A lifetime of therapy and a basket full of a million other blessings – you would think I would be over it by now.
Over who she was (and more importantly - wasn't) to me.
Over her.
And most days, I truly do believe I am. I don’t think about her. I don’t yearn for a conversation with her. I don’t ever find myself missing her.
If anything… I sometimes miss who she was supposed to be. The mother so many of my friends seem to have. The one who is there, and supportive, and loves them unconditionally.
But my mom? There just isn’t much there for me in terms of longing for more from her.
Because I know what she’s capable of. And the sad truth is – it isn’t much.
I don’t remember things about her really. I couldn’t tell you her birthday if my life depended on it. I don’t know if she’s a Pisces, or a Leo, or an Aquarius. I don’t know what she does for fun, or how she earns a living. I can't even really remember what she did for work when I was growing up.
Some days I think that all I do remember, is how it felt the day she let my dad pack up my bags without putting up a fight at all.
The day we drove away, and I knew… my mother would never be a part of my life again. She had given up. She had actually given up years before, but that was the day.
The day she officially decided she had better things to do.
I was just a kid, but I acted so strong. So tough. Because there was no way I was ever going to let her know how much she had hurt me.
But we weren’t a block away before I broke down. Before my dad had to pull over in a 7/11 parking lot and hold his sobbing 13 year old daughter until she could breathe again.
I like to believe that I’ve healed that piece of my heart that she broke so long ago, but sometimes something will happen and it brings it all right back up to the surface for me.
The feelings of abandonment.
Of being tossed aside.
Of not being loved enough to be worthy of being fought for.
To be worthy of being a priority.
And it always slaps me in the face. Leaves me sitting in shock and thinking “I thought I was over this?”
My mom is not a bad person, and she never actually means to hurt anyone. In fact, I really don't think she has a cruel bone in her body. But… she doesn't have a maternal bone in her body either.
She just doesn't know how to do it. How to be a mother. How to think about another person's needs or feelings. How to stop for one moment and evaluate her actions in terms of someone else. She doesn't know how to put anyone else ahead of her own wants and desires.
She never did.
It's not an act of cruelty on her part. It's just an act of not knowing how to do any better.
And I know that. I know that she just isn't capable of more. Which is why I tend to think I’m over it. Because it just is what it is. She just is who she is. You can’t even be mad at her because… she just doesn’t know any better. She doesn’t know how to be any different.
She just is who she is.
And most days, I don’t even think about it. I don’t even think about her.
But today I was out running errands when I passed the Hallmark store. And we all know what a draw the Hallmark store is to me. So, I ducked in – telling myself I was just going to check to see if there were any new Fresh Ink cards. I wasn’t going to buy; I just wanted to look.
Which for the record – is what I tell myself every time.
I quickly discovered that the Fresh Ink display had been packed away though, and I couldn’t figure out why. I did 3 circles around the store before finally asking the clerk where my favorite cards had disappeared to.
She explained to me that they had been packed away but would be back after the holiday.
“What holiday?” I inquired. Still completely and totally clueless.
The lady looked at me like I was stupid, and then she said “Mother's Day. We get more cards in for this than at any other time of year.”
Yeah… I don’t really pay attention to Mother’s Day. Even walking into the store, I had somehow managed to avoid noticing the signs and balloons all over the place.
I think I must mentally block Mother's Day out. Because most years, I swear - I don't even realize it's happening at all.
I sheepishly walked away, feeling like the idiot I had portrayed myself to be. So for good measure, I stopped at a rack of cards just to look like I was seriously considering which one to buy.
I leafed through a few, simply biding my time and scanning the lines before I inexplicably found myself sucked in. Picking card after card and indulging in the sappy sentiments.
I couldn’t help but get choked up. Reading those words (those odes to mothers everywhere); it hurt. Because there was nothing generic about these cards. Nothing short and sweet, or straight and to the point. These cards were declarations of love and adoration. They were detailed accounts of everything a mother should be.
Everything my mother wasn’t.
I sat there reading the cards and realizing that even if I did get a wild hair and wanted to send her one… none of them would work. Because they all spoke to traits and qualities that she didn’t possess. Fond memories that we didn’t have.
I read these cards feeling left out. Yearning for the mothers described within the words. The mothers who would do anything for you. Who would wipe your tears and hold your hand. The mothers who are loyal and true. The ones who don’t give up. Don’t walk away. And don’t throw you in the trash like you never mattered at all.
The mothers who mean it when they say they’ll always be there for you.
I read these cards, and I was overcome by sadness. Mommy issues brimming to the surface and choking the back of my throat with tears.
Some days I think I’m over it. That it doesn’t matter and I don’t care. That I am strong, and capable, and happy without a mother at all.
But then some days I wonder…
Do the mommy issues ever really go away?
