Ich Liebe Dich

Sitting quietly on the wooden pew as the only person in a small darkened side room, Emma gave the impression that she was rehearsing the reading of her mother’s eulogy.  Except that her eyes were not moving across the wrinkled paper clutched in her still hands.  She got me again.  She’s controlling me even from the grave.  Her eyes quickly glanced heavenward, then down, still not sure how God felt about mother and where her soul was residing throughout eternity.  ‘Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?  So nice to know what my daughter thinks of me.  I guess its not enough that I JUST DIED!’

Letting out an elongated audible sigh, Emma said to the empty room in general, “Well I’m going to need therapy.”

“Yeah, like you’re the only one.”  Todd was leaning in the now open doorway.  He was shoved into the room by David, who was followed by Lisa, closing the door behind her.

“Is daddy alone?” 

“I guess you haven’t seen the feeding frenzy out there.  Every widow and old maid they ever knew is buzzing around him like he’s the next entrée on the menu.”  Todd always preferred sarcastic humor.

“And a few married ones are checking him out too.”  David threw in. 

“He’ll be okay.  I’ve got the cousins guarding him.”  Lisa draped herself across the end of the pew.  As usual, she looked perfect in every detail but she was getting bored.  “You can’t still be practicing that thing?  You read for five minutes and its over.  You’re going to fret yourself into a hissy.”

“She wrote her own eulogy.  Did she discuss this with any of you guys?”

“Obviously she doesn’t trust us.  I never once got the impression she trusted any of us.” Lisa said with a little pout.

“That goes both ways … when you think about it.” David chimed in.

“Wait a minute, SHE  WROTE  HER  OWN  EULOGY!” Todd said a bit louder than the whispered tones they had been using.  You know what that means …..” and he grinned at all his siblings.

“Eek Leebah Deek” they all said together.

With a resigned droop of her head and a quirky smile, Emma confirmed it.

“I knew it.  I should have taken bets.” Todd continued on.

This was not the first eulogy Emma had been directed to read.  Mother had written the eulogy for their great aunt, citing her attributes in glowing, grandiose phrases.  When Emma had tried to tone down the drama and correct some of the grammar, mother had snatched the paper away from her.  “Fine, I’ll read it myself.  Although I will probably be completely overcome with grief.  I guess I’ll know better than to count on any of my children for anything.  I shudder to think what will be read at my own funeral ….”

In the end Emma had agreed to read it just as it was written.  It was always easier to agree.  Its not that Emma was too stupid or too frightened to argue back, but mother had never considered anyone’s opinion but her own, at least not in Emma’s remembered history.

That other eulogy had ended with the German endearment, Ich liebe dich.  Just as mother had predicted, all her German country relatives blinked or gasped in recognition then started whispering to each other.  Mother never had anything good to say about her countrified relatives, but she catered to them all the same.  She had made Emma rehearse this one sentence several times, listening avidly until she was satisfied with Emma’s pronunciation.  It had become a private joke among the siblings as they perversely took pleasure in mispronouncing it.

And there it was at the end of mother’s eulogy.  So did she?  Did she love her mother?

That single question is what Emma had been laboring over for days.  Since she died.  Since before that, when mother had given her the piece of paper, folded several times.  Emma didn’t argue.  She knew this dreaded honor was coming.  That first eulogy was just a training exercise.  Emma had proved herself.  Now onto the big time.  When Emma had unfolded the thin paper and viewed the shaky handwriting, her eyes went immediately to the end and, sure enough, there it was.  Mother had seen the eye gesture and had correctly interpreted it.  “And I want it read exactly as it is written.”

Emma got up from the low chair in mother’s bedroom and walked toward the door.  “No problem, I’ll be glad to do it.  I’ll check on dinner now.”

“I love you Emma.”  And silence as she waited.

“Love ya too.”  Emma had said automatically without turning to look at her mother, and continued walking out of the room.

And that’s how it always went. 

They could have the biggest fights, mother could say the most outrageous things, be unbelievably demanding, judgmental, condemning.  And then she would say “I love you Emma” as an excuse, as a peace offering – always waiting for Emma to say it back – because that would make everything better, like it never happened.  There had been a few times lately when Emma did not – could not – say it back in that mindless uncaring way.  That made it worse.  “Oh fine.  So you no longer love me.  That’s fine.  I hope you know you’re going to HELL!  It’s a Commandment you know.  I didn’t write them.  Ask any priest.  You do still go to church don’t you …….” 

Emma had to stop it right there before mother morphed into her religion kick.  “Don’t be ridiculous.  Of course I love you.  Everyone loves you.” 

But it was a lie.  Sitting in this little side room of the chapel, Emma faced the dreaded truth that it was a lie.  Staying by herself on the pretext of rehearsing the eulogy, she knew it was a lie.  Her spirit was being torn asunder by the lie.

She knew she loved her mother.  She loved both of her parents and all her siblings, for themselves and despite themselves.  But did she hate her mother?  This awful question had been whispering itself in the back of her mind for days.  For years.  Sometimes it wasn’t a whisper.  But now she had to asker herself out loud, and listen to the answer.

How could you love someone and hate them?  How could you hate someone if you still loved them?  How could you feel these two completely opposite emotions for the same person?  For your own mother?

Oh yes, I am definitely going to need therapy.  I hope mother left me a little money because I hear that therapy is not cheap.

Mother was the most complex person she had ever met.  Nothing was simple with her, except maybe for the fact that she expected mindless obedience from all of her family.  After all, it was for their own good.

Emma could cite countless occasions throughout her life when her mother would suffer through selfless acts for the betterment of a family member.  Family always came first with her.  She would do anything for her family.  And the only thing she expected in return, the only thing she demanded, was – everything.  There was never, never, such a thing as a guilt-free, string-free gift.  Every gift had strings.  And mother greatly enjoyed her power to pull people’s strings.

She was judgmental and felt that this was her right.  She judged every little thing about a person.  His teeth are crooked.  Her hair is too flat.  He’s too fat.  She doesn’t stand up straight.  He bites his nails.  She wears glasses.  Mother was never satisfied.  This characteristic was especially destructive if you were her family because she definitely felt she had the right, nay the obligation to judge her family.  She had to ‘fix’ them, didn’t she?  And it didn’t matter how hurtful the observation.  After all, once she pointed out your flaw, you would be so grateful for this information that you would do whatever was necessary to fix your ‘problem’ and come back up to her standards.

Mother had to be right.  SHE HAD TO BE RIGHT!  If you disagreed with her, you were bad.  Not wrong or different, but bad.  She was that strong in her decisions and opinions.

She insisted on honesty.  But like so many people who are adamant in this edict, she would punish those people who were brave enough / foolish enough to tell her the truth.  ‘Never let me catch you lying to me.’ she said a thousand times.  And so her kids took her literally.  Emma knew that all of her siblings were expert liars.  They learned early that mother punished the truth.  Emma was probably the best liar of all her siblings.  She thought she hated this personality quirk of her mother’s the most because it was so perverse.  Either way, you couldn’t win.

There was more, of course, but it would be more of the same.  It would be more mother.  And Emma had the eulogy to deliver.  Love, hate, could they exist together?  Maybe.  Could she hate her mother?  What did that say about her?  She didn’t like what she was thinking.  She didn’t like …..

Well that’s something she had not thought of.  She knew she loved her mother, loved so many things about the woman.  Sadly, she also hated so many things about her mother.  And as she thought that through, she didn’t have a problem with the idea.  It also occurred to her that maybe she simply didn’t like her mother, didn’t like some of the person she was.   You don’t like everyone you meet, do you?  Probably not even half of the people you meet.  And since you can’t choose your parents, there’s every chance that you may not like one of them.  It’s the luck of the draw.  You don’t have to like everyone, and maybe you just don’t like one or two things about that person.   … but I’m still going to need therapy.           

Emma knew she was rationalizing and she could live with that.  It was time for the eulogy reading with the special ending, and she could live with that too.  Emma read all of mother’s words about herself.  It didn’t matter if she believed them; this was a final favor she could do for her wonderful, horrible, interesting mother.  And she faced the huge gathering of her family, friends, and relatives, and completed her mother’s eulogy by saying in a loud voice and a clear conscience,

“Ich liebe dich.”

Thank you for reading this story.  I appreciate all of your comments.  I would especially invite you to critique my writing.  I am trying to improve my skills.  Go ahead, I can take it.  Thank you so much.