Who Am I? Who I am. Am I who I am? I am what I am, Sam, I am!

sunsetThis time of year, when the days grow shorter and the light dims to darkness is a time of introspection for me. It comes some years like a curtain falling on a comedy and in other years, like a slow setting of the sun.  This year it began early for me and I began to notice that the tug on my soul to reflect inward was very real, only this year was different.

Instead of the usual reflection on what I have done over the last year: good, bad, right, wrong, etc., I began to reflect on who I am, what I represent, what I am supposed to do while I am on this journey.  My reflections were coming with pictures in my head of my family…nieces, nephews, siblings.  Those pictures, though, were not of these people individually – rather, they were together with a silhouette of my mother behind each face, each pair of blue eyes, green eyes, and a smattering of brown eyes – there she was, my mother, with all of her soul reflected in each of our faces.

Who am I? Was I reflection of my mother?  Was I living up to her standards?  Would I ever, could I ever, be as great of a humanitarian, human being, mother, sister, aunt, lover as her?  Who am I?  Am I a piece of her? Broken off…less than she?  Diminished by my fraction, made less by my lacking?  Am I her shadow…mimicking her?  Weak mirror image of darkness – rebellion incarnate?  Am I her legacy?  A sum total of all she ever was or will be?

Who I am. I am all of the things that my mother ever anticipated.  I am all of the things that she wanted for me.  I am the culmination of years and years of her struggle, her hardships, her joy and her blessings.  I am her daughter.  I am her pride.  I am who she wanted me to become.

Am I who I am? Am I a facsimile of who I am?  Am I capable of living up to the greatest expectations of my mother?  Am I?

I am what I am, Sam I am. My introspection is coming, rapidly, to an end and autumn hasn’t even dawned.  This new season of darkness will be fraught with reflections of all sorts…this being just one…just the beginning of many…and the end of so much more.  It has come to this…my questions were once about what I perceived as my mother’s expectations and her desires for me and my life.  I was wrong and flawed in my questioning and, thereby, in my living and thinking.  My mother has only one desire and one expectation…for me to be who I am and for me to be happy.

Now…let the fall fall.




  1. Very thoughtful post. It’s interesting the different dynamic each person has with their mother. I haven’t wondered about if I’ve met my mother’s expectations, I know I haven’t, she’s told me so. My adulthood has had only a looking back and knowing she won’t approve kind of relation to her and often, since attaching myself to a Sailor, a wonder if my actions/choices will become ammunition against my father. I am currently living what she hoped for but she doesn’t pat me on the back for it, she resents it. She’s very resentful that my father didn’t stay in the Navy longer and retire with benefits which is what we are doing.

    I have learned to live for myself and in the best way I know how with the hope that she will look kindly on me someday but I hold back not giving that too much power. I am the product of my mother and my father, but I live for myself with the knowledge that whether they approve or not is not in my hands nor will I let it influence my decisions. I don’t often ask myself what would my parents do or want me to do.

    In the last few years I have been working on not letting that be a negative in my life, it just is what it is and I try not to hold it against them, they are doing their best and living how they want to live. All I can do is try to make their twilight years a bit less stressful regarding me. So, I don’t share everything with them.

    I do wonder what it is to have an approving, loving, supportive mother and am happy to see you appreciate yours. To have a friendship with your mother. That would be something.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. It is very interesting, that dynamic – more so, I think, between a mother and her children than vice versa. We teach people how to treat us; our mothers behavior is scrutinized by us from the moment we can focus our eyes and attention on her.

    Its a foreign concept to me that a mother, by virtue of the definition, wouldn’t automatically be proud of what she birthed and nurtured…unless, of course, she only birthed and never nurtured. My mother and I have never been in competition for anything.

    Even when we played canasta as a family, my mother wouldn’t compete with me, should would feed me the cards so I would win…she would openly cheat by grabbing 15 cards at once, wink at me and watch my father’s head turn 50 shades of red until he exploded in anger…HE was the competitor, the sore loser, and the figure I never looked to for guidance.

    Truly, my mother has worked hard for her children to have more than she ever did; from dinner on our plates to opportunities, my mom was always pushing us to be who we wanted to be and for bigger and better opportunities and then she swelled with pride at even our least of accomplishments.

    I don’t think my mother was ever my friend, though. I think, in the truest sense, she was my advocate, my protector, my mentor, and in all of those things, I believe she is the embodiment of the word “MOM.”


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