, the extraordinary in the everyday ordinary.
