The mother-in-law / son-in-law relationship can be a complicated one. It’s fraught with danger. It isn’t always easy for either party.
That’s why it’s the subject of so many jokes.
A woman sent two ties to her son in law. Some weeks later, she invited him and her daughter over for dinner and in an attempt to impress his mother-in-law, the son-in-law wore one of the ties she’d sent him. The meal was extremely tense and uncomfortable with the mother-in-law maintaining a stony silence. Finally she spoke, “Alright then, what was wrong with the other tie?”
Karen’s mother, Jean, whom we affectionately called “Mopsy,” (her choice from her Girl Scout Leader days) was a wonderful woman. She passed away in March. This blog is my tribute to her.
Mopsy was full of life, always busy and never still. She had a great laugh, even when she knew her husband was just slightly out of line (“Oh Claude.”). She was servant-hearted, spending endless hours “deaconing” for her church. She was generous, helping each of her seven grandchildren afford to attend college.
She was quirky. She would cover the air vents in the car with newspaper, avoid drafts like the plague, and always wear her “babushka” even though she was about as Polish as Reese Witherspoon. She gave the strangest gifts: wind-up mice, giant cupcake maker, the Far Side Calendar she gave me every Christmas for 25 years (they finally stopped making them). Every Easter or Thanksgiving, she decorated each table setting with the same tiny baskets filled with jellybeans, or paper turkeys that had seen better days. Even when she was no longer able to host the meal at home and we moved to Ruby Tuesdays, the decorations never missed an event.
She was feisty. She was born with a deformed right hand. It didn’t stop her from playing tennis, the violin, or much of anything, really. Most people meeting her for the first time did not notice it, so vivacious was the personality behind it.
And lastly, she was also stubborn. She liked to get her own way. Which she did. Always. Which is why we didn’t always get along. Because I, too, am stubborn. I like to get my own way. Always.
A stubborn mother-in-law and a stubborn son-in-law, with the person in the middle who’s mantra is, “I just want everybody to be happy.” That doesn’t always end well.
But in our case, it did. I realized at some point—I don’t know when—that the best way forward was to simply give up and let Mopsy have her way. The issues in question were rarely a big deal, and it made my life a whole lot easier. She was going to win the battle of the wills anyway. Discretion is the better part of valor, they say.
Mopsy had been fading for the past few years. Her fighting spirit had turned to a pleasant, quiet resignation. She was mostly home-bound, cared for by her loving husband of 59 years. The night she died, her last words, fittingly, were, “I think I’ll have a beer.” Claude got her a small glass of Bud Light and left the room. She got up to let out the dog, and fell to the floor of a massive heart attack. All things considered, a beer and a heart attack are not a bad way to leave this world.
She got her own way even to the end.
As I thought about Mopsy and the legacy she leaves us, there are three things I’m really grateful for.
MUSIC. Mopsy loved music. She and Claude sang in the choir. She always had music playing in the house. And most significantly, she made her daughters take piano lessons. Even as Karen became a teenager and did not want to practice, Mopsy insisted. As a result, Karen still plays the piano. One of their first gifts to us as a couple was a piano, which Karen used to teach lessons to each of our three sons (similarly against their will at times). In the end, that legacy of music is found in each of my three sons. Jon is a gifted singer/songwriter who runs a songwriting website he created. Tim is a gifted drummer. Thomas is about to graduate with a songwriting degree and a career in music clearly in his future. The thread of their talents can be pulled from Mopsy’s legacy.
MONKING. Mopsy would often disappear late in the evening. She would retreat to a bedroom for her time of personal prayer and study. We called it monking. She was dedicated to that time in impressive fashion. Her dedication to monking passed on to Karen. Mopsy’s was late at night and involved a glass of sherry. Karen’s is early morning and involves a cup of coffee. But the outcome is the same — a deep and abiding faith. I’m sure most of Mopsy’s time was spent praying for her two daughters and seven grandchildren. Maybe she even prayed for her two sons-in-law.
MARRIAGE. Mopsy adored her husband. She was proud of him. She was his biggest fan. I never once heard her say a disparaging word about him. She loved being his companion. She laughed at all his antics and practical jokes. She loved to be with him. Judging by the trembling lip just under his usual jokes, Claude misses her now more than he can say. I understand why.
For 31 years, I’ve been blessed by those same qualities in my wife, a woman who is a lot more like her mother than either of us ever wanted to admit.
We miss Mopsy, and it’s hard to see Claude living without her. We had our moments—two stubborn people trying to love the same person are bound to have some conflicts. But I really loved her. She was an amazing woman. And I’m resoundingly grateful for her and for the legacy she left our family.