It's Mother's Day again. A day, a weekend, a time that is pure torture for someone like me.
I rarely ever saw my mom on Mother's Day weekend the last few years of her life because I lived out of state, and would come home on memorial day weekend. I regret I didn't make that effort, but she never held it against me.
My mom was in no way perfect. She rarely cooked dinner for us when we were growing up. Breakfast was unheard of in our house, except on weekends when dad would cook. I learned how to cook any number of revolting things by the time I was in third grade. My sisters helped me because they got tired of making food for me. I don't blame them. I never went hungry or anything, I just fended for myself. After my sisters left for college, I would cook dinner for mom, dad and I. I just wanted to eat. I truly grew up on junk food.
What mom was good at was advice. She had this knack for knowing what people were like. Instinct. She was almost always right. I could always talk to her about anything. She was my confidant, and she never me better than anyone. Everyone loved my mom. She was a fantastic person.
My best friend, Becky, came to visit once in college, and my mom cooked. Becky was overwhelmed because her mom didn't cook either. My mom became Becky's hero. Someone she could talk to and look up to. The other day, Becky asked for my opinion about something, and before I answered I tried to channel my mom. I asked myself what my mom would say to her. I hope I said the right thing. Becky had texted me two weeks ago saying she had run into someone who looked just like my mom in an elevator. The woman noticed Becky staring, and engaged her in conversation. It was a professor, and this woman encouraged Becky (who was on her way to a final), and gave her advice. Becky said she thought it was my mom looking down on her from heaven and watching over her. "Suzy, sent me encouragement just when I needed it," she said.
Many people talked to my mom, because she was that kind of person. Every decision I made, was discussed thoroughly with mom. Only once did I go against her advice, and I was wrong.
My mom always knew things without being told. And I could read her, too. When I discovered my health problems, she tried so hard to comfort me. After Cole had grown out of it, she kept up the baby crib in her house. One day I told her she needed to take it down. She looked at me. I told her I wasn't going to give her any grandchildren, and it hurt me to see the crib. I told her I was sorry. Tears filled her eyes. I knew she kept it up with the hope I would be able to get pregnant and produce another grandchild. I just looked at her and said it's not going to happen. That was a defining moment for me. My dad and I took it apart the next week.
Mom helped me deal with my pain. She understood that baby showers are painful for me, although I could not have more happiness for my friends when they had children. She understood why I held back in relationships. The not being able to have children thing really messed with me. It still does. She understood that I when I saw a friend neglecting her child, I had to back away because there was nothing I could do, and it pained me too much to see that child screaming for his mother's attention, while she stood by and ignored him. Mom also knew I didn't come home for mother's day, because it depressed me too much.
Mother's Day is a day that reminds me of two things, one, that no one will ever wish me a happy mother's day, and two, that I will never be able to celebrate the day again with my wonderful, beautiful mother.
I love you, momma! I miss you every day!!!
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Saturday, May 11, 2013
"One More Night" by Maroon 5 is a good song. I love it for the beat, the catchiness and the lyrics.
I quoted it months ago after the cluster on NYE when I, with full knowledge, indulged with one more night with my ex. The evening was enlightening. I used the line I woke up feeling satisfied, but guilty as hell, the second I left his house. I knew I would never go back.
Fast forward. Last night someone used the term on me. Paraphrased, they contemplated what wouldn't they give for one more night with me. It got me to thinking.
How many of us would take the chance for one more night with the one who got away? It wouldn't change anything. The past cannot be erased. Is it worth the risk to revisit a history that can't be a future?
In the same conversation I was having, we talked about how the grass is always greener no matter what side you are on. I am no angel. I don't pretend to be. I have had some good times. I'd give up my good times for chance to have a family, but that wasn't my path. And there are those who chose the family path that look on my path with envy. It's a lot more complicated when you have baggage.
The stops on my path sometimes have meaning, and sometimes they don't. Sometimes the lack of meaning causes the most harm. Self-destructive behavior has a play in those instances. It is rare that the stops can stay uncomplicated.
Back to one more night, someone said they'd like one more chance with me, if even for a night. It's easy to blow that off and not take it seriously. What are the chances of it even happening? Not likely. And talk about a path screaming "complicated" at you.
Actually surprises me someone would think about me at all, much less want to revisit a past with me. Now I understand it's complicated. I'm not sure if its good thing or a bad. I just know the thought of one more night is intriguing.