Creating Motherhood

A beautiful first name was all Candy ever gave her child when she was young. My grandmother named her daughter Shamarie (shah-muh-ree); a play on the French word "cher,” meaning ‘sweet Marie.’ Her idea of raising Shamarie was neglectfully throwing her in the back seat of a car while she drove around with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other in search of many flings of infidelity. At the age of just 20, my Papa, Ramond, became my mother's sole custodial parent.

Ramond took Shamarie down to Texas, where she quickly became popular amongst her schoolmates. Candy moved to Alaska and never tried to contact them. Ramond had to teach Shamarie to become very independent, very quickly. She learned to cook and clean after school while he worked long hours as an electrician and firefighter to support them. She did well in school and never got into too much trouble. This was not for lack of having a good time. She was just too smart to get caught. As she reached her teenage years, she became infatuated with a boy named Jeb and she began sneaking out to meet him.

Jeb came from a poor family. The Henrys were unlike Shamarie and her father. The whole family blamed a multitude of health problems on their unhealthy lifestyles, chose not to work, had dirty homes, and seemed to have no ambition. She was able to look past all of this when it came to Jeb. He was different than them. He made her feel special and beautiful. He promised her a life like she had never dreamed; a life where she could relax and enjoy her youth without the rules of her strict and religious father. Shamarie was smitten.

One summer night, shortly after high school graduation, Jeb and Shamarie eloped. They moved to Florida in pursuit of a new life together, and Jeb joined the Navy. Her dreams had come true. She was living on base with the love of her life and no one to boss her around. Shortly after moving to base Shamarie and Jeb were pregnant with me. I was born in a Navy hospital on that base to a young couple whose happiness would soon come to an end. Shamarie found out Jeb was cheating. He came clean only after she found evidence. He informed her that he no longer wanted to be a father. She was 20 years old, broke, now homeless, and the mother of a two-month-old baby girl. She traveled back to Texas to find her father, knowing she was now in a terribly similar situation to what her father had been in 20 years prior. He welcomed her back home with open arms at the prospective thought of being a grandfather.

Ramond was the best Papa. He loved me, he loved my mother, and he never made her feel as if she were anything short of perfect for what had happened between her and my father. He never held it against her that she ran away in the middle of the night after he had worked so hard to support her. He did, however, have some rules for my mother. She was to go to school, work, and spend her free time tending to the house in exchange for free babysitting.

This was the day my mother became a magician. She did not know the love of a mother. She did not know what it felt like to have the warm embrace of a female role model to comfort her through her failed marriage. She did not know how to take care of a child. However, in the face of adversity, my mother created motherhood from thin air.

As most of her friends enjoyed going out and living a youthful life, my mom studied and worked. She stayed in day and night working, hitting the books, taking care of a newborn, and cooking and cleaning for my Papa. She read parenting books in the little free time she had to learn to create a maternal bond with me. After two years of clinicals, tests, and books, my mother became a Licensed Vocational Nurse in the state of Texas. She could hardly celebrate though, as she now was expected to get a better job and to make it on her own.

I do not know that I ever really saw my mom sleep when I was young. I remember her working, cooking, cleaning, and tending to me. I stayed with my Papa often, but as soon as she clocked out, she was on her way to his apartment to pick me up. She continued to sacrifice her twenties to make a better life for us, and I remember feeling confused about why my friends’ mothers did not work so much. I complained to my Papa that I did not see her as much as other kids see their moms, and I saw on his face that he could not say why even though there was a reason. I later found out my mom did not want me to know. She never complained in front of me about how hard she had to work to make it on her own. I had every toy on the market. We never went without, and I remember being quite spoiled. My Papa mentioned all the time that I had new clothes and things to play with. He always said I never wanted for anything, and he was right. My mom did back breaking work in nursing homes and home health all day and night. She did not want me to feel badly about being the reason she had to work so hard, and she made sure to soak herself in Dr. Teals instead of ever letting me know how tired she was.

I was 5 when my biological father kidnapped me. He held me at his house and told my mother she would never see me again and that I lived there in Florida. He had contacted her out of the blue saying he wanted to see me. My mother has never held anything from me regarding my father. She gladly allowed him to see me for a week, paying my way there and back for two weeks. Only, my dad did not use that money to send me back. My mother had a friend who was a police officer pretend he has required to bring me back. It may have pushed some lines legally since there was no written custody agreement, but it worked, and I was back home with my mom in Texas.

When I was 7 my mom had her second child with her boyfriend, Chuck. I was overjoyed at the thought of my new baby sister, Eliza. Chuck was kind, funny, and hardworking. He was nothing like my father. Chuck had four kids of his own, and his ex-wife tragically passed a few years into his and my mom’s relationship after being hit by a drunk driver while on a walk with her youngest daughter. My mom took in his four kids and treated them as her own. Though the relationship did not work out, watching my mom take in these grieving children and do everything she could for them made me respect her more than ever. She was still working grueling hours and making sure each of them were dressed and ready for school and extracurricular activities. During the split, Chuck kept his four children from his previous marriage, and he and my mother had joint custody of my baby sister. Mom now had two children to tend to on her own, and once again she did so without complaint.

I received a letter from Santa around that time. The letter was in my Papa’s handwriting and I remember feeling a little confused about Santa signing his letter with “I love you,” but I was a child and was excited anyway. The letter said I had been good, I had presents coming, and to try to complain less about my mom working so much. As a child I never quite understood the gravity of this. Now I know as an adult that I caused my mom pain by complaining about her hard work. She must have felt stuck between a rock and a hard place to hear me complaining when she tried so hard to provide for me. Still, she never corrected me. Heartbreakingly, this means she told my Papa how she felt, and it affected him so deeply that he felt compelled to write the letter.

On Christmas themed stationery it read:

“My dear Brittany, I’m just dropping you a note before Christmas to let you know Mrs. Claus and I have been keeping an eye on you. We are very happy you’re doing so well in school and have been such a good girl. Please try this year to not complain about your mom working; always remember, she works because she loves you and your sister so much. I have already had my elves load your presents into my bag. I think you are going to be very happy, and very surprised. Have a merry Christmas and a happy New Year. Tell that wonderful Papa of yours that I said hi. I Love You, Santa”

I was around 10 when Mom met Paul, my stepfather. At the risk of my mom being upset, I must share how we came to know each other. I woke up one morning for school to a shirtless man in the living room. This was completely unlike my mother. She was very private about her dating life and I only ever met men she was in long-term relationships with. He smiled and said hello. I said hello back and we chatted for a few minutes before I had to catch the bus. Paul is about 6ft 2in, so you would think he would be very intimidating, but he has to be one of the nicest people I have ever met. They fell in love quickly and got married at one of the most beautiful country receptions I have ever seen. My sister cried the whole time. She was a difficult child.

When I was almost 13 my younger sister Leah was born. Paul and Mom were perfect for each other and life was going well. In 2005 I started high school. Unfortunately, growing up in Southeast Texas had its cons. We lost our home to a hurricane and lived in shelters for a few months while our city was inaccessible. Leah was still young, and she developed a lung disease called Interstitial Pneumonitis when we returned home. My mom was able to stop working due to Paul having an exceptionally good job. Mom drove Leah to doctors’ appointments all over the state. Her lung capacity was so low at some points that we were unsure if she would ever get better.

When I was a Junior in high school, I went on a trip to Disney World with my marching band classmates. We went on a cushy greyhound and I had plenty of cash from my mom. The bus stopped at a random parking lot and my name was called to come to the front of the bus. Standing just outside was a familiar, yet distant persona that was my biological father. After the kidnapping incident, she cared enough about me to contact him and give me another chance to see him; just this time she required supervision. I cannot imagine how incredibly difficult this was for her. It was a love (from her end) like no other, to contact someone you dislike so deeply to make a trip memorable for your child.

In 2009, my senior year, we lost our home again to another hurricane. Leah became even more ill from the mold that grew due to that storm.

A year later we found out my Papa had advanced cancer and he moved into my mother’s home so she could take care of him since he was a nurse. He would occasionally go over to his apartment when he was having a really hard day, and mom would bring him home before returning to his disappearing for a bit and coming back home. I later found out she was cleaning up the walls from him being so sick he would vomit on them. She still had two minor children at home, was working full time, taking care of my Papa, and cleaning her own father’s bodily fluids while still never complaining. Soon after, she called me and told me Papa was having trouble breathing. He said he did not want to go until his brother Kent came to see him. Twenty minutes after Great Uncle Kent arrived to see him, Papa was gone. When I made it to her house he had already passed, but I had to tell Santa goodbye one last time. He looked so bad. His skin was completely yellow, his teeth showed around his curled in lips. My mom checked on me to see how I was doing as her sole role model sat deceased in his favorite armchair.

We learned to live without Papa, and life went on as best as it could. I moved in with my boyfriend, Colin, just days after my 19th birthday. My mom had inspired me with her medical field journey, and I became an operating room assistant. In 2012 Colin and I were married. In 2014 we found out we were expecting. My mom was overjoyed to be a grandmother and things were finally looking up for all of us. Just a few weeks later I started bleeding at work. I miscarried that night at around 2:00am. When I called my mom the next day and told her, she asked why I had not called and told her the night before. She did not mind being woken up if her kids needed her. I could hear the heartbreak in her voice. She drove to Louisiana where I lived to take care of me. My house was filthy, and I was embarrassed but she did not care. She washed my dishes, did my laundry, and scrubbed the house so I would not have to do anything except recover. She never grieved aloud even though her face showed she was hurt by the loss too.

A few months later I received a Facebook message from a woman named Candace. I realized this was my mother’s mother. I did not know this woman. My mom barely knew this woman. All I knew was that she had hurt my mom and she could not be trusted at that time. She had also contacted my sisters, Eliza and Leah. We slowly formed a cautious bond with her via Facebook Messenger, but my mom was hesitant at first due to their history. Eventually she decided to give her another chance.

In December of 2014 Colin and I found out we were again expecting. My mom was so happy, but I could tell she was not trying to get too excited until we reached the point of viability. Rightfully so, as shortly after we found out I was pregnant we were experiencing a miscarriage again (or so we thought). When we went in to schedule the D&C and talk about fertility options, we found the heartbeat of our baby. In July of 2015 I gave birth to my 4lb 10oz daughter, Hannah Clove.

Mom was and is still obsessed with Hannah. She and Paul (Hannah’s Papa) have an inseparable bond not different than mine with my Papa had been. They get her every other weekend and spoil her like crazy before sending her home with a snack bag the size of a small grocery haul.

In January of 2021, my mother called me to let me know my grandmother was ill. She said they had made up and that my grandmother begged her not to tell the grandkids she was had end stage liver cancer. Mom said she stopped messaging us because she was in the woods in a cabin with a friend. My grandmother lived in Canada the last few years of her life. 45 minutes after I found out she was sick, my grandmother died. My mother knew her mother was dying, and she was asked not to tell anyone. She had to hold in all her internalized feelings of knowing her only surviving parent would not be around for long on top of working through forgiving her. As the narrative goes, she never complained. In fact, she apologized to us for having to keep it from us.

My mom is my inspiration to never give up, and to be there unconditionally for those you love. She is the reason I am currently working full time, going to school, trying to be the best mother to Hannah Clove as possible, and she is why I am working on my own self when I feel weak. I do not know how she did it, but I can tell you it is a beautiful thing to have a mother who creates motherhood just for you.