Mother's day was a mixed bag for me. I had to work. My mother passed away four years ago. And I couldn't spend the day with my girlfriend (she is a mother too).
For me, in order to move forward in my life I do often have to pause and look back. Not to be all pithy or trite, but the journey is as important as the destination. And despite it having been personally a very difficult and trying year I do have a destination. The first time I've had one in a very long time. Love will do that for you.
As the vast majority of my life has been a complicated one (some, but not all of which was my fault) I have to get my thoughts out of my head to make sense of them.
So.... Mother's Day. I miss my mother. Very very much. It was always a complicated relationship, and she was always a complicated person. She did her damnedest to raise two sons, but much of her life she was treated with everything from indifference to outright scorn and hatred. By the time I was old enough to understand anything at all she was already damaged goods.
When my mother graduated high school in 1953, she immediately went to Charlotte to pursue her dreams. She went to college and started to learn to dance and eventually teach ballroom dancing. She competed both nationally and internationally in ballroom dance and got the opportunity to travel the world. At the height of her career, as a teacher of teachers and a district coordinator for the largest chain of dance studios in America, she was in a very unusual place for a woman of her time. She made what we would consider today easily a comfortable six figure salary. She bought owned and ran businesses on the side with her best friend in Charlotte. She was extremely active in the Civil Rights movement and helped found one of North Carolina's first chapters of the NAACP. During this time she met her first husband Bob.
Her first husband, my brother's father, was basically a self-centered egotistical ass. What little I remember of him from my childhood gave me the impression that he cared about nobody but himself. And even though I think he cared about my brother, his ability to step outside of himself and care about other people was probably quite limited. His extramarital affairs are what led to my mother's first marriage dissolving.
Another factor was that she was tiny, and she had great difficulty having children. After she had my brother she had three miscarriages and then just gave up or so she thought. She even had a tubal ligation.
By the time my brother was 8 years old she met and fell in love with the man who would be her second husband, my father. And though I remember almost nothing pleasant about the man, I do know that he was unimpeachably brilliant. His eagle scout badge was earned by helping found the North Carolina Natural History Museum, as he was passionate about nature and wildlife.
They moved to Inglewood California and my father took up a position as a mechanical engineer with Volkswagen of North America. He even consulted with Disney and actually built the stunt cars and camera cars that were used in the Herbie the Love bug movies!
And then lo and behold I showed up. Born yes after she had her tubes tied LOL. I was born at 5 and a half months and only barely survived.
My mother and my brother would tell me stories about our early life out there because much of it I barely remember. They had a Winnebago and went out into the desert digging for gemstones on weekends. They even did volunteer work with the Smithsonian Institution. I still have fragments of some of the fossils they were allowed to keep during some of those digs.
My father did have one problem. Alcohol. It'd be too long to tell the story here, but basically he had issues with alcohol since he was a little baby. Putting alcohol in his bottle was how my grandparents "babysat" him.
Even though I know my mother told me parts of their life back then were idyllic, her as a strong-willed independent professional woman who actually earned more money than he did was the problem. And their ego conflicts led to more and more drinking on his part. His drinking got so bad that he lost his cushy position with Volkswagen. In an attempt to salvage their lives he took the family back to Charlotte his hometown. But all that did was make things worse. As this was the seventies by now, ballroom dancing was a dying art and my mother's career was functionally coming to an end. By the time we were there, my mother was 36 years old. And for a woman at the time it's kind of difficult to rebuild a career at that age after you had spent most of your life dancing and working in theater.
So then everything went to hell. The number of times my father beat my mother and put her in the hospital were countless. By the time we left I think in 1975, she was basically suffering from PTSD though she wasn't diagnosed with that until a little later.
We came back to Spartanburg her hometown to regroup when my mother left my dad. My racist asshole KKK loving Uncle used this as an opportunity to continually belittle her for decades to come. My grandmother was there to support us, but she was timid in the face of my uncle, and even my grandmother had issues with my mother and her feminism and her civil rights leanings. So we were all black sheep in a family that merely tolerated us at best.
All of this led to me having a very unpredictable mother. Unimpeachably brilliant and full of kindness she most definitely was. But I could also come home to a house destroyed, or to my mother being drunk, or to my mother threatening to commit suicide and she did more times than I can count.
When things were okay, she encouraged me to get into the performing arts myself. And so I did for many years. I sang in the South Carolina All-State chorus, and spent a few summers at the governor's School of the arts. I also did a lot of local theater. And I was always expected to keep top grades.
All of these things became escapes for me. They gave me something else to do. They allowed me to put on a face for the rest of the world that I could cope with. Being at home most of the time was wondering what the fuck was going to happen next, and knowing that I was going to have to take care of my own mother when I couldn't even take care of myself.
Things actually got better for a little while. She met an amazing man. A man by the name of Ray Russell. He was a territorial manager for Clairol products and frequented the hotel she managed at the time. They fell deeply in love. And he was a genuinely kind sweet and honorable man as I remember him.
He was also black. Their relationship did not last long. And it failed because my uncle threatened to have him and his family killed (he had children from a previous marriage that I never got the opportunity to meet).
This broke my mother's heart for the last time and afterwards she was never the same. Not even until the day she died.
The chaos got much worse. She eventually realized after an intervention by one of my friends parents that she needed help. So she voluntarily committed herself to the mental institution in Columbia to get that help. This led to me spending the better part of a year at the Spartanburg County children shelter and being inside of the nightmare of DSS and the foster care system. I did towards the end of that run get semi rescued by my brother and his wife. But his wife was a complete psychopath and it was not a very comfortable arrangement.
Eventually me and my mother were reunited, but it just wasn't the same anymore. We were on pins and needles with each other for years, and the time she spent in the hospital really didn't seem to help. She was still suicidal. Still occasionally drinking really bad, and by the time I was sixteen she had so much difficulty holding down a job that I was paying all the bills basically while we were on food stamps and AFDC.
I'll try to shrink the story a little bit at this point, because by this point I got into adulthood and got married. I had developed some really bad habits in my behavior that I wasn't really able to shed until decades later after some hard lessons and a painfully bitter divorce which because of my ex-wife's misbehaviors led to both of my children becoming damaged goods themselves.
I'd given my mother a great deal of power over me. I was always having to be the fixer. She interfered in my marriage greatly, but in hindsight probably rightly so. But I was also a superficial fixer in my marriage. I did love my wife when I married her, but we were never friends. She was just the next project. and because I had so much of my actual true self hidden I was largely miserable for most of the marriage. When my career began to falter due to corporate downsizing that's when the backstabbing and her multiple affairs started.
By the time I got divorced I was completely penniless and broke. I had literally lost everything including my family. And the only person I had to turn to was my mother. And our relationship was prickly to be kind.
When I went through my most recent downsize in 2008 I was so stubbornly opposed to doing that again that I lived in my car for a while before I finally got a job again. That job is with the company I currently work for now.
And at the same time my mother started going blind. So we did it all over again reluctantly except this time I was really genuinely taking care of a very stubborn person.
The last year's of her life I think were the only ones where she was content in any vague sense of the word. She had to rely on me because she had no other choice. But the dynamic between us changed. And it was then that I realized that I was probably the only man she had ever trusted in her whole life. Her relationship with my brother would require writing a book of its own. Their history was fraught with lies deceit theft and even violence. And before she died they never reconciled all of that.
She passed away a sad and heartbroken woman, who still tried hard to be a good mother and grandmother. She felt like throughout her entire life that no one had ever actually loved her. I know because she told me this the day before we had to put her in the hospital for the last time.
When she passed away I had very mixed feelings. Some of which I am ashamed of. But I've had four years to reflect. I felt relief when she passed away. Ashamedly it was because a lifelong burden had finally lifted. But I also felt relief for her. A lot of her story may have been tragic, but I also knew in that last year of her life that she had made her peace with a great deal of it and she was finally at some point truly okay with their being an end.
With all of her flaws, I can still say that I genuinely miss her, and I know I will for the rest of my life. Despite all the negativity above she taught me many valuable things. It is from her that I get my curiosity and my critical thinking. It is from her that I learned the value of kindness and empathy, even though she struggled to have those things in her life for herself.
She raised two boys and got them to adulthood under almost impossible odds, and did so as a fundamentally damaged person. For that I am grateful, and I'm grateful for the fact that I got to know her.
There's still a lot of pain in my heart. But there's no pain at all about what we went through growing up. Not anymore. I've tried to grow too and I put most of those things in my heart to bed a long time ago. She showed me how to do that even though she wasn't really good at it herself.
The pain that's left is simply knowing that she's gone and I'll never see her again. But that's a good pain to have, because it is the proof of the fact that she existed and she mattered.
I take all these ponderings and all these emotions and all these lessons I've learned and just hope that I can apply them moving forward in the life I hope to have from now on with the woman I love.
Thanks Mom! I love you....
