The other case is almost a duplicate: but this time, I was well acquainted with the son as circumstances brought us in frequent contact. One day his mother invited me to dinner. The scenario was nothing short of amazing: Mammy was the one deciding what he should eat and not eat. I had the feeling that he was six years old; “yes, mammy; no mammy; as you will”. Needless to say; he never got married. He died in his sixties, and his strong, robust mother buried him. He died a “martyr” of this type of motherly love.
The most tragic case I experienced is the one of a young man, coming from a deeply Catholic background: we studied together; he was then a seminarian. He entered a religious order, and because of his remarkable piety and intellectual talents, he quickly was given a key position. Then his mother died. Sometime before her demise, he had made the acquaintance of a woman who following what was then the fashion of the time, got fascinated by oriental spirituality. She dabbled with Buddhism, Taoism, and Hinduism. The Koran was next on her list of spiritual experimentation, and she became fascinated by Mohammed. When she had her fill of it, she turned to Greek orthodoxy. Finally enriched by her spiritual pilgrimage and all these challenging detours, she came back to Catholicism. She got married but soon obtained an annulment, claiming that that the “marriage” was never consummated. I do not recall how she made the acquaintance of the high ranking priest I mentioned above, but it was noticeable that she was becoming became increasingly friendly with him, roaming close to his office and offering her services. But as soon as his mother died, and to everyone amazement, he asked to be relieved from his vows. He was by then in his forties.
The rumor was that his mother, to whom he was deeply attached, had told him ever since he was a child that her most ardent wish was to have a son who received the holy orders. It is likely that every Catholic mother, deeply rooted in her faith, entertains a similar hope. Having a deep love for his mother, and not wishing to disappoint her, he followed her wishes.
Wittingly or unwittingly, she had chosen his vocation. I have no reason to assume that she “forced” him to become a priest, but the words of Ovid come to mind: “Gutta cavat lapidem, non vi sed saepe cadendo”. A drop hollows a stone: not by its strength but by repeatedly falling”. When God called her, he suddenly became aware that he was morally obligated to leave his order: he had been psychologically forced to become a priest. He had no vocation. His doing so would have been inconceivable as long as his mother was alive: she was understandably proud of his having risen so fast and so high in the hierarchy of this great order, and had he left while she was still alive, she would have dropped dead on the spot, giving him a bad conscience for the rest of his life. He had to wait until she was buried. Now he was free. To make a sad story short, as soon as he was released from his vows and been laicized, he married his new friend. One can fear, however, that he had gone from Scylla to Charybdis. I assume that his mother was a strong woman; his “wife” was stronger. To my profound grief and dismay, I was told that, after a while, they both left the Church, and she convinced him to become the pastor of a protestant sect.
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May God have mercy on them both.
This story is almost duplicated by the one of a Spanish priest, who became quite prominent and was a close friend of Jacques Maritain, and who, upon the death of his domineering mother, realized that he never had a vocation. He left the priesthood, but thank God, after being laicized, he got married, and served the Church as a devout husband and father.
May God have mercy on such mothers; may He have mercy on their sons suffocated by their mother’s love.
Another amazing case which still puzzles me is the one of German Jews: mother with two sons from different marriages. Whereas she was not close to the older one, the younger one was the joy of her life. Having fled Nazi Germany, they landed in Belgium, and through the generosity and at times, heroism of some Belgian citizens, they survived the war and managed to come to the USA where her brother resided. He too – had fled Nazi Germany – and managed to come to the USA via Siberia. He was a MD. It was through him that I made their acquaintance. Whereas I met the older son but once, I saw the younger one and his mother several times. Their relationship was a very tender one. When invited at a party, they always sat next to each other, often holding hands like young fiancés. It was strange indeed, but upon my being told that mother and son shared a double bed to the very end of her life, I truly became puzzled. The idea of incest never crossed my mind, but the whole situation was so “strange” that it caused all those who knew them some concern.
I assume that their very deep bond could be explained by the fact that this mother-son relationship was all that they had not lost. Once again, we must leave it to God’s mercy. He alone knows the mystery called the human heart and how easily normal and abnormal, good and evil, can be intermingled.