Careless love...

I've been reading an article about Doris Lessing, which noted in passing how much she hated her mother. I started reading Doris Lessing when I was very young and, like so many of my age and time, I thought The Golden Notebook was a lot more life-changing than it turned out to be. I went on to read many of her books and while her novels seemed to be big lumbering hectoring things, I developed quite a respect for her short stories. And I think it was in these that I noticed a repetitive theme of mom-detestation. I didn't think much of it at the time. Who hasn't hated her mother at some point?

And I suppose that's my point. Mom-loathing is an adolescent fancy. As we age, have adolescents of our own, and are loathed in turn, we become more charitable. As it happens, I never had children but I passed through the hate-to-love cycle nonetheless. After my mother died, it occurred to me how little of her life had really been occupied with children...eighteen years out of sixty-eight total. Not so many, really. I suspect that her emotions about me became far less than those I invested in her. Nonetheless, I can say quite happily now: I loved my mother.

Along with hating her mom, Lessing seems to have had an equally jaundiced view of her parents' marriage. It certainly sounds like a sad, dried-up, and defeated one, which she appears to blame on WWI.

I don't know of any war that isn't its own Vietnam for that time and place. My grandparents were both involved in The Great War; my grandfather was a marine and my grandmother worked in the War Department. They not only survived it, they were nuts about each other until their last ragged breaths. And it was utterly obvious that they were deeply, romantically in love with one another. My parents were the same, although their marriage didn't survive. Still, even remarried, they always spoke of one another with longing. In fact, as I think of it, I can't think of anyone in my family who didn't marry for love, and for most, the love was passionate. It's rather remarkable.

When I married the first time, it was not for love but for escape...escape to an adult life, an escape from my family for many reasons. That marriage lasted long enough for me to realize I'd made a devil's bargain. Looking back now, I wonder if there's any relationship more destructive, more prone to wither the soul and freeze the heart than a loveless marriage. I got free and then, after a time, surprisingly, I fell in love for real and had the good sense to marry him.

It's my opinion that only love heals, that only love changes us for the better, and only love defeats fate. And yet, it's an emotion that's mostly acknowledged with dopey Hallmark cards, gold-plated jewelry, and an occasional dinner out. It's considered an extraneous emotion--nice if you can get it, but don't hold your breath. Still, looking at Doris Lessing's stern face and reading her sour words, I know love is as necessary as air or light.

But then, I was lucky in my inheritance. And she wasn't.