More Mom

Good morning! It's another beautiful day out. My daughter and I had scheduled to go shopping, but I think that's out now since she's embroiled in preparing for a move to another apartment.

Today, I'd like to talk more about my mother. I won't say that she and I always had a good relationship, but I loved her - deeply. When I was a teenager and we'd fight, Mom would ask me if it was time for my period. Don't ever do this to your teen, because it feels as if you're negating everything she's trying to say. Also, because Dad could sweet talk and express his emotions better than Mom could, there was a time when I was alienated from my mom. I just didn't understand that supporting us, putting clothes on our backs, feeding us was more important than words alone. The turning point for me came when my Dad was going to keep me out of school past spring break. I had accepted the role of the "good girl," so this was intolerable to me. I insisted that he return me to school - which meant having to live with my mom. It was only over long years of observation and my own growth that I began to appreciate all that Mom did for me.

I guess it had something to do with the times. My husband said that his parents couldn't say they loved him until they were much older, and that's the way it was with Mom. My older brother considered her to be cold. My dad insisted that she was frigid. I don't know how much of that was because of the times or because of the abuse. But Dad's ability to talk sweetly and compliment (when he wasn't hitting or berating us) was what drew me closer to him. Somehow I could overlook the abuse for those few little nuggets of pleasure with my dad and the words "I love you." That is...until I got older and appreciated the reality of the situation (Dad was bipolar and alcoholic, and I could no longer talk to him without him twisting my words around and us getting into a fight) and chose to cut off ties (for my own sanity) and live with Mom.

Another sign of the times was when Dad broke Mom's nose and hit me. Mom whisked away to her mom's house. When Dad came knocking, though, her mother recommended that she give him another chance. This was typical of her own era in which she lived - The Depression era - where women were to stay married no matter what. The same "no matter what" thinking kept me in a tumultuous relationship for eight years as a young adult. That, and the idea that somehow I had the magical ability to make someone change when he didn't want to. For a person who grew up reading fairy tales and dreaming of a happy marriage, this wasn't unusual. Fortunately, I learned later that it's important to share certain values and interests.

Mom helped me in every endeavor I tried. I remember her helping me to build a cave out of paper mache when I was a child and helping me with my homework. When I was older, she would get up early in the morning to drive me to Madrigal Singers rehearsal and stay up late at night to pick me up from play rehearsals. My brothers and I were her whole life. Since she was a single Mom, I don't think she ever had a nice night out with friends.

When I was older still, she helped me get into college, and even when I worked as a clown for a bit, she designed business cards for me.

Dad is not entirely to blame, since he was bipolar (untreated) and alcoholic. I like to think that he would have behaved differently if he had been sober and treated. When I sought help for myself, I went to some Adult Children of Alcoholic meetings and met some recovering alcoholics there. The one thing that seemed to remain after the alcohol was gone was a great sense of humor. I miss my Dad's laughter and sense of humor.

You would think that just stopping the drinking would turn the person into a great guy, but the drinking usually masks some other problem that has to be addressed, and alcoholics also get used to something referred to as "stinking thinking" that they have to work through.

I went to some ACoA meetings (and AL-ANON meetings), but I chose to do much of my growth in therapy. I want to write a book about my life and what I experienced, but what always stopped me was the fact that I'm still not fully recovered. Effects of the past manage to linger on for some people like me, catch up with you when things appear to be going well. Still, maybe I have something worthwhile to say and will write the book. In the meantime, here is a photo of the house we lost when I was in sixth grade.

It was on Janneys Lane in Alexandria, Virginia. It was a magnificent house, and it broke Mom's heart to lose it. It had two side porches, a circular driveway in front and behind the house, a lovely attic with an etched-glass entryway, a huge basement with storage room, a coal cellar (with bats!), and an office, and a multi-tiered back porch. Mom missed most the rock garden on the side of the house. I missed having my own bedroom and friends I had to leave behind. I have reconnected with some of them via Facebook, but still there seems to be something about having grown up all of your childhood with the same friends. But I have become pretty good at meeting and becoming friends with new people. Where I was once shy and afraid, I have in time become more out-going and brave. Part of it is due to the therapy, and part of it is due to the meds for my own depression, anxiety, Obsessive-Compulsive disorder, and post-traumatic stress syndrome. No, I didn't serve in the armed services. Many people who grew up in violent homes suffer from PTSD, too.

Anyway, today I leave you with a photo of our house we lost. Dad's behavior was becoming more erratic while we lived there, and everything went downhill after that. In the picture, I am in sixth grade. I finished up the last half of sixth-grade while living in a hotel in Virginia Beach and attending Linkhorn Park Elementary School. Fortunately, we were never on the streets (had family to live with). However, Dad lived in his car for a while - until we let him back inside with the family and the cycle began again (sigh).

So I am truly, truly grateful for the wonderful family I have now, a house to keep us warm, plenty of blankets, good times, a car to get where I need to get, and a good job that makes me smile. I'm grateful that the therapy I got has helped me to move forward in life and that I didn't fall into drinking or drugging. I'm grateful for good meds, good therapy, fun times, my husband and kids, my brothers, good friends - and having had my mom for 92 years. I wish old stuff didn't trip me up at times, but life in-between those times is great, and I am most grateful for it.

Well, I feel symbolically "winded," so I guess I'd better bring this to a close. Have a good day, Everybody!