Mama, I am here

 My words to my mom since she moved to Alabama in 2007, were always "One day soon I will come visit you." While she was in Alabama and prior to my husband completing all of his Army training, I did go to Alabama every so many months. 

The visits were exhausting. They left me feeling defeated, confused, sometimes even a little angry. Always I would go with the intent to stay a week and return within 2 days. The constant television, literally 24 hours a day. The lack of a routine, my mom and grandmother would sleep all day and stay up all night. I would go first with just my oldest, but then after I remarried, I would have my infant in tow as well. I wanted to help her and my grandmother and would often be met with indifference or discouragement. The visiting pastor was a braggart, hard to deal with and clearly taking advantage of two senior citizens who really need his assistance. 

Always I wanted a relationship with my mom. Always I wanted her to love me. Always I wanted her approval. 

I knew I was never her favorite. I knew that she feared me, which I don't understand fully why, unless this stems from my wildly varying emotions. I often wondered if she just didn't like me, but tolerated me.

My insecurities to this day stem from the chaos of her verbal tirade of judgement, ridicule, and sometimes her sense of humor and laughter. 

We had good times. Oh, how I loved her laugh. It was always so fun when her mischievous side would come out. When the day was good, it was oh so good. I learned to hide my candy, and to never share it from her. I have now taught my daughter to do the same. Is this a point of pride?

She was an amazing grandmother to my oldest son. She truly loved that little boy. He adored her as well. The relationship that they had was beautiful. If it had not been for her, I most likely could not have gotten through my pregnancy and his first few years of life. The raw truth is that I wanted to die. 

I tried so hard to deny that situation. I did not want to admit to myself that I was going to have a baby. I drank heavy, I smoked heavy, I lived my crazy life hoping beyond hope that it would all magically disappear, but it did not. I cried a lot. I lamented my predicament to anyone who would listen. I could not see a blessing. I even let one of my supposed friends, who was a professed Wiccan, to "perform a ritual to end it all." Well, the reality was, it was a way to take advantage of me. To perform an act that I otherwise would not have done with him. I was in a dark place. A place where many cannot pull themselves out of. I nearly did not. 

When I was sixteen, I had made the same mistake. I was dating a guy who really didn't care about me and I didn't care about him. He wanted to do the deed all of the time. I thought that was how you kept a boyfriend, was to give up the goods. It ended in a pregnancy and his mother told me I was a slut. I guess in a way I was. My savior from that summer was my mother. I had been staying with my Dad while she was out of town with a friend. I was sick. I was depressed. I could not do anything without being sick. My first two pregnancies were like this. Sickness like waves. Sickness every time I moved. Puking, puking, and more puking. But when my mother returned, I told her the truth. It hurt. She yelled at me she called me a slut and I ran from the house to her friend's house. Her friend talked to her and to me. A decision was made and between the two of them I was ushered off to Atlanta to have an abortion at just over 10 weeks. To this day, I don't know if she ever told my Dad, I haven't. That is my shame to bear. 

There were many times when she would use it as fuel against me. She would tell other mothers that they should not let their daughters hang around me because I was a bad influence. Maybe she was ashamed of me, or maybe I had proved her prediction correct. When I was 12 and wanting to go skating with my friends, she always drove home the point that I was a slut. She kept that in the forefront of our relationship until I moved out with my first future ex husband. 

I struggle daily with my inner demons. I struggle to hold it all together. I judge myself harshly. I imagine that my mother judged herself harshly as well. All those strange diets and diet pills that eventually cause her liver to have issues. I listened to her complain because my father called her fat. And honestly, he did call her fat. His obsession with weight is another thing that has followed me through my life.  From my father I would hear things like "you can't wear black nail polish, lipstick, whatever because people will talk about you" Don't leave your truck at the bar because someone I work will see it and think it is me there" 

All my life, I have felt suppressed. I have felt like I had to fit into a box, that I have never been able to fit into. I have a part of my heart that beats wild. A part of me that likes to bend the rules and be mischievous. I want to be fun. I want to be see as fun. 

And now I am here. After being in El Paso and my mom in Alabama, where I didn't go visit her because my oldest son was in Tennessee. I know I didn't try hard enough to make her a priority. Then I am in Tennessee and she is in Michigan. I made it to Michigan one time to see her. I decided to not go the second time I was planning a trip. I felt pressure from my husband not to travel too much. I felt like my medical necessary trip for my middle son was the only trip I could make that summer. 

It took so much to call her. I had to think for days, build up my mind, that it was time to call. It took a lot to get to the point to just call her, let alone visit her. 

Yet all my life I wanted her to love me. 

Now I am in Michigan. I will live in Michigan for three years. I am not so far from where she last lived. When my husband and I drove through her tiny little town and the entire time I felt like the breath had left my body. I felt the urge to puke and to cry and to lash out at the world for a pain that won't leave me be. 

Now I walk next to the darkness that I imagine also tried to trap my mom. The darkness that tries to trap me. With suicide like a back up plan. And the irony is only one person in my entire life ever caught on to the fact that I live with suicide like a devil on my shoulder. My Junior English teacher read a poem I wrote on the back of a test about standing on the edge of a mountain  trying to decide if I should leap or not. She read that for what it was, a cry for  help. No one since that moment has ever answered my cries for help. 

When my oldest was three I was going through severe depression. I stayed inside of my truck with him. I drove around and around and around our town for hours on end. I did this because I was so deeply sad. I had put myself in a relationship with a narcist who only wanted to bring me down because I appeared too proud. And bring me down he did. It nearly destroyed me. I nearly lost everything because the pit opened and I fell into and I had no desire to crawl out. I begged my Dad to help me, and he told me I was fine. I tried to talk to my mom and she said "you only think of yourself" 

The next time I was that low, I was carrying another baby. My Dad took every opportunity to tell me how embarrassing it was that I was not married and here I am pregnant. He tried to send me away he tried to convince me to give baby away. I nearly did. And then I named baby a non family name and shit once again hit the fan. He called my son "grandson" until he was at least 5 or older. 

When my husband was on his first overseas tour, I begged and begged my Dad to drive me into Nashville to the mental hospital. I was exhausted. I was depressed. I had just lost a friend that had turned out to be a snake. I was overwhelmed with the health issues between my youngest two kids and having recently losing custody of my oldest son. I wanted to walk into that building and feel the cool air conditioning against my hot summer skin. I wanted to hear the deep silence. I wanted a place to sleep and to hide. But my Dad told me not to go. I guess he was right. It would have put my husband in a bad spot with the Army. Reality is, that someday, I should probably go to a place like that for the peace that I crave. 

And then I lost my mom. My mom is gone. The mom I wanted to please, to visit, to love, to have a relationship with. She is gone. Three years later I still feel the loss deeply. I feel like I didn't try hard enough. Three years later I am at a weird place in my life. I feel lost, but hopeful. I feel dejected. I feel like I am over whelmed. I know I am blessed to be where I am. I know I am blessed to have all that I have. But the sadness and the darkness surround me and threaten me and try to usher me out. 

I always wanted my mom to love me. And know my words "one day I will see her soon" are like a lifeline to madness. 

Confessions of a Not so Ordinary Mom: Here I am

 Let's start here, we survived the holidays, we survived a move, we survived all the variables that could have made it all go sideways. 

Homeschooling came to a stop the week of Thanksgiving. We were ready and eager to head to Tennessee to see our families before we moved North. This almost did not happen due to exposure to Covid the week before that week. We were tested and we quarantined until we were sure that we did not have it and our results came back. Our trip was shortened in order to keep all parties safe. It was a quick trip and I did not get to visit all my favorite hometown places. We had fun. The kids loved having and early Christmas, we loved good conversation, laughs and food. 

Home. 

That is when the crazy began to creep in on us. We were in an in between place. Pretty much everything that could be packed, was packed. I learned that my husband and I had entirely too much clothing and shoes. My inward panic of what I might have to leave behind ensued. It turned out to be justified panic. 

When go time arrived we woke up early, headed out to pick up our moving truck, a small snafu with the payment, but quickly worked itself out. Back to post to weigh the truck and get it loaded. My husband had this vision of not needing much help, because he was sure we did not have much. 

Let me tell you, his vision did not pan out. Thankfully we cooked taco meat in the crockpot while we loaded. I attempted to clean while loading happened, but in reality I spent much of the afternoon hauling stuff outside and putting in in piles. Our neighbors came over to help up load and even clean. They brought friends and then another neighbor joined us. 

It was a long day. It was still a fun day. I did not feel sad, more eager and panicked that we were not making the progress we had hoped to make. The reality is that I ended up parting with my favorite giant cube shelf, one book shelf broke, another was not stable enough to make the move. The play house my FIL had built for the kids also had to be left behind. My husband looked on and I know he felt the loss too as we had both assured each other that house and that shelf would make it on the truck. 

I cleaned late into the night, but it was not done. We still had stuff to load. We crammed as much as we could into the car we were towing. The next morning we woke up cooked a quick breakfast, pulled the last of the stuff outside into the yard. We had to sign out at 11. 

When 11 rolled around all my house plants, the dog kennel, and other items were still in the yard. I was finishing up mopping. The lady came in and commented that we looked rushed and on top of that the original damage report that we submitted at move in was no where in our file. I told my neighbor who was watching from her porch, that if it came down to it, I would pull everything out of the car to find our copy. It did not come to that thankfully. She tried her attitude. She even said cabinets that had been wiped down only hours earlier were dirty. I tried to reign in my crazy, and we got them wiped. She gave us a clear report and we were free of that house. 

We stood outside and finished cramming stuff into the truck, van, and car. That afternoon we grabbed fast food and went to a park. Later at the hotel, we got the kids a pizza. I headed back to our neighborhood to pick up dogfood for our dogs because ours was packed who knew where. Another neighbor had also baked cookies for us to take on the road. 

The drive up the following day was not so bad outside of the rain. It seemed as if every time we hit a big city it would rain harder. Michigan was cold. We arrived at our storage shed, grabbed fast food and started unloading in the cold. We did this until nearly 8pm. Our poor kids were so tired, so cold. Our pups were frantic not wanting to stay in the van, but not wanting to be outside. It was sleeting and we were so tired. We had to go back the next day, and on Monday we had to rent a second smaller unit to put the rest of our stuff.

Military moving companies would be proud of us as we broke two lamps, and a lot of dishes. 

We lived in a hotel for 9 long days. It was nice. We tried to cook on the hot plate, our griddle and crockpot, but really we ate out a lot. We argued with each other. The kids were cranky, the dogs were nervous. 

On the Wednesday after our arrival we signed the paperwork for our house, but it would not fully be ours until the following Monday. 

We managed to find Santa and Mrs. Klaus in Kalamazoo and it was a no touch event. That made me feel more like normal was coming back into the picture. 

Moving day we got another truck and headed back to the storage shed. We spent that entire day loading everything we could onto that truck and by 3:50pm we were heading to our home. It was nearly 9 when we finally stopped unloading that truck. There was no internet, but we had pizza. 

That Tuesday we took the truck back, picked up breakfast. After eating I became sick and spent part of my first full day in our house vomiting and sleeping. That pizza did me in. I did manage to pull myself together and start unpacking. 

We decided to work hard, but take Christmas off. It was a welcome break. Visiting my Aunt was the highlight of that day. 

By the following Sunday we were pretty much unpacked. 

We had argued, I had convinced myself that our marriage couldn't possible survive. 

To top it all off, one of our main arguments was about how often I dust, vacuum, mop, and clean in general. A lot of our furniture was dusty as neighbors helped us carry it out. That was embarrassing to him especially when one of them commented on my dusting skills. Wife fail, I guess. 

So here we are. Holidays over, and everyone back at it. 

School started right after the new year, we are on week two. Hubby is at his new job, week two of training. He will be working late. I have already realized that this will work in my favor. I have decided to carve about 2 hours a night for just myself. 

The kids and I are cleaning every single day. Dusting will be done once a week. Toilets and sinks daily, and showers 3 days a week. I set up a schedule for the kids and I. 

Did I mention that week one was exhausting? 

We love our house though. It is perfect for us, though it is drastically lacking in closet space and walls to hang pictures. Our basement has a nice collection of things we will not use here, and extra things from the kitchen. 

We are settling in quite well, though I feel as if I will never make friends. I miss my friends in Kentucky. I miss having neighbors to wave at or holler a hello to when you go outside. I do not hear helicopters, or the training artilleries fire from the Military installation. There are no dogs barking, no cars loudly driving down the road at all hours of the night and early mornings.  

At some point, we will go out and find a church, go more places than my Aunts, or Kalamazoo, or the grocery store. 

Here is to new beginnings.