On Minka and Mothers

I wept today. There were points in which I felt like it was hard to breathe. Not because of my new job (which I quite like) or because of my time crunch to find a long term lease (I am technically supposed to have my sublet for 2 months, though this is all depending on the quickness of my sublettor to find a job to sponsor her visa, so maybe maybe not. She would like to come back soon, I quite like her as a person and when she comes back I hope to see her socially. We became friends in the days after my arrival in which she kept pushing her flight, but I never minded her company. She’s lovely and sweet if not a bit scattered at times. I do hope she finds something relatively soon, though I am somewhat concerned for my own accommodations if she does *too* soon).

I didn’t weep because I miss my family (even though I do and this will come up later).

I wept because of Minka Kelly.

This morning I bit the bullet and paid $15 to listen to the audiobook of her memoir. I tried to get it through various library services first because I *really* should not be spending money right now. But I had a commute and a workday to kill and my job is the kind where I can listen to a podcast and crank out work.

I don’t usually like audiobooks. Mostly because I don’t like the narrators. There’s an often stilted storytelling that comes from reading someone else’s book I think. Of telling someone else’s story.

But I *loved* Jeannette McCurdy’s.

Probably because it was her own story, and she was so used to performing it as a one-woman show that it flowed so well. Also probably because it was the story of a girl and her mother, however twisted. And I love stories that explore that dynamic. But so do you, that’s why you cried at the Barbie movie. 

I love and respect the tradition of oral storytelling. And I love a woman who tells her own story. Particularly when the narrator has an easy cadence, feminine voice, and good flow. But I look and look for audiobooks like this and find almost none I like.

There are only 2 audiobooks I listened to this year. Jeanette’s and Minka’s.

Anyways, back to Minka.

There were many parts of her memoir that made me tear up. Most involved her time as a neglected child. My mother instinct is in full swing rn (maybe I’m ovulating). I notice cute babies on the street, and when children aren’t being looked after. Crazy to think, I’ve often described my childhood as “my mother kept eyes on me from birth to college” and how I longed for the freedom to experiment and make mistakes. I notice when children are unwatched. It makes me angry. I think to myself “someone could snatch them up/where are your parents”

Because she was right. My mother I mean. This is about mothers.

I wept when she talked about the death of her mother. Her beautiful, loving, vibrant, reckless, addicted, imperfect mother. She begged for more time with her. She held her for so long after she had stopped breathing the nurse had to let her know it was time. Her mothers hands had started to turn blue. She kissed her all over before saying goodbye. She forgave her every trespass, all she wanted was more time.

It’s worth $15 by the way. Get the audiobook. There’s one line so powerful, that she delivers better than any actor has ever delivered any line. It’s after the therapist she starts going to tells her her mother never loved her.

She says “my mother loved me”

It’s delivered with such conviction, that I know in my heart it is true. Writing it cannot convey. It is spoken from her diaphragm. From a place so deep and low in her body, from her core. I’m glad she found this voice. We learn she didn’t always have it.

I haven’t finished the book yet. My phone died as I was smoking a cigarette on the balcony to cope while listening to her talk about the wake.

I thought about my own mother. And my family. And time. And how we never have enough of it. I thought of how lucky I am to have my mother. My move to new york was initially a contentious topic, that she vocally opposed. And while I am sad that I can’t walk into the next room and hug her at this very moment, I am so proud of her. I want to tell her I love all parts of her. That I’m sorry I ever wanted her to change and how beautiful she is and how grateful I am to look like her and be reminded of her face in mine. Time is precious. But I was always searching in Florida. And now I’m not. I love this city. I’m so happy to be here. And I hope I get to stay.

There are no right answers. But I understand why people say they move to be closer to family. The problem with me I guess, is that I’m just starting out. And I love it here. And I miss them. More than I ever have. I get more sentimental with every birthday. But they are always with me. In my mind, in the next room.