Today is Mother's Day. It has never been an easy day for me. I always feel on edge on Mother's Day and my birthday. Not sad or upset - more like someone came in and rearranged all my furniture. Everything is here but something just doesn't seem quite right.
I do not know my biological mother. I've only laid eyes on her 5 times in over 30 years. I don't know very much about her at all. Only that she was 17 when I was born, that she was beautiful, that she was very smart, that she loved the Grateful Dead, and that she volunteered at the Special Olympics once. I only have a few pictures of her. A handful of us together - all of them when I was an infant. I really have no memories of her at all.
I was raised by my father and step-mother. They were always very careful not to say anything bad about her when I was young. They really didn't mention her very much at all and if they did it was, "She loves you, she wanted you, she just can't take care of you." There were no cards or phone calls. I took their word for it. She was almost like a mythical creature, my mother. Like the Loch Ness monster- there had been sightings but was she even real at all? Did she exist?
My father re-married when I was 6 years old and my step-mother raised me as her own. She is the only mom I have ever known. I have a deep respect for her and I owe her tremendously. It must not be easy to love children that are not your own. My parents did the very best they could to forge some semblance of a family for us. There were three children brought into that marriage. My brother and I, motherless and my step-sister, fatherless. They had one child together.
Looking back, I never remember missing my mother. How can you miss something that you never had? I did not mourn for her but for as long as I can remember, I have felt completely alone in the world. I learned at a very young age that people leave and never come back. I don't think there is anything that anyone could have done to make that reality better. There is nothing that my parents could have done or said to dull the sting. All the love in the entire world could not take that truth away from me.
There is a special pain that comes from having an absent parent. It is a pain that you cannot possibly understand unless you have lived it. You hear about deadbeat dads all the time, but rarely mothers. Mothers love their children differently. They usher life into the world. Their children's hearts beat inside of their body. Mothers are supposed to stay.
The idea of family is complicated for me. My brother looks just like my father. They are a father and son. My sisters look like my step-mother, and people would remark at that. They are tall and pretty and a reflection of her. I would always get comments about why I didn't look like them, or jokes about being switched at birth or being the runt of the litter. It was pretty clear that one of these things is not like the others. And although my family did not make me feel this way, I always felt like I was second-hand, like I didn't belong, like I didn't quite fit. I would see friends with their mothers, and my mom with her own children and I wondered what that was like- to be connected with someone that closely.
I stopped being sad when I was 12 years old. I just accepted that it was what it was. What else could I do? I learned to let go then. I learned to accept the things I could not change. It was an important lesson and it's served me well in life. I let go of things and people very easily.
I became pregnant when I was 19. My husband was so excited but I was conflicted. The entire idea of motherhood was concerning for me, I had so much baggage attached to word. When I found out I was having a girl, I was so overwhelmed. I had to be a mother to a daughter. How could I do that? I wasn't raised by my own mother, her mother didn't raise her, and HER mother didn't raise her. I come from a long line of women with very complicated relationships with their mothers.
I remember feeling her move inside of me for the first time, and rubbing my belly as it grew. I loved her already. I talked to her, and I sang, and I dreamed all the dreams for her, and I prayed HARD.
She made me a mother on a steamy July afternoon. They placed her on my chest and she cried the tiniest, sweetest cry I'd ever heard. I PROMISED that I would never leave. I promised her that I would give her everything that I had, I promised her that I would try to make her life beautiful and that she would always feel safe and loved. Always.
She was a part of me. I never put her down, would never leave her. Like NEVER. I needed her just as much as she needed me. Then, my youngest was born. Another girl. That baby made me so happy and complete. I also NEVER left her. The child was on my hip until she was 7 years old.
Because I did not grow up with my mother, I make sure not to take anything for granted. I want to be with them, to know them, to be close to them. I will be there in all their endeavors because in some ways I am making up for lost time. I feel like it is a HUGE honor to be with my children and I will never take it for granted. Just look at me, having custody of my kids and sh*t, I'm really killing it in the mothering department.
My children have brought me so much joy. We've had so many wonderful times together. I have so many great memories of rocking them to sleep at night, bubble baths, reading books in bed, blowing bubbles and pushing them on the swings. We've taken trips, had picnics, laid in the grass and watched falling stars. I've watched them grow up and I haven't missed a thing.
I look at my family- me, my husband, my daughters, and I can see myself reflected when I look into their faces and I know that we belong together. It has healed me tremendously.
There are still times though when it will hit me out of the blue. Like when I tell stories to my children. Even now they LOVE to hear me recall their births and what they were like when they were young. I tell them about the first time they moved inside of me, the way that they smelled when I held them close to me, and the things that made them smile, how we spent our days together. You know, the minute details that only mothers remember. The moments we burn into our memories because we know that our time together is fleeting. There are no stories like that for me.
Or the time I was volunteering in my daughter's third grade class. I volunteered every Monday. I would make copies for her teacher and I would quiz all the kids on their vocab words. One day, as I was packing up, the teacher put on an audio book and the kids followed along at their desks. In the story, there was a little girl whose mother left and she was musing about how she would know if her mother came back because she was afraid she wouldn't even recognize her. I had to excuse myself and I went to my car and cried like a little bitch. It triggered me.
When my grandfather was dying, I desperately wanted to go to him but I could not bear to leave the children. My husband was trying to convince me to go- that it would be okay, that he would take care of everything. "I just don't want them to think I'm leaving them," I said. He was so tender to me. "Honey, they don't know that mothers leave and don't come back."
I admire my husband. I don't think that I'm particularly easy to love. You have to find something to do with those feelings. Some people drown them in drugs, alcohol, food or sex. Others, detach. That's how I cope. I don't let other people get close to me. I am a little disconnected emotionally from other human beings. I don't trust other people or their intentions. When anyone tries to love me or get close to me I am like:
I am a girl with a brick wall built up all around me and he has spent nearly two decades to get to me- taking it down brick by brick. I am grateful for that. When we were young, I think he thought he could fix me. But I am not some broken thing. He is patient with me, he tries to understand. He walks beside me. He reminds me that I'm not alone in the world (I smile, but never agree). He's made life easy. I am fortunate to have him.
This "thing" is part of who I am, but it does not define me. I would never want anyone to feel sorry for me because I do not feel sorry for myself. I am not damaged. I am not a mistake. I am here for a reason. I would not change a thing about my life. Everything has happened the way that it should have. My life is good, it has been a beautiful and wonderful adventure. This is my story, my reality and I have accepted it and made peace with it.
I am not angry at my mother. What purpose would that even serve? Surely, she has suffered enough already. A mother without her children is a miserable thing. I imagine her pain is very real. She was young, she had her own struggles, she has her own story and her own reasons. People make mistakes, the world is an imperfect place. I am certain that she wanted me, that she loved me. In some ways, by staying away, it was easier. It allowed me stability when I was growing up. That was a gift. She gave me life and for that, I am grateful.
I would hope that she would find solace in the fact that I am happy. I am okay. My life is better than I ever imagined it would be. I have been loved. Isn't that what we want most for our children? I know that is what I would want for my own daughters.
I asked my oldest daughter a while ago what it's like to be with her parents her whole life. That seems like an foreign concept- for your mother and father to be with you the entire time. Every birthday, every holiday, every mundane day. She looked at me like it was the strangest question in the word. Then she shrugged and said, "I don't know. Normal, I guess."
Hmmmm. Normal. I asked her to come to me and hug me. She did. Then she laid down next to me and started telling me about something. I wasn't really paying attention. I just laid my head in her hair and breathed her in. She smelled like vanilla. She belongs to me.
I picked up my youngest from gym last week and as I was signing her out, her coach said, "You're such a cool mom." I was suspicious. I didn't do anything cool. "Why is that?" I asked. "You host New Years Eve party's for your kids friends. My mom would never do that." I laughed, "Well, they want to be with their friends and I want to be with them so that makes everyone happy."
I walked out with my daughter and we chatted about our days. "I think it's hilarious that your coach things I'm a cool mom," I said. She looked up and smiled at me and said, "You're a great mom." That was music to my ears. She belongs to me.
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