the garden bench

a print of this painting, the garden bench, by james tissot, hangs over my bed.

i found it in a big box store years ago, right at a time in my life that i had resumed a relationship with my family after a near twenty year walk on the wild side.

when i saw this picture, i knew it spoke very deeply to me, and i knew immediately that my mother, my sisters, and myself were portrayed here in the most intimate way.

in this picture, none of us is who we try to project ourselves to be, nor are we who we choose to see when looking at ourselves,,, but rather, we appear as we really are.

the placement, the postures, the clothing,, all speak of each one of us in such detail, i could write volumes....

mother, pristinely coiffed and placed as the center,, reaching out to that which she knows she can never really touch,,, my youngest sister. she is at ease with turning her back on my middle sister,, who has always chosen to meld with mother and her idea of what her daughters should be, and myself,, the oldest,, boldly wearing the dress of black , openly choosing not to blend in to the color scheme of things,, always distant and never really physically available, as she is assured of both of our love for her....

"j" the youngest, dressed here as a boy, has always been somewhat different. she has no apparent emotional makeup what so ever. she is a self absorbed universe unto herself, not maliciously, probably not even knowingly... she has always straddled that which she will take for herself and what which she knows will allow her to remain, "in favour", as it were.....distantly, coldly, matter of factly. yet at the same time always maintaining that she is just on the verge of succumbing... without ever really doing so....and it is for that moment, that mother hangs on so dearly. the moment that "j" becomes human enough to feel love, and express it in a way mother can identify with.

"a" the middle, has always been the more conventional. the little mother of the trio. she married, had children, raised her children, maintained a beautiful home, and stuck to a dead marriage for 20 years, because that is what mother expected... guised as it were, in mothers eyes, that it was god that expected it. "a" sided with mother , fought to protect her holier than thou judgments of both "j" and i, tried to make sense of all that mother stands for... at those times as mother could not bend her morality to accept our chosen lifestyles, "a" was there, she had mothers back,,, all the time just waiting for the moment mother would turn away from the squeaky wheels,, turn around and even if for just a moment, finally see all that she had given to prove her love....

and in the distance, we have me. alone. oft' separated by distance. different, but longing to belong. looking in , keeping watch, but never really joining the family group. no matter where my travels have taken me,, no matter how deeply mired i have become in that which i know would never be allowed in mothers world,,, no matter how far away i had to stay to protect mother from who i had become,,, i have always gazed longingly at them as that is where my heart is.

and today, as my heart rests, on the garden bench, and i see all of us, as if for the first time, i feel as if i belong.