The Princess Pat

We don't often speak of the woman who bore me into this world. When we do, we usually call her "The Princess Pat." It is a title given to her by T, and refers, sort of sideways to the silly song of the same name--

The Princess Pat (Egyptian hand movement & hips)
Lived in a tree (Arms up over heads, making a tree bow)
She sailed across (wave hands over water)
The seven seas (Seven fingers, wave hands over water)
She sailed across (Repeat hand wave over water)
the Channel too (thumb and finger channel, two fingers)
and took with her (sling bag over shoulder)
a rickabamboo (hands wave down move hips)

A rickabamboo (hands wave down)
Now what is that
Its something made
For the Princess Pat (repeat Egyptian move)
Its red and gold (hand on right hip)
and purple too (hand on left hip)
That's why its calleda rickabamboo (repeat motion)

Now Captain Dan (stand at Alert)
and loyal crew (salute)
They sailed across the channel too (as above)
but their ship sank (hold noses and move body down)
and your's will too (point out and finger two)
if you don't take (sling bag over shoulder)
a rickabamboo (hands wave down)

The song and the music is the song of the Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry. Princess Patricia of Cannaught was the daughter of a Governor General of Canada 1911-1914 and a grand-daughter of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert.The rigabamboo is correctly the Regimental Camp Colour, affectionately known by the Princess Pat's as "The Ric-a-dam-doo".

The reality is that my Princess Pat is most likely what Clarissa Pinkola Estes would call an unmothered mother. She simply has no role model for how to do the mothering thing and she has never been any good at it. I don't think she ever really wanted to do it in the first place, but I suspect that, in her day she was a serious looker and a terrific slut, and well things just got out of her control and there I was... Damn! After that, there were three more pregnancies, some of them terribly difficult, and she was quite sincerely stuck. Mix in some significant quantities of alcohol and a decidedly narcissistic bent, and you have The Princess Pat.

I spent an awful lot of years trying to figure out how to "win over" The Princess Pat. It wasn't until about a year ago that I finally gave myself permission to just quit. I would exhaust myself and aggravate myself and work myself into a frenzy over the meannesses that she was capapble of. All of it would lead nowhere of course, because she was endlessly wrapped up in her own stuff, and none of it was ever about me -- nor was it ever going to be about me. About a year ago, I just quit calling; quit writing; quit. I just turned her loose and forgave her for what she could not ever do. If set me free.

It was sad in a way, but surprisingly painless. For me. Not for her. She mourns. Every now and then, in odd ways, there will be some random contact, and I can hear the sorrow in her. I feel bad about that, but I understand that it isn't mine. I cannot mother my mother -- not anymore. That is a path that leads me nowhere. She has two of my brothers that are still willing to do the dance with her. It will have to be enough for the three of them.

I have the gift, at this late juncture, of Master's mother. She does not know who I am. She doesn't know who anyone is, really. But she knows that I come and visit her sometimes. We talk about whatever comes up. A lot of the time lately, it is about flowers and gardening. She used to love to garden, and was really very good at it. It is something that is lost to her now as a physical possibility, but she seems to wander in gardens of memory, and those she happily shares with me -- geraniums and lilacs and roses and whatnot. Mostly I sit and smile and nod and encourage her with smiles and happy chit chat about anything and nothing at all. Simple pleasures shared and quiet moments that are really hers and really not mine. Except that it warms her and heals me. She is, in those moments, simply, joyfully, willingly loving with me in a way that my own mother never has been. She wants nothing more than my time and my smiles and a loving hug. She doesn't care who I am or what I'm doing or how I might be related to her or anyone else in the whole family constellation. For her, it is enough that we are together in this time and this place, talking about the flowers that are pressed in the pages of memory.

And so, I release to time and the seven seas, The Princess Pat. I wish her smooth sailing and fair winds. I hope that someone, somewhere along the way will enjoy her, as I am now enjoying the mother who wasn't mine, but has come to be mine in these last few months of her own voyage. How very glad I am that I have had the pleasure of her company.

swan