Today is mother's day. Everyone is posting pics of their moms on FB and long soliloquies about how they would be no where without their mothers. Many had baby pics of them being held by their extremely proud mommies.
There are no pictures of my mother and me. Not one. The one picture there was, she ripped herself out of. It's just me on a phantom shoulder. I asked her why she did that, and she said because 'she looked fat.' She valued her vanity over my psyche. I could have easily interpreted it as her trying to get away from me. Eventually as an adult I would see it that way. There are more photos of me and grandma, than of me and mom or dad. The other photo of my mom I have is of the back of her head while driving the year before I was born. She had a high bouffant bob and cat glasses. The back of her head would be a fitting way to sum up our relationship.
My mother lives in Washington in an assisted living facility. We don't talk. We don't get along. I spoke to her probably a year ago, and we fought. She insisted I was 'limiting myself economically' by not learning to speak Spanish. Mom's doesn't understand that 'bilingual' means 'we hire latinos'. I am not latino. I told her I would learn to speak spanish when I was on my way to spain. She thought this was idiotic, since I was looking for work at the time. I am not learning a whole nother language to make the same $10 working in a call center I am trying to get away from. Spanish speaking people make a few bucks more, but it's not a good use of my time. Just not happening.
She was never available for me growing up. She's the classic narcissistic personality. She would always make sure I knew I was a burden to her. That he life would be so much simpler if she didn't have me to raise. She would say things like 'I let you live in my house.' and 'The law says I have to feed and clothe you.' But she did the bare minimum. Cooking a meal was out of the question. So I lived on cereal, salad and sandwiches most of the time. I learned to make macaroni and cheese and spaghetti, so I cooked for myself. She was depressed so she spent most of her days in bed, or parked in front of the television ignoring me. I could go weeks without any eye contact from her. Days without a word. It was hell. When I lived with her parents I felt loved and like a kid. There were meal times, and help with homework, there were trips in the summer, and friends over. My grandma was my mother. Grandma was who I called on mother's day when she was alive. She would always get very serious and say I should call my mother. I would politely decline. She would tell me 'Call her, she thinks she's a bad mother. Just call her.' I couldn't disagree. I would begrudgingly call her. She would argue that she was a horrible mother. I would half assedly tell her she wasn't. It was pathetic and really inauthentic on both our parts. When grandma passed, the ritual stopped.
My mother was my jealous older sister. The only time she seemed invested in me is when my father wanted to be with me. Then she would fight tooth and nail for me, only to ignore me when she got me. I was a doll for them to fight over. When I wasn't a cute little kid anymore, their attitudes toward me shifted in a way to say I had betrayed them in some way. Because I didn't stay little and cute.
I can't bring myself to celebrate this woman. To call her and wish her happy squeezing me out and abandoning me day. For making up lies about me to spread far and wide so people would reject me. For insuring I was at every disadvantage coming up because you refused to lift a finger to help me with anything. For breaking promise after promise, for standing in my way because you couldn't cope with me being good at anything. For calling me names when I was down. For telling me 'it was my choice' when I was suicidal and couldn't take anymore..
I dread anyone ever asking about my relationship with my parents. I never come out and say ' I don't have one with either of them.' I try and remember the high lights and spin them into some fairy-tale about what good times we had. My dad as more of these than good old mom. Mom has one big one. My father kidnapped me when I was 6 for half a year and she somehow was able to track me down. She drove for days to come rescue me, and then have my father put in the brig. But after that, she went back to ignoring me again.
All the success and happiness I achieve is despite you. I have flashes of moving you to California, so we can be in eachother's lives for the remainder of yours. So we can try to have some good memories before you die. I keep remembering how after grandpa died and grandma was alone in the house. She fell getting out of the tub, and no one found her for three days. I was across country when I found this out I cried and cried and cried. I am crying now even remembering it. My mom has set her life up the exact same way. Except since she lives in a facility, she could yell loud enough for someone to hear her if that ever happened. Grandma lived in the house grandpa built for her the year I was born. Neighbors weren't close enough to hear anything. The bathroom was in the back of the house as well. So if the mailman came to the front, he wouldn't hear her screaming in there.
I do want to be able too have a friendship with her. To hang out without fighting or her calling me names or making attempts to make me feel like a failure in life. He brother lives in the same town as her and won't see her. She is the type of person who only calls when she wants something from you. She never calls him just cause, or would go and visit just to shoot the breeze. They were never close; but managed to help eachother out over the years here and there. My uncle is too old to be her fix it man. He's well into his 70's and not in the greatest health. His daughter's have forbade him from seeing my mom. He's cool with it. No one in the family is crazy about her. She has managed to offend everyone, and she has the reputation of being miserable and abusive. So no one wants to be around her. When people come to town to see my uncle, the skip seeing my mom.
I want to see her anyway. But I feel like I need to be a size 6 and engaged for her to not go in on me. I have made it a point never to lie about my life to my mother. Never to make up stories about how successful I am or who I'm dating. I never thought it was worth it to lie to her. I guess people do that so their parents don't feel like failures or something. I don't care if she does. I'm not going to lie about a very real journey I am on for her feelings. There is no doubt I have to be emotionally prepared to see her, and prepared to walk out on her again.There were times in the past she was so abusive I told her if she didn't stop I would walk out and she wouldn't see me anymore. She thought I was kidding. I haven't seen her in 20 years.
I left 14 years ago. She flipped out when I moved away. Like I was supposed to clear it with her, or tell her I was going. For what? We only talk on the phone anyway? What difference does it make if I am in Washington, Florida, Paris, or California?
It's hard not to fly the middle finger on mother's day.
It really is.
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