Wednesday, April 27, 2011

My mother

Last night I was watching a show. And it got me thinking about life and all the pain and hurt I have suffered in life. And I am not talking physical pain. I am talking emotional and mental pain. As a kid growing up, I spent most of my time at my grandparent’s house. My grandmother practically raised me. I have 2 uncles who made it their goal in life to tease and torment me to the point of tears. And they wouldn’t stop until they had pushed me there. And they always pushed for more. Either it was holding me down and tickling me until I couldn’t breath, grabbing me by the arms and legs and swinging me until they threw me into the pool. Or the cat that didn’t like me and they would throw me and the cat into a closet together and shut the door. Either way, they were not happy and enjoying themselves until they had me scared and in tears.

My mom on the other had was a different story. I didn’t see her much. Nor was she around much to attend social events such as school functions or sports that I played. I always felt I was a burden to my mother. I always felt as if she didn’t want me when she got pregnant at 17. I was always being pawned off on someone. I remember one time we went to one of her friend’s house and they pushed us kids out the door to go play. I remember trying to get back in the house because it had started to rain only to find the doors locked. I went around trying to look in the windows and remember finding one open a little. Before trying to open it, I heard some moaning. I peeked in window and saw my mom and this couple engaged in sex. My mom took me to her 3-way. After wards her and her friends were smoking pot in the presence of the kids. What a great mom I have huh?

My mom remarried when I was 6 and had another kid. I recently found some pictures of me and my baby sister when she was a new born. I remember the house that picture was taken in. I also remember after my sister was born, mom was back to her old whoring ways. I remember her and my step dad fighting all the time. About whom she was fucking. What drugs she was taking. So on. My mom spent too much time partying and fucking others instead of being a mother. I remember one time walking to the bus stop and my mom passing me on her way home from staying out all night partying and fucking. At the time I didn’t know she was fucking, but now that I look back at it, I know she was. Lipstick smeared. Hair all messed up. Clothes wrinkled. Tell tale signs of a night of sex and partying. I know. I have been there done that. Like mother like son huh?

When I was 13, my step father died suddenly and unexpectedly in an auto accident. He and another guy were on the interstate when their car was hit head on by a truck. I remember the accident happening on a Thursday. I know it was a Thursday because that was the night that The Cosby show was on TV. I remember my mother coming into the living room asking if he had called. It was about 8:10. I said no. The next time I saw my mother it was 3:30 in the morning and she was crying in the arms of one of the many police officers that had gathered at our apartment. My step father was a cop. So him dying was a big thing. I remember waking to the sounds of people talking. I looked out the window and saw a lot of flashing blue lights. After walking downstairs and seeing my mother, I bolted back upstairs and grabbed my sister and pulled her into bed with me. We buried ourselves under the covers not knowing what was going on downstairs. A few minutes later my grandfather came up the stairs and told me of what happened. I laid there in bed and cried myself to sleep. Looking back, my sister had no clue what was going on. In fact, I don’t remember her shedding a tear about his death until many years later when she was in high school.

My mom was never the same. Drinking, more drugs, more men, more whoring. When I was 17, a senior in high school, my mother mentioned suicide to me. Told me that my sister and I are going to be better off without her around. I remember crying and asking her why as she drove away. A couple hours later, still scared and not knowing what to do, I remember hearing a gun shot. And I remember thinking that was it. My mother took her own life. I curled up in my dark room, in the corner and cried and cried and cried. Sometime later I remember hearing the front door open and close. Running down stairs hoping to see my mom, I was greeted by my sister who was coming home from a friend’s house. Composing myself I didn’t want my sister to see that I had been crying. The next morning, I woke up to the smell of bacon frying. My mom was home. Later that day as she slept, I looked at her gun and there was a bullet missing. My mom had tried killing herself.

My grandfather passed away a week after my first marriage. My first marriage was a disaster. Leading up to the wedding date, my mom tells me she has disowned me, she doesn’t have a son anymore and she will not be attending my wedding. The day of the wedding arrives, I am standing in the back waiting to come out and I peek out to see how many have showed up. Sitting in the front row was my mom and sister. Running out, I hugged her tightly and thanked her for coming. I was a total mess the rest of the night. Bawling my eyes out. Not because she showed up. But because of what she said. Even to this date, when I think about that it makes me cry. Why would a mother say that to her own child? By this point in my life, you would think I would be strong and immune to the shit my mother had put me through. I was 20 years old after all and for 20 years I had put up with mental and emotional abuse from my own mother. Combined with what my uncles did to me, I should be a hardened individual. No, I was still a fucking weakling.

I moved to Lexington 8 years ago in hopes to start a new life and to escape my past. A year later my mother died suddenly and unexpectedly. I got a call saying she had been found unconscious and laying in her own blood. I rushed back home to the hospital to find her laying in a bed with tubes in her and machines keeping her alive. For 8 hours I let the doctors do what they could to help save her. Medicines, central lines but no surgeries. Her health was so bad that she could not make it through a surgery. Mom had told me many many times to never let a machine keep her alive. She stated if she was going to die, then let her die. I did not want to pull the plug. I wanted my mom around. Why I don’t know. When I finally told the doctors no more, this is what mom wanted, inside I was heart broken. But I was also bitter. Bitter because mom was getting what she always wanted. OUT!!! She wanted to die. She wanted to get away from life.

I remember sitting in that chair next to her bed holding her hand. I remember talking to her telling her to go. To be with her husband. To be with grand daddy. I told her I would care for my sister. I told her to just die. Die because I was glad to be rid of her. Then I broke down. I cried for the first time over my mother. I cried. I gave a eulogy at my mother’s funeral. My mother led a life full of lies. Leading up to the funeral I didn’t know what to say. I realized I didn’t know my mother. So what did I do? I lied. When her casket went into the ground and the last shovel of dirt was thrown on. After the attendants from the cemetery had left. After the hearse was gone, after everyone had left, I sat there and cried. I cried because I pulled the plug. I killed my mother. I told her to die. To this day I miss my mother. To this day I am what she has made me. A cold bitter twisted individual. I am my mother.


Sylvia said...

I just stumbled on your blog and I found it to be very interesting. Despite what you went through, you are who you are because you had to survive and apparently you wanted to. We can't pick our parents but we can choose to not make the choices that they did. My parents could have and should have been better. But people are selfish and hold tightly to there perceived entitlements. Please keep writing.

Strictnstern4u said...

Hi Sylvia. Thanks for finding me. Hope you have enjoyed reading. Thanks for the kind words. Although I hate my mother for what she did to me, I still love her because well, she is my mother. And you are right, we can choose our parents, we have to live with the hand that has been dealt to us.