I don\’t think of myself on Mother\’s Day. It\’s my Mom, I always think about. I wish I could say I had a loving mother – she was until I moved out of the house. Then she became a woman, I hardly recognized.
When I was a teenager, she did show a few displays of verbal and physical abuse toward me but I figured I probably deserved it. It wasn\’t until I got into therapy, I realized that it was abuse and not discipline. To this day, I have blown out discs, due to a heavy beating. I live with that reminder daily the older I get. Thanks, Mom.
She was a loving Mommy when I was a little girl. That is what is most important and how I choose to remember her. I am grateful for all the things she taught me – unheard of now. Like how to set a proper table, and keeping a house – cooking and bill paying. She taught me how to be a \”lady.\” She loved fashion and taught me how to take care of myself – my hair and nails. She actually was trying to turn me into a \”girly girl\” and back then, that\’s what I guess I wanted but once I moved out, I started to find myself. I can be as much of a \”girly-girl\” as I want but I\’m more inclined to the outdoors. The joke was that I was the \”son\” my dad always wanted. (Dad did have a son from an old HS sweetheart when he was in High School at which my sister and I didn\’t know yet) My younger sister was the girly girl through and through. I used to frustrate her by not wanting to be a cheerleader. She had been one, in high school. So my sister did that. She always wanted me to try out for Miss Pacifica. No WAY! Even my sister drew the line on that. Some mothers like to live vicariously through their daughters. That was my Mom to a T. I bucked her in every way.
Because she had 2 daughters, as we got older, the tables changed. She started getting jealous of us. She didn\’t like to see us, get along so she would lie and tell tales about us to each other. She drove a huge wedge between my sister and me. Mom died in 2008. My sister died at age 56 in 2015 and we only had 7 years, to try and rebuild what mom had done to us.
The truth is, I adored my Mom up to a certain age – then I became fearful of her, and then I just didn\’t like her. She became a tough person to love. I no longer trusted anything she said.
Sad to say, I don\’t miss her. Sure I grieved and went through a mind game, trying to figure out why and how anyone could shoot themselves in the head. Now I chalk up to mental illness. She wasn\’t getting her way – I kept finding handwritten nasty cruel, notes through the house, to my sister and me. She wanted to mess with our minds – even after her death. I wouldn\’t allow it. My sister, however, started back into the heavy drinking and blamed herself. She died of cirrhosis of the liver. Donna, would call me every year on Mom\’s death anniversary and cry and I could tell she was drunk. I urged my sister to seek counseling but in that way, she was her mother\’s daughter. Only crazy people go to shrinks and get counseling.
I live in the house that both my mom and dad passed away in. That doesn\’t bother me. We\’ve changed the home a lot. I find comfort, in reaching for a knife in the drawer that mom would cut a piece of cornbread with – or that one soup bowl that she would give me Campbells vegetable soup in when I was sick. I still use serving bowls she used when I was a kid and every once in a while, I get out her Corningware coffeepot.
I must have loved her –