"...and on that morning, gone was any trace of you."
Being a mother is the single most joyful thing about my life. It would stand to reason that most mothers whether alike or not in typical manners of life would agree whole heartedly regarding this. Yes, despite differing interests or varying beliefs, all kinds of mothers come together and unite unanimously regarding the great love they possess for their children. The fashionista, the granola, the simple, the complex, the working, the homemaker, the single, and the married mothers do not seem so different after all when you cast your eyes upon them loving their children. Sure, they may all parent very differently and have very different children at that, but there's a consistent love present with all. At least, that is what we tell ourselves as mothers.
Have we ever considered that there are mothers who although they may love their children, it is painstakingly arguable that it is not their greatest joy or even close? Perhaps, it's even a chore to these mothers. How can loving a child not come naturally and fiercely?
There's many kinds of hurt shared with loved ones or even acquaintances every day in this world. Burdens are eased upon sharing them with another. That is, most burdens anyways.
Losing one's mother not to death or even to another, but to the dark depths of the world, contains a unique type of hurt that is felt more heavily when spoken about instead of the typical lessening effect gained by most sharing of burdens. Speaking of it is a further reminder of the unthinkable and the uncomprehending truth that consumes the burden itself. Avoiding the unspoken is essential to the well being of the beholder of such a burden, or so it seems.
The reality is that with such few people capable of empathizing with such a hurt and devastation, it is better left unsaid than shared, because sharing does little without empathy of some sort.
"Humans aren't as good as we should be in our capacity to empathize with feelings and thoughts of others, be they humans or other animals on Earth. So maybe part of our formal education should be training in empathy. Imagine how different the world would be if, in fact, that were 'reading, writing, arithmetic, empathy.'" -Neil deGrasse Tyson
The most vivid memory I have is also my most painful one. That memory is the one of walking in my house on Christmas Day to discover my mother had seemingly vanished. Throughout the years, I have played this memory over and over in my head, each time the outcome is ever unchanging. My mother was still gone and again, for no apparent fathomable reason. This is even more bold and clear to me now that I am a mother myself. When is there ever an adequate reason to leave one's children?
My mother was so beautiful. I remember as a child admiring her beauty, yet being slightly intimidated by her insolent nature at times. My mother was homecoming queen her senior year of high school and on the court all the years prior. She had sweet, loving, supportive, and most importantly, Godly, parents and three older siblings. She dated and married her high school sweetheart, although she was on her second marriage to another wonderful and respectable man when she left. She had three beautiful, small children that adored her. She had a full time nanny that also cleaned her home. Her husband's living allowed her to live a comfortable life. Reading all of this on paper, what reason can one conclude and deem as an acceptable one to abandon a family?
Following the immediate one month, real life nightmare of not knowing where my mother was, I finally learned that she had, in fact, been found and had since been put in a rehabilitation facility, but had requested a divorce. This divorce was not just from her husband, but from her children as well, as she was not coming back home and they were not going to her either. Despite the unimaginable emotional pain this caused, it was just as well, because the life she was going to lead was not fit for the innocence of a child. Unfortunately, a clean break was simply not in her cards and her precious children were going to inevitably be raked through the stench that became her life for a short time. This short time, no matter the length, was as impressionable as a lifetime and the things seen could never be forgotten.
I could fill pages upon pages with countless daunting stories that were our life for a few short years after my mother first left and we were still visiting her every other weekend. From allowing her eight year old and nearly six year old to watch gruesome rated R movies, like Copycat and The General's Daughter, and not concerned in the slightest of the nightmares that followed, because she could not be awakened out of her drunken slumber, to letting these same two children along with the three year old play out in the yard with violent Pitt Bulls who would later attack a family member and send that member to the hospital with a substantial wound to the femur, her lack of mothering knew no bounds. Lest one may think the list of transgressions ceases there, perhaps a mention of the occurrence that the previously mentioned three year old at the time of being just shy of five was found by the two older children in the wee hours of the morning wandering a block over from the house, while their mother was again, passed out cold with no hope of being awakened. This area was also the same area where Amber (think "Amber Alert") was kidnapped from years before. It is so clear to me in my adulthood and motherhood that angels were protecting us while at my mother's various homes during these times, and for that I am indescribably thankful to my Lord and Savior. Only He, and He alone, was capable of protecting myself and my two small siblings from such dark dangers and lack of care.
To be clear, I had a wonderful, loving father and stepmom that I went home to and lived with full time while my siblings also had a wonderful, loving father and stepmom they went home to and lived with full time as well. Our lives were seemingly great and unscathed all but twenty six weekends out of the year. We kept the darkness that was our lives on these weekends to ourselves for quite some time, out of fear for being kept away from our mother for good. When we did finally share pieces of the truth, we were, indeed, kept away. It was all just as well, for the mother we were holding onto, was not our mother at all.
That does not make the pain any less painful though, does it? The heart yearns for what is natural and normal.
As a child, I loved my mother dearly. I still do possess an honest, childlike love for her, even as an adult that barely knows her. Those few vivid memories I have with her before her departure cling loyally deep in my mind and I still can picture that beautiful mother that I was filled with admiration for, while also slightly unnerved when I was around her. I remember that despite this love I have always had for her though, there was always a disconnect there, however. When I was scared in the middle of the night, she never welcomed me into her bed or even lied down beside me and soothed me back to sleep. She never put much care into how I looked for school. Sure she bought me nice clothes, but actually taking the time to lay an outfit out for me in the mornings was not an activity she could be bothered with. I remember wearing socks with sandals to school many days in the winter because I was dressing myself for school with no approval from her. This disconnect leaves me stricken and keeps me from yearning too much to talk to her today. Yes, contrary to her lack of mothering for so many years, she does indeed call quite frequently in this present time now married to her fourth husband. I find myself pressing the decline button all too often and while some may deem my action harsh, I deem it all too proper. What does one say as a daughter to a mother she barely knows? To a mother that knows little about her daughter or her grandchildren? To a mother that never really wanted to be a mother?
One may find themselves wondering if my mother has ever apologized, asked for forgiveness, sought out a newfound relationship with her children, or even changed? Regrettably, my mother has done none of these things sincerely. There have been a few insincere apologies uttered over the years, but they always are chased down with reasons, or excuses rather, of why she did the things she did. This is to no surprise to anyone who knows her however, as my mother was never one to admit she was wrong or apologize to anyone very sincerely.
There are times I find myself wondering what things would have been like if my mother had stayed, if my mother had still left, but been a more active and respectable part of our lives, or if she had made amends later in life, truly changed, and therefore been an active part of our lives later on. I find myself not wishing too much that things had been any differently. Of course, I wish I could spare myself the ever clinging hurt and heartache of my mother leaving and of her absence from my life. I wish the small child I once was never had to endure such things and did not have to grow up quite so quickly. I find that those hardships have indeed shaped who I am today. I find I am still the same protective big sister over my siblings now as I was back then when their lives literally in some moments depended on me. I find I am very aware of my flaws as a mother because I am constantly striving to be a great one because the memory of my not great one still haunts me.
I wish my mother the best and would always love to see her recover from the alcoholism that plagues her and has defined her. I pray for my mother's soul as although contrary to what she claims, there is no visible evidence that Jesus Christ is Lord of her life. I forgive my mother for all she has done and love her undeniably. Even so, I find there is little place for her in my life today.
Despite the hardening of her life and her body, I still find my mother beautiful. Perhaps, I see years back to the woman she once was. I see the woman that gave me life and that for a time, even so fleeting, showed me love. I see beauty, even if that beauty has ceased to exist in many's eyes or even all together. I see my mother or at least where she once inhabited.
My mother was so beautiful. I remember as a child admiring her beauty, yet being slightly intimidated by her insolent nature at times. My mother was homecoming queen her senior year of high school and on the court all the years prior. She had sweet, loving, supportive, and most importantly, Godly, parents and three older siblings. She dated and married her high school sweetheart, although she was on her second marriage to another wonderful and respectable man when she left. She had three beautiful, small children that adored her. She had a full time nanny that also cleaned her home. Her husband's living allowed her to live a comfortable life. Reading all of this on paper, what reason can one conclude and deem as an acceptable one to abandon a family?
Following the immediate one month, real life nightmare of not knowing where my mother was, I finally learned that she had, in fact, been found and had since been put in a rehabilitation facility, but had requested a divorce. This divorce was not just from her husband, but from her children as well, as she was not coming back home and they were not going to her either. Despite the unimaginable emotional pain this caused, it was just as well, because the life she was going to lead was not fit for the innocence of a child. Unfortunately, a clean break was simply not in her cards and her precious children were going to inevitably be raked through the stench that became her life for a short time. This short time, no matter the length, was as impressionable as a lifetime and the things seen could never be forgotten.
I could fill pages upon pages with countless daunting stories that were our life for a few short years after my mother first left and we were still visiting her every other weekend. From allowing her eight year old and nearly six year old to watch gruesome rated R movies, like Copycat and The General's Daughter, and not concerned in the slightest of the nightmares that followed, because she could not be awakened out of her drunken slumber, to letting these same two children along with the three year old play out in the yard with violent Pitt Bulls who would later attack a family member and send that member to the hospital with a substantial wound to the femur, her lack of mothering knew no bounds. Lest one may think the list of transgressions ceases there, perhaps a mention of the occurrence that the previously mentioned three year old at the time of being just shy of five was found by the two older children in the wee hours of the morning wandering a block over from the house, while their mother was again, passed out cold with no hope of being awakened. This area was also the same area where Amber (think "Amber Alert") was kidnapped from years before. It is so clear to me in my adulthood and motherhood that angels were protecting us while at my mother's various homes during these times, and for that I am indescribably thankful to my Lord and Savior. Only He, and He alone, was capable of protecting myself and my two small siblings from such dark dangers and lack of care.
To be clear, I had a wonderful, loving father and stepmom that I went home to and lived with full time while my siblings also had a wonderful, loving father and stepmom they went home to and lived with full time as well. Our lives were seemingly great and unscathed all but twenty six weekends out of the year. We kept the darkness that was our lives on these weekends to ourselves for quite some time, out of fear for being kept away from our mother for good. When we did finally share pieces of the truth, we were, indeed, kept away. It was all just as well, for the mother we were holding onto, was not our mother at all.
That does not make the pain any less painful though, does it? The heart yearns for what is natural and normal.
"They say that abandonment is a wound that never heals. I say only that an abandoned child never forgets." -Mario Balotelli
The last time we would ever stay with our mother was a Mother's Day when I was just eleven, my sister was eight, and my brother was five. My mother had drank so much the night before that even at three o'clock the next afternoon, we still could not wake her. We had awakened that morning and fixed her toast with grape jelly and a glass of orange juice. Upon bringing it to her bedside, we wondered if she was dead. Her naked body lay lifeless and in such a deep, drunken slumber that it was unclear if she even breathed in such a state. We tried multiple times between the hours of ten in the morning and three o'clock in the afternoon to shake her violently in an attempt to get her to rise. After no luck and no movement, we finally called my father. My stepfather, my sibling's father, came to pick us up around four that afternoon. She still had not awakened. She called him that evening around eight, upon just rising and realizing her children were gone. She did not call in a panic, but rather with a calm assumption that we must have been picked up by one of our dad's.
This was yet a further reminder that our mother possessed little to no maternal instinct and her children were simply not her concern.
My mother was still allowed to come visit us during the day on weekends if she chose to do so. There were countless Saturdays that I waited by the front door for hours upon hours for her to come pick me up, after we had previously made plans for her to take me to the park or to the mall. More times than not, she did not show and I would get a call from her days later with an elaborate lie as to why she never showed or even called to cancel. She would easily go six months to a year without calling me just to talk or check in. Over time, I grew more and more weary of waiting and began to realize my mother had been gone, not just in the literal sense, for quite some time and was never coming back.
My mother was still allowed to come visit us during the day on weekends if she chose to do so. There were countless Saturdays that I waited by the front door for hours upon hours for her to come pick me up, after we had previously made plans for her to take me to the park or to the mall. More times than not, she did not show and I would get a call from her days later with an elaborate lie as to why she never showed or even called to cancel. She would easily go six months to a year without calling me just to talk or check in. Over time, I grew more and more weary of waiting and began to realize my mother had been gone, not just in the literal sense, for quite some time and was never coming back.
"...and you were just gone and gone, gone and gone..."
"...your kiss, my cheek, I watched you leave."
One may find themselves wondering if my mother has ever apologized, asked for forgiveness, sought out a newfound relationship with her children, or even changed? Regrettably, my mother has done none of these things sincerely. There have been a few insincere apologies uttered over the years, but they always are chased down with reasons, or excuses rather, of why she did the things she did. This is to no surprise to anyone who knows her however, as my mother was never one to admit she was wrong or apologize to anyone very sincerely.
There are times I find myself wondering what things would have been like if my mother had stayed, if my mother had still left, but been a more active and respectable part of our lives, or if she had made amends later in life, truly changed, and therefore been an active part of our lives later on. I find myself not wishing too much that things had been any differently. Of course, I wish I could spare myself the ever clinging hurt and heartache of my mother leaving and of her absence from my life. I wish the small child I once was never had to endure such things and did not have to grow up quite so quickly. I find that those hardships have indeed shaped who I am today. I find I am still the same protective big sister over my siblings now as I was back then when their lives literally in some moments depended on me. I find I am very aware of my flaws as a mother because I am constantly striving to be a great one because the memory of my not great one still haunts me.
I wish my mother the best and would always love to see her recover from the alcoholism that plagues her and has defined her. I pray for my mother's soul as although contrary to what she claims, there is no visible evidence that Jesus Christ is Lord of her life. I forgive my mother for all she has done and love her undeniably. Even so, I find there is little place for her in my life today.
Despite the hardening of her life and her body, I still find my mother beautiful. Perhaps, I see years back to the woman she once was. I see the woman that gave me life and that for a time, even so fleeting, showed me love. I see beauty, even if that beauty has ceased to exist in many's eyes or even all together. I see my mother or at least where she once inhabited.
"To be a good father and mother requires that the parents defer many of their own needs and desires in favor of the needs of their children. As a consequence of this sacrifice, conscientious parents develop a nobility of character and learn to put into practice the selfless truths taught by the Savior Himself." -James E. Faust
Many frequently comment while looking upon me loving on and mothering my children, how great of a mother they deem me to be. This is one of the highest compliments one could give me and I take them to heart so gratefully and treasure them so. Perhaps, subconsciously I feel the need to love on my children not only the amount a typical mother would love on her children, but also to make up for the amount of love my siblings and I did not receive from our mother. Perhaps, this is not, in fact, the case. All I know is nothing has ever felt more natural to me than loving on my children. Whether I am rocking them, snuggling up with them in my bed at night, carrying them around, playing with them, or just looking upon them doing their own daily activities, they bring me such joy and fill my heart with an indescribable warmth. They are my greatest joy and light and I thank God for blessing me with them each and every day. I thank God for the great blessing of being a mother.
"...all you had to do was stay..."
Excerpts from Taylor Swift 1989
I too believe that God sent divine protection to the three of you during those darkest years. The fact that you can find healing to so much pain is great testimony to your surrendered life in Christ. Certainly, by His stripes we are healed. [I Peter 2:24.] Never before has Genesis 50:20 rang truer than reading your blog post just now. [Gen 50:20: "As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good in order to bring about this present result ...]
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