MY VIEW
Kelly Sedinger: Mother-in-law’s voice will endure in others
Toward the end of the movie “Amistad,” John Quincy Adams (played by Anthony Hopkins) gives a speech before the U. S. Supreme Court in which he describes the belief of an African tribe: that when times are tough we are to invoke our ancestors, in order that we might still learn from their wisdom; that “the wisdom they inspired will come to his aid.”
Arguing a case of national conscience, he asks if we would invoke the spirits of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson or John Adams and, if so, if we would like what we learned about ourselves. I’ve been thinking about that speech a lot over the last few weeks, following the passing of my mother-in-law.
Popular culture these days tends to portray mothers-in-law as overbearing harpies who seek to control their child’s life, always displaying some disdain for their child’s spouse.
I don’t know if this is contrary to the experience of most, or if I am merely lucky, but I struck gold with my in-laws. They are a wonderful family: full of love, full of warmth, full of wisdom.
My mother-in-law was a musician, a teacher, a gardener, a painter, a cook, a mother and a wife. Her life ended too early, brought to a close by the unforgiving and random scourge of cancer.
No, my mother-in-law was not any kind of TV mother-in-law, wandering into the scene in time to give a nice jolt to the live studio audience and provoke the laugh track.
In spending a week in the house where she lived with my father- in-law, I spent a lot of time seeing firsthand the legacy she leaves behind: her collected newspaper clippings about the accomplishments of her children and their students, programs from church services and recitals at which she performed—all the mementos of a life lived fully. Sorting through the remnants of that life is what put me in mind of that movie speech about invoking one’s ancestors.
There is, after all, a very real sense in which my mother-in-law will live on, for many years to come. She lives in the values she taught to her children, and she will thus live in the values they teach to their children— my child.
Her influence is not just limited to her own children, grandchildren and all the descendants she will leave through time. There will also be her students, and their students, and on. They will carry her love of music and her approach to it on, and pass it in part to their children and their students, should they have any. The wheel turns.
When we think of what she would have done, when we draw on the wisdom she imparted upon us in her years, surely that will be a very real way of invoking her spirit and seeking her aid. Her voice may be stilled, but her words and her music live on and take their place among the words and music of all our forebears.
She can no longer teach us, but we still have much to learn from her, if we are willing to listen. In one of life’s odd synchronicities, my sister-in-law has recently learned the she is pregnant with what would have been my mother-in- law’s fifth grandchild. She is due on my mother-in-law’s birthday. The wheel turns.
Concluding his cinematic speech, President Adams says: “Who we are is who we were.” He might well add, “And who we are is who we will be.” My mother-in-law’s life may be over, but her voice will endure, because her voice is our voice now.
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