Myrna, Dark and Light

My mother was not a strong woman. I believe she lived her life disappointed at how it turned out. She wanted roses and romance and pampering. That is not what she got. Instead of roses and romance, she got someone who was never taken care of himself; therefore he never understood that need in someone else. Disappointment turned to anger, anger to bitterness, all turning into a downward spiral that sucked the joy out of her day by day.

Mom had two distinct sides to her personality. There were times when my mother absolutely sparkled. She could walk into a room and light it up with her smile. She was witty, engaging, a brilliant conversationalist who made everyone around her fall in love with her. When I was a child, I believed her laughter was the answer to all of life’s problems. When something struck her as funny, she would throw back her head and laugh out loud--a throaty, infectious laugh--completely abandoning herself to it. I lived to make her laugh--to stay afloat on the contagious notes of that laughter; she was irresistible then and all was right with the world.

That is the way I like to remember my mother. But there was a dark cloud that claimed her at times. Initially, those times never lasted very long. I could tease her out of the darkness just by making her laugh. Sometimes, though, the dark cloud had a power over her that resisted even my bravest attempts at drawing her away from it. It was terrifying to watch. My mother would become a stranger before my eyes. The light would go out of her eyes; her smile was merely a shadow of the real thing. Most frightening of all, there was no laughter.

During those times, she closed all the blinds, the house was suffocating. Her very appearance suffered—she wore dark colors instead of her usual vibrant shades, her hair went unwashed, she didn’t bother with makeup. Most days, she didn’t even bother to dress; she wore her pajamas and an old silk robe all day. Her complexion became sallow and she moved like a sloth. The only energy she had was reserved for watching soap operas on television, one right after the other. She not only wanted the house dark and suffocating, she wanted it quiet. My brother and I learned to play and argue in whispers. Her temper flared easily then so we did what was necessary to be as invisible as possible. Mike and I both held our breath until the sun peaked through again and our fun mother reappeared.

As the years wore on, Mom and Dad’s dark moods played off each other. Mike and I could no longer expect to find shelter in the sunshine of the parent who happened to be standing in the light. More often than not, the darkness would lay claim to them both for longer periods of time. It was rare that the sun ever broke through.

It was then that it became a matter of survival for two small children who wished every day to awake to a small measure of good will. Mike and I were no longer children growing up in a regular world. We became allies in a fight for survival.