Mothers and Godmothers
Some Bonds Are Hard to Break
When I was little, it felt like it was my mom and me against the world. Together we weathered intercontinental moves, a divorce, my father’s disappearance, and the sundry minutiae of daily life—what to wear to weddings and birthday parties, what to say when family and friends let us down, and how to apologize when we let them down. Like in the popular (and adored by me) show Gilmore Girls, my mom was young, fun, and single, while I was studious and mature, making it natural for us to be best friends. I made her birthday presents, knowing that they weren’t the sideshow but the center stage. She took me on whimsical adventures through tiny Venezuelan islands and narrow Portuguese streets. We talked about everything. How could we not? We were a team. We were the team.
As satisfying as that life was for me, it was also lonely for my mom, who divorced my dad at 27. An articulate and perceptive seven-year-old is still a seven-year-old. Not to mention I inherited my romantic disposition from my mom. We’re both women who do well living in couples, so she remarried and had two wonderful sons with my wonderful stepdad. Our team kept growing, and I kept trying to find my footing within it.
Finding my place in our family became harder in 1998 when my mom, stepdad, and brothers undertook their own intercontinental move. They went back to Venezuela, and I stayed in the US. Distance is corrosive. It makes your daily realities unrecognizable. For years, we relied on our yearly trips to visit each other. We’d be in each other’s spaces—standing together in bedrooms and kitchens, seeing our homes’ alterations, the new tiles, the new scratches on the dinner table. We also took in the changes in our bodies. Adults don’t change that much in a year. Still, we’d take stock of it all. Our conversations were deep, hungry. We had mental lists of topics to discuss before we had to get on a plane and get out of sync again.
Then in 2018, Venezuela and the US broke diplomatic relations and for geopolitical reasons I don’t have room to get into, I could no longer go to Venezuela, and she could not come to the US once her American visa expired. We were faced with the devastating prospect of never being in each other’s homes again. We found expensive workarounds, meeting in Mexico and the Dominican Republic. It was strange not to be in each other’s spaces, but at least we could be in each other’s company—when we could afford it, which was twice in seven years.
The distance took a toll, but we kept trying. She finally got her American visa renewed in Lisbon and came to visit us in Pittsburgh for a week this spring. She toured the house we’ve owned for three years, and we took in the more pronounced aging of our bodies. We were careful around each other, trying to talk without hurting, to hug without opening old wounds. It’s a complex dance that gets even more complex whenever we’re apart again.
The mother of my childhood is a rosy-colored memory tinged with longing and nostalgia. The mother of my adulthood is hard to reach, sometimes even when we’re together. Yet there are perfect moments when we find a mature version of our friendship. The boundless intimacy that defined us is still there, and when it comes out, it lights up the world. I hope we get to light up the world over and over—even if between the moments of light, we have our struggles. Feliz día de las madres, Mami. Te quiero.
If you want to hear my mom talk about our relationship and watch some epically cool 1990s Venezuelan home videos, check out this video essay:
Can we have a relationship that embodies the joy of motherhood without its complications? For me, the answer is yes. When Nate and I got married in August of 2000, my beloved maid of honor Gina Washington gave us the greatest wedding gift anyone has ever gotten, as far as I’m concerned. Her card had a sonogram image of her baby, and below it she asked us to be the baby’s godparents. Gina invited us to pick her daughter’s middle name (what an honor). We chose Sage, and so even before she was born, Matilda Sage Washington took shape in our minds—already wise, already loved.
We were living in New York when Gina called to say she’d gone into labor, and we rented a car and drove through the night to Cleveland. We missed Matilda’s birth by an hour or so, but we got to hold our newborn goddaughter and the connection was instant. From as soon as she could talk, I was mesmerized by Matilda’s ability to empathize and relate to people of all ages and personalities. She finds things to love in others and she knows how to deliver that love in ways the person most needs it. Over the years, we got to watch Matilda become a kindergartener, a soccer player, a martial artist, a filmmaker, a dancer, a singer, a college student. Sometimes I’d work on her writing with her and give her feedback on her films. Sometimes Gina would vent on the trials of raising a teenage girl, which with Matilda were not many. Gina did all the complicated mothering, and she did it with grace, patience, joy, and humor.
Between her going to college and grad school, we didn’t see Matilda for four years. I missed her, but I was busy working and raising my boys. We finally saw each other again in December in Cleveland, then in April in LA. The years had turned my girl into the kind of self-assured woman who’s brilliant at what she does and is ready to take on the world and make it better. She was still my Matilda, though, and our closeness was intact, as I hope it will always be. I want to wish a happy Mother’s Day to my sister Gina. You raised a hell of a woman. I’m infinitely grateful you’ve shared her with me.
Ever wonder how Hollywood sets are made? Let Matilda take you on a tour of a sound stage and enlighten you.
Celebrating Pat Sullivan, my Academic Mother, as She Retires
My dissertation chair and academic mother Pat Sullivan has retired after four decades changing lives through her teaching and scholarship. I moderated a conversation with her students and colleagues Jenny Bay, Huiling Ding, Tarez Graban, Emily Legg, and Laurie A. Pinkert. Like the woman it celebrates, the conversation is funny, moving, and full of insight. It’s full of stories too, so you’ll enjoy it whether or not you’re an academic. Check it out here.
Stories that Transfixed Me (and May Transfix You)
My latest creative baby is my YouTube channel, and last week, for my 48th birthday we did a big push to get to 1,000 subscribers so YouTube will start sharing the revenue it gets from putting ads on my content with me. Our push took us to 829 subscribers, which is wonderful and means we’re so close. If you haven’t already, please subscribe.
In honor of our YouTube campaign, I’m doing my recommendations in video this week:
Your Turn
What are the maternal bonds in your life like? How do you navigate the complications? What are your maternal joys? Do you have someone like Matilda in your life?
This is so beautiful. The tiles 😭 all of it. The photos! The flash photography makes you and Nate look YOUNGER than when I knew you nearly ten years before!
Loved this essay, Alex! It was very moving.