Mirror, Mirror On the Wall - Have I Turned Into My Mother After All?
The start of this year's Jewish New Year (Rosh Hashanah), September 16th, coincides with my mom's yahrzeit. This is the day we commemorate the anniversary of the death of a parent.
It's very fitting because the upcoming Jewish holidays already evoke deep emotions for me, as it's both a subdued and happy time of good wishes, reflections, introspection, repentance, and opportunity for personal and spiritual growth.
But thankfully, it's also associated with lots of wine, great food, and traditions passed down to generations.
My parents have been gone for a while now, but when I look in the mirror, I see my mom and dad staring back at me.
In a 2019 article in The Sun, a UK surgeon revealed the results of his research, which showed that turning into your mother is something many women swear they will never do, but guess what?
It appears inevitable!
In the study, Dr. Julian De Silva surveyed 2,000 men and women. "We all turn into our parents at some point in our lives, and that is something to be celebrated," he said.
Becoming parents is the main trigger, and lifestyle factors are also important.
Daughters will adopt the same tastes and attitudes as their mums in the first few years after having their first baby. In terms of physical appearance, participants found that they started to feel more like their parents when they started to look more like them." The article goes on to point out that "warning signs could be as simple as watching the same TV programmes, taking up the same hobbies and using the same sayings.".
Since my 60th birthday milestone, this phenomenon of turning into one of my parents has been even more present.
For years, my husband would point out the quirky mannerisms I had in common with my mom, from our obsession with buying purses to our mutual forceful insistence that family and friends have something to eat as soon as they step foot in the house to being too menacingly opinionated, overprotective, and sensitive.
Was it true that I was becoming my mother? I staunchly denied it.
It started innocently enough with laundry. I emptied the swollen hamper of miscellaneous clothing into my washing machine. I added some vinegar (something my mom used to do). Vinegar is known to help preserve colour vitality.
A half-hour later, the laundry was ready for the dryer. I opened the lid and saw tiny shredded Kleenex adhering to every inch of clothing and the washing machine's crevices.
As I painstakingly tried to pull every Kleenex remnant off each wet item, I spotted the culprit—a long open-front soft cardigan worn by my mom and now something I frequently wear for warmth—with the remaining tissue still tucked deep in the ribbed cuff of the sleeve.
Folding a tissue into the sleeve of a garment when a pocket wasn't available was one of those weird practices I observed my mom do. I remember her standing over a hot stove, wiping her forehead with a hanky, and promptly making it disappear somewhere on her arm. It seemed like an innocuous solution to a pocketless problem unless you absentmindedly forgot to remove it, and then, well, it all comes out in the wash.
The Jewish New Year, which comes around seemingly faster every year and amplifies just how fleeting everything is in life, encourages us to ponder the year that passed and to examine our choices, good and questionable; it's a time for self-examination and renewal and some serious soul-searching. Most importantly, it's a time of year when we seek forgiveness from those we may have wronged and ourselves.
I find it easier to forgive others than myself.
I remember all those nasty arguments with my mom over the stupidest things, like when she nagged me to eat an apple every day or questioned when I would find that nice Jewish boy. She was a typical, unstintingly devoted “yiddishe” mama.
There are ten days between Rosh Hashanah and the next of the highest holidays called Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement), when we celebrate with family and friends over some slow-cooked brisket and carbs in the form of a round bread "challah" to remind us of the "Lion King" circle of life.
Our Jewish holidays are like a Taylor Swift video, with nuances and hidden symbolic references. But for us, they take on the form of food, especially fruit.
We use apples dipped in honey to signify the hope for a sweet and fruitful year. A pomegranate, because of its abundant seeds and beneficial ingredients, symbolizes ample health, joy, and happiness.
These high holidays encompass many themes everyone can relate to.
It's about connecting with others, enjoying the harvest season, setting differences aside, and starting anew. They are also about paying tribute, remembering those no longer with us, and rituals that foster a kind of awakening, reckoning, and transformation.
As I continued to remove all the remaining wet and clinging Kleenex from all the clothes, I had to concede that maybe my husband was right: I have morphed into my mom, and I'm honestly okay with that, especially if it means that I am also mirroring her generous and devoted spirit, her uncanny sense of humour and giggle attacks, and her ability to make everyone feel at ease and welcomed!
My mom would have laughed to see how I had inadvertently picked up some of her unique habits. I only wish I could dial her up and let her know, but maybe this is one of those magical signs from above and beyond that she is out there somewhere mischievously smiling and already knows.
I wish everyone a sweet year filled with laughter, peace, and eating your apples!
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About the Author:
Wendy Reichental, B.A.,Dip. in Human Relations and Family Life Education, McGill University. Certified in Foot Reflexology, RCRT® Registered Canadian Reflexology Therapist.
Wendy enjoys capturing life’s passages in short essays and opinion pieces. Her writings have appeared in The Montreal Gazette, Ottawa’s Globe and Mail, and various online magazines. Wendy's unique take on those first days of the Pandemic lockdown is now part of the anthology Chronicling the Days by Marianne Ackerman (Editor) and Linda M. Morra (Editor). Guernica Editions, Spring 2021
