My Mother as I See Her, and as Others See Her

I am in my 40s. I married in my 20s and am now raising a child I had later in life.

To explain my family structure a little, my father remarried, and I was my mother's stepchild. Even without a blood connection, I believe we have built a relationship much deeper than the one I have with my biological father.
Today, I would like to write about that mother of mine.
(I have obtained my mother's permission.)

The Origins of a Showa-Era Mother

My mother was born in the mid-1950s. She grew up as the youngest of three sisters in a rural farming family.
All of our relatives were small in stature, and my mother would laugh as she told me, 'There was so little food that I always gave it to my older sisters.'
Even when she had cavities, she couldn't go to the dentist, and when she felt unwell, she was left to suffer until she finally saw a doctor, only to be diagnosed with malnutrition. Her clothes were always hand-me-downs.
It was an era that could by no means be called wealthy.

Marriage, and Becoming a 'Mother'

After finishing school and starting work, my mother met my father through an introduction and they married.
At that time, I was not yet three years old. Suddenly, she began her life in Tokyo as a 'mother of one.'

Between child-rearing in an unfamiliar land, housework, and the harsh words and attitude from my husband (my father), my mother's health suffered from the stress, and I remember her often lying down during the day. There were many times when she couldn't come to pick me up from kindergarten, and I would be left at a friend's house instead.

But in the evening, as the time for my father to return approached, no matter how ill she felt, she would get up to do the housework.
She was a 'mother trying her best' just to avoid being yelled at.
I still clearly remember the heaviness of the air in the house during those hours.

And Yet, a 'Mother Who Could Laugh'

Despite all that, my mother was not just a person who seemed to be suffering.
She often told jokes, too.

When I was around 20 years old,
our home phone would ring incessantly with sales calls for kimono, cosmetics, and accessories.
At those times, my mother would answer with a straight face, 'My daughter has already passed away... (fake crying),' and drive them away (laughs).

Also, even when I would blurt out crude jokes like an elementary school boy, instead of getting angry, she would join in with enthusiasm.
She was the type to laugh and say, 'That's an amazing way to think,' rather than 'Stop that!'
Thinking back now, I feel that this 'non-judgmental attitude' formed the foundation of who I am.

Also, she would say, 'I wanted to read books but couldn't, so I want you to grow to love them,' and she would accompany me to the library almost every day during summer vacation. (Partly because we couldn't go far, though.)
Thinking about it now, perhaps my mother had a learning disability. She often said that she sometimes had trouble reading and writing characters well.
She would write furigana in light pencil in the books and manga I bought so we could pass them around to read, and she would answer my questions every time I asked, 'How do you read this?'

The 'Mother' Seen by Others is Like a Different Person

I never imagined that a day would come when people would call such a mother 'cheerful.'
After I became an adult, two of my classmates' mothers said this to me:

Huh? That mother?
I asked back, taken aback.

But they both said the same thing.
That she spoke with a smile at PTA meetings and handled her work efficiently.

On the other hand, to my mother's two older sisters—my aunts—my mother seemed to have a different impression.
'Quiet,' or 'To put it unkindly, indecisive.'
There are signs that this is how she appeared to them.

That is precisely why, when my mother went through a late-life divorce, my aunts were all surprised in unison.

When I heard those words, I felt a sense of relief.
My mother was someone who had survived for a long time by "enduring."
I felt that the people around her had finally witnessed the moment
when she finally chose her own life.

Come to think of it, the existence of a mother
might have had completely different faces depending on who was looking.
Cheerful outside, desperate at home, and patient in front of her family.
And in the end, she was someone who chose a new path by her own will.

Thinking about it that way, my mother was by no means a person who "lacked decisiveness."
Rather, I can now see that she was someone who knew how to gauge the timing for a decision.

The many faces within the role of "mother"

Within my mother, there was the "mother at home" that I saw, the "mother outside" that others saw, and the "mother as a family member" that her sisters saw.
All of them were the real mother, and all of them were the figure of "a woman" who lived through that era.

Now that I have become a mother myself, I feel I understand a little.
There are days when things don't go well at home, and times when just keeping a smile on my face is all I can manage.
But outside, I try to be a "capable mother."
My mother back then must have been the same.

Perhaps it is because I became a mother myself that I have come to see my mother not as a "mother," but as "a human being."