A Mother with a Thousand Faces

A Mother with A Thousand Faces

Before I get into the story of how a mother could have a thousand faces, I want to state that the story I’m about to tell was not crafted to bring any tears to your eyes. Intertwined in each paragraph are moments of joy, peace, sadness, and all sorts of emotions that are okay for you to relate to while reading. Showing emotion is being human, and that is a lesson I learned the hard way from my mother.

Some say a picture speaks a thousand words, and that simply smiling can change your mood almost instantly. I always wondered how true that saying was as a kid. You see, my real mother rarely smiled in pictures. Well, to be fair, she never really smiled at all. Throughout my childhood I would play the house Jester in hopes that the sides of her cheeks would crease even the faintest bit. Every morning before I went to class my mother would yell at me about what seemed to be the most minuscule of things. One day as I walked into class my 6th grade teacher, Mrs. Pink, stopped me before I could drag myself through the door. She said, “Jeremiah, you should smile more because you have such a beautiful smile”. She was a very charming lady with dirty blonde hair that just grazed her shoulders. I rarely smiled, but after that day I would smile every time I walked into the classroom. I would sometimes day dream as she read to us from the front of the class in her blue jean overalls about what it would be like to have a mother like her. Eventually smiling became habitual for me, that is until one rainy day in September. It is on this day that I received the news that would change my life for ever.

As I sat inside the principles office on that cloudy afternoon a multitude of thoughts scurried through my head. Why was I there? I hoped I wasn’t in trouble. Why is there a half eaten rotten apple still on Mr. Franklins desk? Where is my mom? The principle then interrupted my scatter brained moment accompanied by two police officers. “Your mother has gotten into some trouble, Jeremiah”, he said. Unfortunately, you’re going to have to live with a foster family until your mother gets out of jail. I had been smiling all day, but in this moment my face showed zero emotion. I proceeded to sluggishly pick up my back pack slinging it over one shoulder, and headed outside to meet the DSS worker that would escort me to my new temporary family.

Mrs. Yellow, or what I shall call her for the sake of this story, was a very tall woman. She wore her hair in a short bob, and always wore these very long sundresses that would pick up lint off the floor as she gracefully cleaned the house. She was my second mother. She had a face that made me wonder sometimes what she was thinking. This was my first foster home, and I rarely came out of my room. Getting good grades was never an issue for me, and I was never timid around my classmates, but social interaction between this newfound family of mine seemed to be the most difficult thing I ever had to do. One sunny afternoon as a sat in the room with the door closed, Mrs. Yellow knocked and requested that I join them in the living room for movie night. Movie night was never a thing at my real home, so even the thought of it was foreign to me. We proceeded to watch "Lord of the Rings”, and I couldn’t help but relate to Frodo in a weird way. In my lifetime I had always been searching for something, but could never put a finger on what that something was. For the first time in six months of living with Mrs. Yellow and her family, she put her arm around me, and rubbed the sides of my shoulders. I’ll never forget that afternoon. The soothing caress of her fingertips gently bringing to the surface every childhood moment I longed for my mothers love and affection. I learned many things from Mrs. Yellow, but on this day I learned the meaning of family.

I lived with over five different foster mothers before returning home to stay with the one who brought me into this world. Mrs. Brown made the best home-made cookies, and she taught me how to cook. Mrs. Purple would sit in her rocking chair while she read to me every night before bed, and I learned that I too wanted a rocking chair when I grew up. Miss Black would always sing in the shower without a care in the world about who was listening. Her singing wasn’t the greatest, but it made me realize that my opinion wasn’t going to stop her from singing. That lesson alone is the reason I’m so freely sharing my story with you today.

It’s been ten years since I left Miss Black’s home, and as I write this I’m sitting on the couch in my mother’s living room where I sleep every night. I’ve been here for the last year since the whole COVID thing happened. It get’s hard sometimes dealing with her, and her many faces. See, my mother suffers from schizophrenia. Sometimes she’s paranoid, sometimes she’s angry, and other times she still yells at me for no apparent reason. This may sound horrific to some, but during this last year of living with her I’ve grown emotionally. I realized that her many faces were triggers for me, and that I didn’t have to react negatively to every frown that she'd display. Today something amazing happened, and it inspired me to write share this story with you. Today my mother walked into the room, and for the first time in a year she apologized. She apologized for all the times she’s yelled at me. She apologized for every moment she wasn’t there to nurture me the way only a mother knows how. As I’m writing this it’s hard to see the screen, or even type for that matter, because my eyes can’t stop watering. This didn’t write this with the intentions to make anyone cry, but in the process I ended up tearing up just a little. Today something miraculous happened. Today my mother taught me the power of forgiveness. In an attempt to clear my mind, I proceeded to look at the sky, and I couldn’t help but notice the many clouds on display today. One cloud had the face of a unicorn, another a dragon, and the last cloud looked like a smily face. I then walked into my mother’s room, and for the first time in a long time I told her I loved her. It was then that the magic happened. It was then that the corners of her cheeks started to raise, and she smiled.

I’ve had many different mothers in my life, each with their own distinct personalities, teachings, and faces. Although my biological mother seems to put on a thousand different faces, the face she expressed today will be the one I picture in my my mind for years to come. They say a picture speaks a thousand words, but this picture of her I have in my head is speaking only three. I love you. Out of all the lessons I’ve learned from each and every care taker I’ve had, the one I wish I payed attention to the most is Mrs. Lovette’s lesson on grammar and punctuation. I’ve always been a great writer, but punctuation has not been my strong suit. Grammarly cost’s thirty dollars a month, and I can’t afford that right now. Who knows, maybe I’ll win this completion, get my own place, and purchase Grammarly so that I can enter more competitions. As I’m typing this I start to hear the voice of Mrs. Black singing in the shower.