May 8, 2012

my Mama


My friends hug me as the teachers wave good-bye. Everyone is smiling. The lights are yellow and there’s lots of bright primary colors all around. I tilt my head back to look up and see my pretty Mama smiling down on me- her dark short, curly hair; her thick red lips; her big pointy boobs. She’s holding my hand. We walk out of the big red door, out of my preschool. We exit the building and turn the corner and walk home, hand in hand.
 
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When I ask my mom about this memory flash in present day, and ask if she walked me to and from preschool or if we took a car, she says she doesn’t remember. That we probably walked.

She doesn’t remember a lot about when I was a kid. It used to upset me when I would ask about something- anything- and she would say, “I don’t remember.” How could my own mother not remember milestones from my life? I’m her baby.

But then I think about the person she was during the memories that I have that aren’t just flashes… You know, the tattooed memories. And I think that she doesn’t remember because she drank the memories away.

I wish I had the guts to ask her when it started- her love of alcohol, her love of partying. Is it why she wanted to divorce my father when I was 9? I’m pretty certain it’s why she was a shitty mother, at least it’s the reason I tell myself to keep civil with her today.

But we don’t talk about it.

We don’t talk about the shitty times. We don’t talk about living without electricity at times, while having to heat water up on the stove to take a bath during other times. We don’t talk about drinking milk composed of powder and water. We don’t talk about moving from shitty apartment to shitty apartment. We don’t talk about how she made me fend for myself at an incredibly young age. We don’t talk about how she made me go to four different high schools. We don’t talk about how she was never there for me. We don’t talk about the number of times she was passed out in front of the TV with a cigarette butt still trapped between her fingers and a trail of ashes that was once tobacco and paper leading to the overflowing ashtray on the arm of the floral loveseat. We don’t talk about how I never had any friends. We don’t talk about the times she took me to bars with her when I was a teenager. We don’t talk about the multiple men she brought into her home, into her bed. We don’t talk about the retched smell from alcohol, sex, vomit, what-have-you that filled the air of our home more than not.  We don’t talk about the lack of care she had for anything or anyone other than alcohol and sex.

We don’t talk about it.

I mean, really, what’s the point? Why dredge it all up? What can possibly happen by bringing it all up?!

Besides, I haven’t a clue if she’d even remember half the shit that I remember from those days. I’m guessing not. I’m guessing she’d still be drinking herself into oblivion every night if she did remember; I don’t think anyone strives to be a shitty drunk of a mom one day.



Fortunately she finally grew up around the turn of the century. She still drank but nothing at all like what she was doing when I was growing up, when *I* was supposed to be the teenager instead of the mom. And today, she doesn’t really drink much at all. Thankfully.

I wish I had the guts to ask her about that too- why she finally stopped drinking. But I guess if I did, then all the other stuff would come up. And… I just don’t really want to go there.

Instead, I try to focus on the good: She’s been a great fan of my marriage, she’s madly in love with my Lovie, she’s there for my ailing grandmother.

She’s not perfect. She still has her moments when I want to shake the stupid teenage mindset out of her and remind her that she’s going to be 65 this year. She still relies far too much on others to lift her up- emotionally, financially. But at least she doesn’t repulse me the way she did when I was younger, when I had very little respect for her, when she showed me things at a young age that one shouldn’t see.

I mean, I still don’t respect her much as a Mother and I still get sickened by some of my memories, but she doesn’t repulse me anymore. She’s a human being. With flaws. Like anyone else. She was a super shitty mother in my eyes, but … I can also take that and turn it around and ensure that I’m nothing like that. I can take those shitty times and strive for more, so much more- for my Lovie.

I don’t think my mom didn’t love me, I’m certain she did. I just don’t think she loved being a Mom. And that… sucks ass when you’re the kid.

Fortunately Lovie won’t ever know that Mom. Fortunately Lovie won’t have any memories like mine.

I guess I have my mom to thank for that- and that’s why we don’t talk about the past. Because while it wasn’t the greatest, we’re both still here today. And now there’s Lovie, too. And if it meant re-living that life with that shitty mom 100 times, I’d do it just to be where I am today with my Lovie.


Happy Mother’s Day, Mama.

I never could give you a sappy card on Mother’s Day because I just never felt that way. But we both made it through so thank you for that. I do love you and I am glad you’re in my life.


29 comments:

  1. Yes, it does suck ass when you're the kid. It really does.
    Thanks for this post. I sure could relate to it.

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    1. oh Ado. i would be lying if i didn't think of you and *part* of your story when i decided to sit down and write this... i'm sorry you could relate. :/

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  2. Your posts are always filled with such raw honesty. I so appreciate it. Thank-you.

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    1. wow- thanks for that. it's hard to press that Publish button sometimes, but worth it, too.

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  3. I'm so sorry this was your childhood.
    How wonderful for your daughter to have a mom who won't repeat the cycle and instead gets a beautiful, loving mother who would walk through fire for her.
    I'm sure this was so hard to write. Thank you, thank you for sharing your story.

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  4. Aww, I'm sorry you don't have that connection with your mom that you'd like (where she, you know, remembers your life). It's good to hear you're doing better for your kid.

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  5. This is so full of emotion. I'm sorry for the past hurts. Sometimes I wonder the same thing about bringing up the past. I don't have the same questions you do, but I have plenty of my own for my parents. I went through stage where I wanted answers, and I never got them, and it never did any good. Now I focus on the "now". They did the best they could.

    Your mom is lucky to have the grace that you offer her.

    It is hard to pick out card sometimes for me too.

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  6. Such powerful sentiments! Well written and honest--forgiveness such as what you've allowed yourself to experience is freeing, isn't it?

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  7. I am so sorry for your childhood. It does just suck to be that child and I think you just realize it all the more when you grow up and have your own children. You can't even comprehend how someone could act that way. I want to wish you a Happy Mother's Day and give you a hug for being the kind of mom you want to be and your Lovie deserves. Brava! Ellen

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  8. Happy mother's day to you too!

    Thank you for this post, it's both lovely and heart-wrenching.

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  9. I'm so sorry that this was your childhood. But I admire you so much for making sure that Lovie experiences something so very different. That takes strength and determination. Good for you!!

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  10. I understand your anger and the need to make a mends. My mother was labelled unfit and she lost custody of us when I was 7. My dad won custody despite being brain injured and having a tendency to lose his temper in a flurry of curse words and sometimes (not often) but sometimes violence. Forgiving them has been the hardest thing to do but I managed sometime before my first child was born.

    Sometimes my parents get confused though. Forgiveness is not forgetting and Im not sure we will ever have the relationship I always wanted. But as you alluded to it has made me a better parent. I know what not to do at least!

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    1. oh wow thank you for sharing this with me. i'm so sorry about your past but i do love that you, too, have been able to move forward. doesn't mean we forget (sadly that parts kind of impossible), but doesn't mean we can't break the cycle either!

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  11. I can sort of relate to this and so can my husband. Neither of our parents were alcoholics, but mine were abusive and my husband's mother is mentally unstable. We all have a place we have to reach that is the best place for *us* to be. I'm glad you've reached yours. My place is not like yours is, but it's what works for me and I'm at peace with it. I don't actively contact my parents, but I don't ignore them if they do and I don't play their games anymore. I think my husband is still working to find the place he needs to be. He told me that he has to be done with his mother because there is no hope for her to ever get help.

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    1. oh Kathy, i'm so sorry about you and your husband's upbringing. i think a lot of people can relate- in some way or another. i think we all carry with us our own demons and have to figure out how to live with it all. and sometimes it really is best to sever ties... and that's OK, too.

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  12. This was my father, though I think you had it worse. He would drink himself into a stupor and somehow make it home when we were in bed. So, I'm wondering if your mom knows you blog. You speak directly to her at the end. It's certainly the way I would confront my mother if I wanted her to know these things. Good for you for getting it out there one way or another. It never really goes away, does it? But it helps to say it out loud. I'm glad you wrote it. And that's one lucky kid to have you for a mother.

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    1. thanks, Stephanie- for stopping by, for commenting. i'm not sure if my mom knows of this blog, but i try not to write or speak in a way that will harm others. what i write is always truthful, but i hope not too painful to others. and, in case she does stumble over here, i do want her to know that i do love her. those little words were never said in my family but that's a whole other post. ;)

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  13. It is tough for you, getting answers to questions that you want.
    At least grandma's act is cleaned up for your kids.

    WG
    http://itsmynd.com

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  14. Great post, Christina. I'm sorry that your mom didn't enjoy being a mom. Lovie is lucky to have you and all that love you give her....I guess no one knows that better than you.

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  15. I had a dad who loved being a dad, but who also loved spending the night out drinking. I still don't understand it, but I've forgiven him, he's been clean for 20 years and I love him with my whole heart.

    Sometimes it's just what we have to do.

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    1. congrats to your dad- that's great! and yes, it is what we have to do sometimes.

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  16. My heart breaks for that little girl you were, that teenager you became who saw too much and endured too much. This was brutally honest and heartbreaking but inspirational too. You have broken the cycle and are giving Lovie the best mom!

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  17. My mom always complained that I never said "I love you" in my cards to her. I had a rotten childhood, mom.

    But things have changed for us now.

    I could really relate to this and DAMN I love your honesty!!

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    1. "rotten childhoods" shouldn't even be a term- kwim? ugh. i'm sorry. thanks for your comment.

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  18. I'm sorry your mom was that way as your grew up. I am learning lately that not EVERYTHING needs to be talked about. Some things just ARE, you know?

    Happy Mother's Day to YOU!

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  19. If nothing else, you learned what not to do. And from what I've read, it sounds like you are definitely leading Lovie down a different path. Happy Mother's Day.

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  20. wow, powerful stuff. good for you for being a better mom than you had.

    best,
    MOV
    http://mothersofbrothersblog.blogspot.com

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  21. Oh Christina, my heart aches for the childhood you missed and deserved. While your childhood pretty much sucked ass, it seems it gave you the right stimulus to do the exact opposite for Lovie. How lucky she is to have you!
    Happy Mother's Day, my friend!

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  22. I'm so sorry you went through that. I can relate, though it wasn't my mother, it was my father. Your honesty is remarkable. I really liked this post.

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