You and No Other

by Jane Weiss

  This contract led into several other part-time, high-level work opportunities at Walker over the next year and a half. To incorporate my inner work learnings with corporate contract work, I pursued PeerSpirit Circle Training, a Spirit-based energetics method for establishing deeper team communication and more effective team process and, Appreciative Inquiry (AI), a powerful model for organizational change. Although Bonnie had been patient with my “inside-out” process for those past two years, and was relieved that I now had some work, we both knew that I would need to find full-time work soon.

  During this two-and-a-half-year period, I learned powerful, life-shaking lessons about surrender and trust and self-patience—reforming early ego patterns that no longer served me. An entry in my journal at the end of that phase reads:

  Be patient towards all that is unresolved in my heart, and try to love the questions themselves. Willingness and permitting are what is required on this journey. For how can I exercise control over what is not yet in form? Find joy and gratitude in the moment, knowing that in this space, the next steps will be revealed.

  For my relationship with Bonnie, this time enabled yet another rich experience on our continuum of deep soul growth and transformation. Within the next year, she passed the baton around finances back to me.

  Mother

  Mom had a progressive blood dyscrasia, which was aggravated by her smoking. By the time she died, she had lost several fingers, toes, and even her right hand. I wrote in my journal frequently during her dying process, sometimes to her, and often just to myself.

  May 5, 1997

  Mom -

  I just talked to your other daughter, Carol, this morning, and learned that you are struggling greatly—in much pain, and wanting to leave this plane. It’s nearly unbearable to imagine the tall, proud mother I remember is now in this physical/mental state. I need to tell you that I’m trying desperately to forgive you for shutting me out of your life for the past fifteen years. I know your belief system, which you need to be true to, will not let you embrace me. But then my belief system won’t let me behave differently, so why should I expect yours to? So you’ll die continuing to exclude and be derisive and angry towards me, won’t you? How else could we have lived out our lives together these past years?

  May 8

  Carol called to tell me Mom is better—weak, but responsive, and drinking/eating a bit. She’s refusing to have surgery to remove her gangrenous foot; so, short of a miraculous healing, her body will gain power over her mind’s decision to not die soon. Carol is genuinely pleased that Mom is better. She even sounded lighthearted about it. I admire Carol’s faithful vigil, and what it’s taken for her to put aside her lifelong grievances about feeling demeaned by Mother, and lovingly tend to her needs.

  May 11

  Talked to daughter Marie this morning. Even though I explained that my work would not release me to travel to Pennsylvania twice—once for the vigil, and again for the funeral, she cried over my not going to see my mother on her deathbed. Did she cry because she believes she may behave the same towards me as she feels I have toward my mother? We both have suffered pain as a result of our mothers’ choices and actions, and role models are powerful influences. Or was she sensing the pathos of hurt and anger continuing to keep mother and daughter estranged even at death, when—at least in the movies—people who are in family overcome all of life’s travesties, and they confess that, no matter what, they love and forgive each other. Mom dies; kids cry. All is righted in those final moments. That isn’t what would happen for me. Whatever emotional abuse we had experienced would only be exacerbated at my mother’s deathbed. I am done with our karma. I pray the power of its cycle is also done.

  Dear God, is there another way to look at this? What is true? What else is true?

  May 16

  My mother in this lifetime has died to her body and freed herself to be in Spirit. Her death at the very end was peaceful, Carol said. She was at her bedside, holding Mom as she breathed her last breath. Carol’s presence and emotional strength have been such a gift to Mom.

  And what about me? In the last week, I’ve learned and accepted more about who my Mother was as a child, an adult, and me as her daughter than I’ve been able to take in this whole lifetime. I can feel compassion for her as deeply as I’ve felt anger, railing against her daring to shut me out because I would not obey her. She’s never been my master, and she knew it. She abdicated her role as a wise, protective mother when I was a child, so my Spirit Mother took over, filled in where she could not. I feel compassion for the broken child she was, for the misguided adult she became, for the patriarchy she ascribed to, so that only in her last years did she try to find herself. I’ll never know whether she truly did. But now, in death, she knows the beauty and power of her precious spirit. It’s been about power for her and for me. I don’t understand it all, but I will.

  I am content to know that we both made choices. I chose freedom over her domination, again and again. It’s what saved me. And for this lifetime, perhaps my greatest lesson is to accept and to stand in my own power.

  May 21

  I see my mother in her casket, her soft white place. I feel her hard body, and know her soul—all the parts of the mother I knew—have left this place. There is sadness in that kind of finality—never to see her eyes, hear her laugh, watch her move, or note her body mannerisms that must be indelibly etched in my mind. She looks serene, even seems to have the start of a little smile. Her skin is clear, and has her usual color. Her hair, with a soft brown rinse, looks lovely. Although she has lost much weight, the strong, bold contours of her facial bones seem to keep her from looking emaciated. Carol reported that Mother hadn’t eaten or drunk much of anything for five to six days prior to her death. So I’m relieved for me, my kids, and all the grandchildren that she looks so peaceful and elegant.

  As Reverend Hartner said during the Memorial Service, we’ve begun a new chapter, Mom—an easier one, I hope. As I stood alone by you the night before the funeral, I felt you saying, “It’s okay, Janie. It’s okay, Janie.” It really is, isn’t it? I feel I have opened my heart to you again. It feels safe. How much more do you know now? How really free are you? I send you love, and pray for safe passage and quick movement into the arms of God, and into that place of full forgiveness for yourself and for us.

  I know I’ll be filled with remembrances of our times together. Precious Lynn will comfort you on your journey, as you will Lynn on hers. Michael, who faithfully called you every week, will still laugh with you. Marie and Andrew will lovingly uphold you. Dad, Elizabeth, and your beloved mother are there to greet you. And Carol will rejoice with you in the healing you two were able to experience. You gave us all a kind of love that each of us can be thankful for—unique, different from any other. Your leaving changes my life. There’s a release in tension between us for me, an opening into a field of wildflowers and tall grasses, a place where love’s spirit will create something new, weaving beauty into beauty.

  We had been estranged since Bonnie and I came together. Over the ensuing years, we continued to lightly converse on the phone on holidays, except for a six-month period in 1989, when I requested we take a break. I didn’t know how else to help my mother to understand that it was not tolerable for me any longer to have her shame, demean, and criticize me, despite her belief that she could say whatever she wanted in whatever way she chose, by virtue of her right to do so as my mother.

  She honored my request for no communication, and when we reconnected, I realized a part of her had retreated irretrievably. She seemed reconciled to my not changing—not leaving Bonnie. Mother was aloof, but not steely. She was removed, disinterested, and seemed somewhat defeated. So it was behind the scenes that I initiated her eightieth birthday party with my sister, Carol, in 1996, and assisted some of my children financially so that they could attend. I delighted in knowing that Michael and Lynn spoke with her regularly, and I encouraged Andrew and Marie to, also. I loved her from a distanc
e, and through my children.

  In a way, we wrote each other off and pretended it didn’t matter. We became stuck in the depression stage of the grief cycle, and never moved into acceptance, even my acceptance of her non-acceptance. But how do you hug someone whose arms are folded in front of them? If I would have continued to absorb her tactless, unkind judgments, would that not have been dishonoring the woman-child I was revitalizing? Boundaries connote separations. When we were merged, she was not respectful, so I needed to purge and draw boundaries. I don’t believe we are meant to sacrifice something so hard won, even on the altar of a deathbed.

  However, I still wonder what would have been a truce-maker. Could I have tried harder to reconnect, put aside my needs, and been a better daughter to Mother in her old age? What if the roles were reversed and she were my child? I would have found a way to relate, no matter what the grievances. But women of different generations do not see truths in the same way—just as my daughters name truth differently from me.

  Chapter Seventeen - What Really Matters

  Bonnie

  When we moved to Eden Prairie, Jane and I agreed with Erin’s request to keep the appearance of separate bedrooms at all times, and heaven help us if there was the slightest breach in observed familiarity between us when anyone outside the family was around. Erin’s fears around the kids at school finding out our living arrangements continued throughout her high school years, and even into her first year of college.

  The first time she ventured to tell anyone about my relationship with Jane was her high school senior year, when she wrote an essay in English class for a trusted and revered teacher, Mr. Garrity.

  Perhaps knowing what it had taken for her to write on the subject she’d chosen, and recognizing the quality of what she wrote, he gave her an A-plus grade, and suggested she submit the paper for publication. This is the original version, written for her English class assignment:

  One of the choices for this essay was a person or experience that has had a great impact on my life. As I sit here, a collection of memories comes to mind. There was my fourth grade teacher, Mr. Anson, who pushed me to use my academic abilities. Then there was Mrs. Gates, my middle school teacher, who is right up there with God for her love and acceptance of everyone. Or what about my choir’s international tour to Copenhagen, Denmark, where I sang with hundreds of children from all around the world? All of these experiences and many others have come together to make me the person I am today. However, the one person who has really changed my life the most is my mother.

  When I was four, my parents separated, and by the time I was six, the divorce was final. I was not old enough to really understand what was going on, so I just went with the flow. My parents explained to me that Daddy would no longer be at home, but that I would be visiting him on weekends. When you are six years old, nothing much fazes you, so I continued to live in my blue sky, yellow sun, and colorful childhood world. That was not the only thing in my life that was changing. My dad was moving out, but another woman was now going to be living with us. Once again, in my young mind, I saw the bright side of things. I had two moms now, and none of my friends did. It was not until middle school that I realized it was just not that easy having two moms. I wasn’t sure I understood my family situation—at least not enough to feel comfortable telling any of my friends or anyone. This is when my life started snowballing into living a secret.

  It is the little things you notice when you are living with a secret. Most kids don’t even pay attention to the blank that is titled, “Other adults who live in your household” on the emergency information cards that are filled out each year at school. That is where I fill in “Jane Weiss.” Growing up with a gay mother has changed my life in many ways and has offered me priceless life lessons. Though it has sometimes been hard and painful, it has provided me with insight that only a few are fortunate enough to understand.

  Today’s teenagers are scared of many things in life. Some are fearful because they hold racist stereotypes of African Americans and others. Many cannot look at the mentally ill with compassion or concern. Still others fear the AIDS epidemic and those associated with it. Because of this, there is great fear in the whole of society about homosexuals. It is virtually pounded into children’s minds that it is wrong to be gay. It pains me to think of all the jokes I have heard just walking down the halls, or many times, from friends. I recall the people I have seen imitating their stereotypes of gay people. Whether it is on television, in the halls, or sometimes the movies, teens are getting a scary and wrong perception of gays in today’s world.

  So, imagine living a life of which all your friends are fearful, and about which they constantly crack jokes. It still takes my breath away to hear some of the cruel things Minnetonka students come up with, as though living their lives within rigid, protected walls. It appears they think gays are the only ones on earth without a heart to feel pain, ears to hear insults, a mind to think, or eyes to cry. My wish is for all of these judgmental people to spend one day in my home, so they can experience firsthand the nourishment and love that I am given every day. I want people to realize that my mother is a beautiful person, inside and out, regardless of her lifestyle choice. I want them to see that she is a wonderful mother.

  Many people look at me and see blonde hair, blue eyes, a new car, and a nice house. Their first words are almost always along the lines of, “rough life.” If they only knew how rough it is to constantly wear a mask, to shut out a part of my life from everyone, and to hold such a scary secret in my mind and heart all of the time. Very few look past the appearance to see the closet of fears. I don’t think anyone can imagine the fears until she or he has to live with them. It is the fear of having someone open the door to “Jane’s room,” and realize that there is not a bed. It is just a storage room. I have incredible fears of rejection, of being alone, and of losing my best friends because they have been taught to hate.

  Living with my gay mother has not only taught me many things, but has also forced me to do deep soul-searching. I have to deal with situations that bombard me daily. For example, do I date a guy who is homophobic, yet perfect, in every other way, knowing that if he knew my secret, he would hate my mother and maybe me, too? Do I have to sacrifice some of my moral beliefs just to make it, to not be lonely? Most of my friends are extremely homophobic. Is it wrong for me to hide my true beliefs to have them as friends? Is it right for me to attend a church where it is taught that being gay is sinful? Does God really believe that it is a sin to be your true self? These are just some of the many questions for which I have searched to find answers and to find my true self.

  As a result of my experiences, my perception of life is different from most teenagers today. I know never to think that someone’s life is easy, or to judge a book by its cover. I know I need to be true to myself, regardless of what others may think. I have learned not to be quick to judge, for many people wear the same mask I do for a variety of reasons. I know that children do not hate; they must be taught to hate. I know what it means to not feel peaceful. Peace to me is not just a hope; it means I have been accepted. I have learned that everyone is beautiful in their own way, regardless of their faults or what we might not like about them. I realize how much someone can hide, how precious feelings are, and how easily words can make impressions. I hope that farther down life’s path, I will be able to openly share my secret with those close to me, that they will be able to see what a beautiful person my mother is and how proud of her I am.

  When Erin allowed me to read this essay, tears streamed down my face in gratitude for her loving words about me, and for her wisdom. I had prayed that she’d come through these years with a much deeper appreciation of herself, of life, and of the gifts of diversity. That she did—and more.

  Erin’s essay was further polished and submitted with her admission packet to the College of St. Benedict, a women’s Catholic college in St. Joseph, Minnesota. And with her acceptance, Jane and I were “outed” to this entire
Catholic school faculty! So much for keeping our relationship quiet—even if we’d wanted to continue doing so. When Erin left for school in September 1996, Jane and I basked in relief that we could finally—after fourteen and a half years—live in our own home, at least without pretending to be something we weren’t. How Jane surrendered, for Erin’s sake, to all the games around hiding our relationship speaks to her open heart and unbounded caring. But we were free at last. We no longer faked having separate bedrooms, bathrooms, and closets—all of which Erin needed for the sake of her friends. We were like newlyweds in our first apartment nest again, drunk with love for each other and free to express it whenever and however we chose.

  Erin, seriously suffering from homesickness, returned several weekends in September and October, and we enjoyed this new emancipated person who still loved the touchstone of home. Then, in early November, she brought her new friend, Katie, to our house for the weekend. That’s when all hell broke loose. Earlier, Erin had been grateful to be with Jane and me and behaved lovingly with us both, whereas this weekend in front of Katie, she reverted to her old pattern of shunning Jane when we were all together in a room. After Jane and I had been able to stop living the lie for two months, it was unthinkable that we’d return to the charade each time Erin brought a friend into the house.

  I called Erin into our bedroom before she returned to school, and told her she would never do this to Jane again. I observed that she didn’t treat Jane poorly when she came home by herself, so she alone would be welcome to stay at our house any time. However, when she next wanted to bring someone home for the weekend, she should plan to stay at her father’s, where she apparently could be proud of his marital relationship, and thus treat his partner respectfully. I further strongly urged her to get counseling back at school to deal with her own homophobia before it caused further breaches in our relationship.