Parents – September 2019

CONFUSION f lickers across people’s
faces when I tell them I’m moving back
to my hometown of Philadelphia.
“For work? Your husband’s job?”
“Nope.”
“But San Francisco is so lovely,” they
mutter. “The beach ... the palm trees.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah. San Francisco has
the ocean, a seemingly endless number of
wineries, and weather that is so consistent
you never even have to talk about it.
Going home again wasn’t my plan. I
was (and still am) the kind of person who
scoffs at the “big-city girl goes home” plots
in Hallmark movies. My fantasy adult
life involved moving away from home and
setting down roots in a new place.
“I’m moving to be closer to my mom,”
I tell people when they ask why I’m
traveling thousands of miles from where
I had my son and bought my first house,
from the place where my husband has
lived for the last 20 years.

My mom. Those words catch a little in

my throat. If you’d told me at any other

point in my life that I’d move my small

family to be closer to my mother, I would

have suggested you get your head checked.

She was never the mother of the year.

I’m not sharing anything she wouldn’t

tell you herself. When I was growing up,

she was often depressed, anxious, and

codependent on my difficult father. My

mom was there for me some of the time,

but at others, she was hardly present at

all—emotionally or physically. I was often

terrified to bring friends home because I

never knew if she’d be manically happy or

passed out on the couch watching Oprah.

Her clinical depression was so bad that

she nearly didn’t make it to my wedding

four years ago. And the most difficult part

was that she didn’t even seem to care.

But my mom is a different person now.

She found the right mix of medication,

therapy, and lifestyle changes to become

It’s Time to Forgive

My Mom

She wasn’t there for me when I was growing up, but she’s

ready to be the grandmother my son deserves.

by JO PIAZZA / illustration by MELISSA LEE JOHNSON

healthier. She wants to be a part of my

life. She desperately wants to be a part

of my son’s life. And my heart explodes a

little when I watch her with Charlie.

She may not have been built to be the

world’s best mom, but she has everything

it takes to be a varsity-level grandmother.

She loves nothing more than to chase

squirrels with Charlie, show him how to

squeeze mashed yolks into a deviled egg,

mix pancake batter, and draw him pictures

of dinosaurs. My kid has an endless

appetite for badly drawn giant lizards. And,

honestly, I hate drawing giant lizards.

My life in San Francisco was pretty,

and it looked great on Instagram. But we

struggled every day to make it in a city

where we had no family. Child-care costs

were upwards of $4,000 a month, without

a weekly date night. If one of us got sick,

our well-oiled machine of part-time day

care, nanny share, and babysitters fell

apart, and one of us fell behind at work.

I’m not saying my mother is the solution

to all our child-care needs, but she’s part

of the village of family and friends we will

find in Philly. I’ve never been a person who

is very good at asking for help. But as we

try for our second baby, as I struggle to

maintain my career as an author, and as my

husband works to build his own company,

I’m ready to admit that we need it.

I had to let go of a lot of baggage and

residual bitterness so my son could have

the grandmother he deserves. I still look

at the earrings my mother-in-law gave me

on the morning of my wedding and think

about how my own mom didn’t come to

see me before the ceremony. I still think

of the times she forgot to pick me up from

after-school care and the lacrosse games

she never made it to in high school.

But then I look at the cows she painted

on the wall of her guest room the day after

Charlie learned to say “moo.” And I think

about the toddler bed she bought and put

together so he can sleep over when I have

to go to meetings in New York.

Becoming a mother means letting go of

fantasies about how your life should look.

I thought my perfect mom life included

a beach, palm trees, and sweater weather.

It doesn’t. It involves forgiving my mom,

asking for help, and going back home.

Jo Piazza’s most recent novel is Charlotte

Walsh Likes to Win.

PARENTS 116 SEPTEMBER 2019

MOMÑThe Heart of Parenting