Let me preface by saying I love my Mother.
So, I’ve come across many articles that praise all the wonderful things that women and men have learned from their Mothers. They’ve helped them do this and do that and without them they wouldn’t be where they are. In these articles they often say all the grand things their Mother taught them. Maybe she taught them to be kind and fair. Or maybe she taught them how to cook or jump rope.
I hear these stories and I want to nod my head with agreement. I want to also think that my Mother taught me all these wonderful priceless treasures. But, I always think about what my Mother didn’t teach me. Hooray for being a pessimist.
My mother raised me and my 3 other siblings on her own. She worked tirelessly to provide the essentials for our family. So, a good work ethic, maybe I learned that from my Mother.
I don’t remember cooking in the kitchen together or making mud pies with my Mom. I don’t remember her helping me with my homework or teaching me how to ride a bike. I don’t remember her helping to show me how to be a Mother my first night home from the Hospital.
What I do remember is her leaving. Her being too busy to show a true interest in my interests. What I do remember is her being upset for having to drive me home from the Hospital with my 2 day old daughter and then leaving as soon as I got my baby girl out of the car. What I do remember is thinking what the hell am I supposed to do. What I do remember is missing my Mother, missing a Mother when I was growing up.
I wish I could list all the wonderful things I learned from my Mother. How she is my ultimate role model and without her I wouldn’t be where I am. I am thankful that she gave me life and taught me morals and values. But it almost seems like she got to the point where she gave up on us. It’s almost like she threw in the towel and called it quits with parenting. I can remember one birthday in particular, I came home from school so excited to see my mom. But the house was still. Her car was gone. I dragged my feet up the stairs with my head down. On my bed she left an outfit and a note that said Happy Birthday Alex, I’m at XX (her boyfriends) house for the night. No words could describe the pain and the hurt I felt. It’s a feeling I’ll never forget.
Again, let me repeat I love my Mother.
Again, let me repeat I love my Mother.
I wish she could have been there with me the first night home from the hospital where I was scared out of my mind with a newborn. I wish she would have showed more interest in me and not her boyfriend. I wish she could have hugged me after my first love broke up with me. I wish she could have taught me how to cook and shared her cooking tips. I can wish for things to have been different growing up, but it won’t change what happened. And I wouldn’t want it too. And while I may be a little dysfunctional in the most fabulous way for not having a more attentive Mother, I think this is how I was supposed to be.
