My mother and I had a difficult relationship. Now, she’s 90, and I’m trying to enjoy every minute I have left with her.
In a heartfelt reflection, author Wendy Woolfork shares her evolving relationship with her 90-year-old mother, highlighting the journey from estrangement and resentment to forgiveness and appreciation. Growing up in Guyana, Woolfork often found herself at odds with her mother’s strict, authoritarian parenting style, which was deeply rooted in cultural norms that dictated children should be seen and not heard. This clash of values created significant friction during Woolfork’s teenage and young adult years, as her free-spirited nature yearned for autonomy and self-expression. However, as time passed, Woolfork gained perspective and began to understand the complexities of her mother’s upbringing—shaped by a limited education and a life steeped in traditional expectations. This newfound understanding allowed her to replace resentment with compassion, recognizing that her mother was doing her best within the constraints of her own experiences.
Now, with her mother living with her, Woolfork cherishes the small, everyday moments that define their current relationship. They have established comforting rituals, such as their nightly “Jeopardy” dates and shared meals that evoke fond memories of their past. Woolfork finds joy in revisiting old recipes, feeling a connection to the history and struggles they faced together. Their shared love for music also enhances their bond, with long drives accompanied by the sounds of Bob Marley and Marc Anthony becoming cherished experiences. Recently, they attended a concert together, a memory that Woolfork holds dear, illustrating the beauty of creating new moments while honoring their shared history. As she listens to her mother pray each morning, Woolfork is reminded of the preciousness of time and the importance of savoring every moment. This journey of forgiveness and acceptance has transformed their relationship into one marked by love and understanding, a testament to the power of empathy and the enduring bonds of family.
The author (left) is enjoying her time with her aging mother.
Courtesy of Wendy Woolfork
My mother and I weren’t close when I was a kid because I thought she was too strict.
Now she’s 90, and I’ve learned to forgive and accept her.
With this new phase of our relationship, I’m cherishing the small moments together.
I grew up in Guyana, where cultural norms set the tone for my mother’s parenting and led to plenty of friction in my teen and
young adult years
— friction that needed time and perspective to soften.
Back then, the rule was simple: children were to be seen and not heard.
That didn’t sit well with me. I came out of
the womb
a free spirit who prized autonomy and wanted an empowered voice. Clashes were inevitable. My orientation was incompatible with what I saw as heavy-handed, authoritarian parenting.
Fortunately, reason and time eased my anger. What I couldn’t see then was that Mom was doing her best to parent from the only framework she knew — from her own
lived experience
.
Now that Mom is 90, my days with her feel like borrowed time I don’t dare take for granted. I find myself more aware, wanting to slow time down, eager to savor and absorb everything.
I’ve found grace in forgiveness
As I matured and became exposed to travel, literature, and new ways of seeing people and their choices, I began to understand how
cultural conditioning
and limited education had shaped Mom. She had simply imitated what had been modeled for her.
My own education and exposure helped me look past my early judgments and see how profoundly environment shapes behavior. Mom had lived within strictly paternalistic rhythms, armed with only a fifth-grade education.
That realization softened me. What used to be disappointment became a gentler understanding. I saw that in her place, I might have made the same choices. This thought alone lifted something heavy. It gave me space to replace resentment with compassion and finally see my mother fully without holding the examples she repeated against her.
I now hold onto our rituals
Mom lives with me now, and we’ve developed rituals that are deeply satisfying and sustaining.
We have a nightly date to watch ”
Jeopardy
.” We also make time to share warm plates of delicious curry and rice or my famed mac and cheese. I also enjoy revisiting old recipes that prompt me to call on Mom for guidance.
The author and her aging mother.
Courtesy of Wendy Woolfork
It seems I taste the history in every bite, as I remember all the meals she once stretched to feed us when there was little to go around.
We also connect over music now. Our long drives through winding country roads — with
Bob Marley
or Marc Anthony’s “Si Te Vas” playing — are gifts I get to unwrap twice: once in the moment and again later, as a memory.
A few months ago, my mom and I saw singer Lauren Daigle in concert — an experience Mom still talks about with delight. I won’t soon forget it either.
I’m holding onto these last moments with my mother
I often wake up to the sound of my mother praying out loud. It’s the sweetest alarm clock I could ever ask for. I cherish these moments, knowing there will come a day when I’d give anything to hear such a sound.
So I’m savoring it all greedily: the shared moments, the music, the quiet companionship, the chance to rub lotion on her feet or massage arthritic shoulders when the pain is overwhelming, the gratitude for my ability to outgrow old resentments and take a more expansive and empathetic view of our lives.
After everything we’ve gone through, it feels like a wondrous miracle to simply love my mother and be loved by her — freely and without reservations.
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