East Flatbush Writer

“It’s never too late to try. “

In the Caribbean, family relationships can be complex.
You could possibly live your entire life with your mother and your aunt, but discover later in life that the former was really your grandmother and your aunt, your biological mother. My maternal grandmother, Pearl never played a major role in my life as both my own mother and I were raised by my grandfather’s wife Ella. Ms. Ella was my mother’s step-mother and my step-grandmother, which no one ever really told me. It was knowledge I carefully pieced together during the years while I lived with them. I hope you’re still with me!

The point is,  family relationships can be complicated,  confusing, disappointing and downright messy.  They are never all what you had hoped. They’re certainly not like the sit-coms we watch on television and there is no laugh track in response to the foibles and follies of real life.

Pearl, my maternal grandmother had always felt cheated as she was robbed of the opportunity to raise my mother.  At the age of seven years old, her father,  my grandfather had decided that his only child at the time,  born out of wedlock was going to be raised by him.  He informed Pearl of this decision and added that he would be raising their daughter with the help of his mother. 

There were at least three reasons why this seemed reasonable to Pearl. First, she lived in a more rural part of the country, and as a barkeep, she could only offer their daughter limited social and educational opportunities. Conversely, he lived in the city and was rising quickly up the ranks in the police department.  Second, at the age of 25, she had already given birth to two children, to different men.  This was not the reputation that her father,  an avid social climber was willing to have himself nor his daughter attached. Finally,  Pearl understood the dominance that lay behind the words of the father of her young daughter. It was this very dominance and strength that she had found most attractive and she knew there was no power within her to resist. 

So, at the age of seven,  my mother left her mother’s home,  never to return.  This is not necessarily a unique story thus far,  as many children are raised by other family members for various reasons. However reasonable the rationalization it doesn’t change the impact this separation can have on a child’s relationship with their mother. In the case of Pearl there was remorse, and a great sense of loss in the hearts of both mother and daughter.  There was also significant distance, not just in miles but in sharing less of their life experiences.  Pearl stayed in the country,  got married and bore several other children. Her daughter, lived in the city with her father and his new cosmopolitan wife, both of whom supported my mother through nursing school and her eventual move to the United States. 

In the rubble of these decisions was the relationship of mother and daughter.  Pearl regretted her decision to let her go,  apologized many times suggesting she didn’t realize how final it would be and yearned for a connection that time had stolen. She didn’t however just apologize,  but actively sought to find a way back to her daughter with the time she had left.  They were a few visits,  many phone calls, and sharing as much of life that was left.  She asked questions about her life, listened to the answers, showed interest,  fully aware that there were many choices her daughter had made she would never have a say about.  She expressed a desire to know her grandchildren and to be involved at some level in their lives.  Before she passed at the age of 103, Pearl had been given the gift of time to reclaim a very small part of her daughter’s life taken some 70 years before.  She taught me that no matter how difficult a relationship’s past, it’s never too late to try.