It's been seven months since the proverbial 2 AM phone call. Funny, that it really should come at 2 AM, and not at, say, 1:30, or even 4. Funny, too, that my first real experience with death should be the one who would matter the most.
My mother was not only the life whence my infant body came, but also one of the world's great people in her own right, a person whose mischievous wit, brilliant mind, and solid character made people want to be around her. I was no exception. She was my first and best hero, the one I strove to be like and the one I wanted to please.
Since I had gone back to school she had been even more of a role model for me, especially after I decided to pursue an academic career. She herself had gone back to graduate school around the time her fourth and last child was born, and went on to become a distinguished professor and a groundbreaking scholar. She talked to me with endless patience about the academic life and about graduate school (which I have yet to experience). When I earned a 4.0 my first semester after transfering to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, she was so proud she promised to fly across the country for my commencement, in the midst of her own exams, if I were graduating with distinction.
That promise meant so much to me, that although I have no doubt about being in school because I want to be, and not to please my mother, I found myself approaching this school year with an unusual lack of interest. Still deeply grieving, I dropped to half time and tried to concentrate on making up the incompletes I got when she died. But my lack of motivation continued; I found I couldn't accomplish anything creative, and was not really applying myself in my remaining classes. The moment of crisis came when I got back my first exam, with a lower grade than I expected; it forced me to pay attention.
As I began to address my depression and lack of motivation, I began to think about what the loss of my mother meant, besides great pain and a gaping hole. Because she was so many things to me, I miss her deeply on many levels. But the key one for me as a student and an aspiring professional woman (as opposed to a daughter) seems to be her personification of the female academic role model. In spite of the fact that female professors are becoming more common, I have not actually been exposed to very many in my college career, and none with whom I had a mentor-protégé relationship, nor any whose dedication to scholarship stood out in their fields. Jo Dobbs was such a scholar, and she was such a mentor, not only for me but for countless other women.
I think men are so accustomed to having such models in their careers that they take them for granted, and women are so accustomed to not having them that they literally don't know what they're missing. But the death of my mother, the scholar, has underscored for me the vital importance of role models for women. We each need someone to guide us through the minefields of interviewing and departmental politics; someone to take our ideas and experiences seriously; someone to confide in, to emulate, perhaps to surpass. We need to end our isolation as intelligent women. It may not be enough to make straight A's and join the honor society; we should turn to our female professors, honor them and learn from them. And the professors in turn should not invest their energy solely in classes and tenure, but should support and mentor up-and-coming female scholars.
I remember in junior high school I had an English and creative writing teacher who was so supportive of me that I waxed quite prolific, and even won a poetry contest that year. The next year I had a teacher who, though also female, couldn't be bothered with her students as talented and sensitive, even hungry, individuals. My poetry became less profound and I wrote much less frequently, until finally I just stopped. I haven't written a poem in years. I have invested a great deal more, of course, in getting a college education than I did in writing poetry, and it hasn't been easy as an older student and one with a chronic illness. I am not likely to let my proposed career fade away as I did my poetry, but I am aware nevertheless that people seldom work to their potential if they are not given some degree of positive support and feedback. This is what professional women can do for those of us who aspire to similar careers.
The other outcome of my musings on this topic has been a shift in my thinking about graduation. Instead of feeling like I can hardly stand to go through with it with my mother not here, I feel now like I must do it, and do it well, in honor of her and her achievements as well as my own. So this May, on Mother's Day, I will receive my diploma, maybe with distinction. It will be 21 years from the Mother's Day on which I watched, bursting with pride, as my mother received her doctor's hood from this very same university.
Mom, your example will not be wasted.
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