Tag: Sandra Tyler

Tyler, Sandra. The Night Garden: of My Mother. Pierian Springs Press, 2024.

Reason read: I am a member of the Early Review Program for LibraryThing. This is a book I specifically requested because of my current situation.

Sandra Tyler’s The Night Garden is thought-provoking and heart-wrenching. For any daughter sandwiched between being a mother and being motherly to her own mother, this is a must read. Read it before you are in that moment as a guide for the times to come. And come they will. Read it during the struggles and you will nod in agreement every time you turn the page. Read it afterward your mother is gone and you will look back at the bittersweet memories and maybe smile, just a little. There is truth on every page. There is humor to Tyler’s story, too.
I do not have children and I will never know the balance of caring for two different generations, but I do know the slow building sadness that bubbles within while watching your mother age. The little things you took for granted will become monumental heartbreaks. When a loved one disowns you, it is hard to not take it personally because you are also busy refusing to believe they no longer know what they are saying. It takes strength to realize you cannot have it both ways – sharp intellect in contrast to a mind lost to dementia. When Tyler’s mother had to relinquish her drivers license my heart cracked in half (although my own mother has never owned a license to operate an automobile). Another piece of identity drowned.
Be forewarned – Night Garden might start you thinking about your own mortality. Tyler evokes the poem “Spring and Fall to a Young Child” by Gerard Manley Hopkins without even trying. I found myself asking “When do you do if you know it is your last (danced, movie, fill in the blank)?” Would you rather know the exact date and time of your demise or not? What about the angel date of a loved one? Would you be okay knowing, “This is my last dinner with you. Ever.”?

Tyler is just a little younger than me when she describes her relationship with her mother. Her mother married when she was in her 40s while my mother had me at 19. Even still, all throughout the story I was having these little “that could be me” moments. Our mothers complained about phones. They were both artists. They were both widowed early in their lives. I felt the helplessness when Tyler described waiting for her mother to get to the point. There is that sinking feeling when you inevitably realize, twenty minute later, that there wasn’t one. If there had ever been a point it had been lost under tons of verbal garbage. When taken-for-granted routines become unwieldy and cumbersome. Things that used to take five minutes become forever minutes. I think the first time I recognized something was wrong with my mother was when we were getting ready for a show. She knew the time to be ready and yet, when the driver arrived, she was still in just her pantyhose and blouse. No skirt. No shoes. Her hair a mess. Mom? What have you been doing for the last 45 minutes?

Music: Puccini’s Madame Butterfly, James Taylor, “From a Distance”, Judy Collins, and “Silent Night”.