For The Love Of Mother

Something finally snapped inside my soul

All the secrets and shame that I could no longer hold

I poured my heart out to you

I thought at long last this was my big breakthrough

Years and years of abuse and trauma

To you all it was, was made up teenage drama

"It's OK because my father did it to me" was not the answer I was looking for

You were my mother, I expected and deserved so much more

Over 30 years have now went by

When I think of this is still brings tears and sorrow to my eyes

How do I strip you of this power?

You and my abusers were nothing but cowards

You should have supported me, should have had my back

The grace of forgiveness is something I've searched for but so far lack

That's the self-written poem that I wanted to read out loud standing before a room of family and friends at my mother's memorial service. I wanted her to know the anguish that ripped my soul from pain that I had carried for so many years. I wanted her to hurt as badly as I did in that moment. I looked around the room at all of the grieving faces especially those of my siblings. Faces that looked to me longing to her something loving and brilliant. faces that looked to me for strength and courage. I then took a lingering side glance at her urn sitting on the table surrounded by beautiful white flowers as I reluctantly swallowed my bitterness. It went down like molten lava as I fought back my tears. Tears of sadness, sure there was that, but also of wrath and disappointment that I would never get the closure that I had yearned for from her. I managed to warble out a poem that I found on the internet in my strained attempt to say something meaningful for all those that had attended that day.

Watching her draw her last breath as she lay motionless in her hospice bed wasn't nearly as satisfying as I thought it would have been. I carried so much resentment towards her for all of my adult life but recognized she was the only mother I had. My internal dialogues were off the charts thinking of all the things she needed to atone for sprinkled in with happy memories from my childhood. As I sat next to my sister in silence trying to comfort her, listening and watching our mother's every ragged breath, I couldn't help but to just feel numb. I dutifully put on my strong and silent façade fulfilling my role as the big sister plodding through the next couple of months handling mother's affairs and planning a memorial that would benefit everyone but me.

She had only been diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer a few months before. We knew the end was coming and unsuccessfully attempted to plan her final wishes while she was still with us but would not be prepared for the turn of events at Thanksgiving. I went out of town for Thanksgiving weekend, breaking tradition with having dinner with my family. I got the call at dinner from my sister who said she had been admitted to the hospital after passing out. When i returned and went to the hospital she was mostly unresponsive except for a final dig at me for not attending the family dinner. "Oh! Well look at Miss Ohio". I shrugged it off amid the bustling scene of nurses, doctors and other health care workers updating on her condition and advising me on the next steps in her care. Medical and financial decisions were thrust upon then and for the next several months. Why did I have to be the one? We didn't even really like each other. My siblings had very different experiences with her. Most of the time I never even felt like she had any genuine love for me. Why did I feel so conflicted about giving up Thanksgiving with her? Why couldn't she have made it until Christmas at least?

Our relationship had been strained ever since we lost my dad. He basically killed himself in a drunk driving accident when i was young, he was the drunk driver. My sister was just a toddler and mother was 6 months pregnant with our brother. I remember that day so vividly. On a muggy Florida August afternoon I had been playing at my best friends house down the road. Her mother flung the bedroom door open with a look of dread and said she had to take me home. I thought maybe Michelle was about to get in trouble for something though I couldn't imagine what for. I reluctantly got in the car hoping that she would change her mind about taking me home. As Eileen turned the corner to my block there was an ambulance, police and a clutch of neighbors gathered in my yard. Eileen immediately started crying while my eyes grew wide. I think I must have instantly developed my life long skill in that moment for my mind to race while seemingly frozen. I slowly walked into the house and found my mom weeping at the kitchen table. The afternoon sunshine cascaded beautifully through the window but the air was strangely heavy. I went to hug her, she wrapped her arms around me and sobbed to me that he was gone. I didn't really know what she meant. I was sure Dad would be home later if that's who she was talking about. They had fought many times before and he always came back. I couldn't process why she was so upset this time and thought she was just being overly dramatic as she often was. I think it immediately tainted her image of me and love for me that I wasn't having the reaction that she expected. I wanted to comfort and quiet her but I was only 9 years old and simply had not comprehended the gravity of the situation It wouldn't really sink in until days later at his funeral when I stood in front of his casket just staring at him wondering why he left us.

it's an odd thing comparing the deaths of your parents. Peculiar how one can leave you with a lifelong aching and the other reconciling grief and resentment. As an adult I came to understand of the things that my mother went through in her life. I could understand her bitterness and hurt. She had endured much raising 3 kids on her own at a young age. What I didn't understand was how she continually directed that bitterness toward me and held me liable for things beyond my control. How could she treat me like I was somehow an imposition rather than a loved child? How could she fail me so many times in my childhood? I don't think I will ever really know the answer but I am working towards arriving at a place in my life where I don't really need it.