Gilmore Girls meets Terms of Endearment in this candid, humorous, and touching story of an uncommon mother-daughter bond that disrupts popular perceptions of teenage pregnancy and what constitutes an "ideal" family.
When Stacey Aaronson was born in 1969, her mother, Bree, was sixteen and barely out of braces. Hastily wed to Stacey’s dad and divorced soon after, Bree raised Stacey with his and her parents’ loving support. Growing up together in an often role-reversal scenario and mistaken for sisters, Bree would come to say, “I didn’t raise Stacey. Stacey raised me.”
Whether bouncing between the markedly different homes of her mom, dad, and grandparents, discovering her religious and sexual identities, or starting college in her late twenties, Stacey is buoyed by Bree’s devotion as a mother, a sister, a daughter, and a friend.
As Stacey steps into the role of caregiver, the two face the most poignant leg of their journey: nurturing their deep soul connection even as one soul transitions to another realm. Brimming with miracles, wonder, and joy even in its saddest moments, this memoir is a tender yet ebullient celebration of life, of love, of death’s mysterious passage, and the mystical forces that bind us all.
Gilmore Girls meets Terms of Endearment in this candid, humorous, and touching story of an uncommon mother-daughter bond that disrupts popular perceptions of teenage pregnancy and what constitutes an "ideal" family.
When Stacey Aaronson was born in 1969, her mother, Bree, was sixteen and barely out of braces. Hastily wed to Stacey’s dad and divorced soon after, Bree raised Stacey with his and her parents’ loving support. Growing up together in an often role-reversal scenario and mistaken for sisters, Bree would come to say, “I didn’t raise Stacey. Stacey raised me.”
Whether bouncing between the markedly different homes of her mom, dad, and grandparents, discovering her religious and sexual identities, or starting college in her late twenties, Stacey is buoyed by Bree’s devotion as a mother, a sister, a daughter, and a friend.
As Stacey steps into the role of caregiver, the two face the most poignant leg of their journey: nurturing their deep soul connection even as one soul transitions to another realm. Brimming with miracles, wonder, and joy even in its saddest moments, this memoir is a tender yet ebullient celebration of life, of love, of death’s mysterious passage, and the mystical forces that bind us all.
I entertained the notion for many years of writing the story of my mom and me, simply because our nontraditional, decidedly quirky, lifelong role-reversal friendship was unlike any mother-daughter relationship either of us had ever heard of (until Gilmore Girls, but that will come later in the book). I imagined a kind of collaboration between us at some point, where I would do the actual writing, but I’d verify certain facts with her that only she might know. The reminiscing would be a hoot, we’d laugh like we always did, and it would be fun to see what each of us remembered about those years of growing up together.
But that’s not the way it happened.
My mom, who was only sixteen years older than me and therefore someone I was certain I would have in my life much longer than most daughters had their mothers, got sick. And then we went on a pilgrimage to get her well naturally, and it seemed she got better. And then, in what felt like the cruelest twist, the better was only temporary. And then, in a whirlwind of disbelief and heartbreak and grace, she left me at only sixty-eight.
To be honest, I still can’t believe she is physically gone. We talked or texted nearly every day, sometimes multiple times a day. I smile easily when I think of her, but I tear up easily too. I shared both my exciting and seemingly mundane news with her, and she shared hers with me. We seamlessly rolled any of a number of favorite movie lines into almost every conversation, were as at ease with witty banter as we were with genuinely listening to one another and sharing opinions, and never ceased to crack each other up, be elated for each other’s triumphs, or offer empathy in the face of laments, whether significant or petty. Her physical absence is palpable, to say the least.
But in the writing of this book, she has remained particularly close to me. I’ve spent countless hours recalling the details of the fifty-one years we shared, which has meant bringing to the surface hilarity and heartache, disappointment and pride, separation and reunion, embarrassments and evolutions, all of which comprised the tapestry of our half century together. Mostly, though, I have felt immense gratitude that I was brilliant enough to choose her as my mother in this lifetime, and that I willingly accepted, from my earliest days, being her touchstone.
Though most of my memories are pretty solid from the time I was old enough to walk, I admit that I may not have gotten every detail right from her perspective. Some things I simply couldn’t know for sure without having her here to confirm. But I think what matters is my recollection of the uniqueness of what we shared, of what people have told us over and over was a one-of-a-kind relationship they wished they’d had with their own mothers or daughters.
And I believe that’s what she has influenced as her stardust has surrounded, and indeed suffused, the writing of this book.
When I told a dear friend the title I had chosen for this memoir, she told me that she imagined other young mothers deriving hope when they saw it, that perhaps their unexpected little bundle was going to turn out just fine, even if they felt completely unprepared to raise a child. That was something I hadn’t thought of, but certainly something I hope is true. Though there are parts of my childhood that will likely shock you and make you wonder what my mom was thinking at times—and how I didn’t turn out completely different than I did—there are also numerous gems in my mom’s offbeat parenting style that are worth absorbing and embracing.
Yes, a lot of factors are involved in how a child turns out because of, or in spite of, the environments into which they are born—and there is no doubt that I had some of the greatest factors in my favor. My sincere hope is that you will be glad you got a peek into a truly special and uncommon relationship, no matter which parts resonate with you. And I hope, too, that if you shed a few tears along the way, the wacky repartee will balance them out.
My mom was a beautiful, hilarious, sarcastic, wounded, accepting, sincere, resilient, generous, loving ray of light.
I can’t wait for you to meet her.
This was a heartwarming and heartbreaking memoir of a mother/daughter love that knows no limits.
Though my reading tastes are broad and inclusive, when I take on the honour and responsibility of reviewing, I usually keep a wide berth away from memoirs — it’s hard to cast a critical eye upon something so factual and personal. However, this one had me at “Gilmore Girls” — my and my mom’s absolute favourite show ever, and I couldn’t resist.
Beautiful and moving from beginning to end, this chronicle of Stacey’s and Bree’s life is a glorious depiction of an unusual mother-daughter role-reversal dynamic.
Charming, intimate, and relatable, we fall in love with “Mommie Bree” from the first moment when she refused to get married with her braces on. As she stumbles through her own struggles with self-image, relationships, depression, and illness, she still shields her daughter Stacey from the depths of it, sacrificing her own happiness to ensure that her daughter gets the most out of life. Not wanting to be a burden, Bree reaches out for support only when she absolutely must, much to Stacey’s chagrin as she wants to be able to do so much more for the woman who brought her to life in more ways than one.
The journey from childhood to adulthood is masterful, heartfelt, and so gripping that there were points when it was impossible to take a breather from this book. The authenticity, the humour, the kindness, the compassion and the sheer love of coming-to-age under the guiding light of her mother’s influence are brilliantly woven through the tapestry of these pages, culminating in a photo album and afterword from Bree — through the afterlife — that would touch even the coldest of hearts.
I loved that the author was reflective as she recounts the story, understanding things as an adult that would have eluded her as a child, and giving us that additional insight with her brand of brazen honesty:
“Maybe on the surface, my mom didn’t seem so remarkable. She didn’t invent anything, or make great strides in a particular field, or even find her way to healing the deep emotional wounds that plagued her so that she could become the resplendent recovery story and pillar of hope she had so wanted to be for others. But even without achieving that, she made a lasting, luminous impression on everyone who knew her.”
There was also an element of magical realism in the aspects of the story that explored religious faith and otherworldly beliefs. I personally loved it, but some readers may have to suspend disbelief and accept that these are integral to Stacey’s and Bree’s story. While some may not abide by these serendipitous unexplainable coincidences, this is the author’s truth and must be respected — no; revered.
This memoir is one that will stay with me for awhile. Though crushingly painful at times, still, even in its darkest hour, it reaches deep to find the uplifting levity of laughter or the pacifying sigh of peace. There is so much love here, so much grief, so much heart. If you are a “Gilmore Girls” fan, you will indeed relish every moment of this book, but I would also recommend to anyone who can enjoy the excellence of writing talent, and stomach reading something real that will bring them to tears. I thoroughly enjoyed the emotional rollercoaster of this book, and I am grateful to the author for penning her thoughts to words in order to honour her mother in the best way she can: by sharing her with others.