May 13 – 40/100

I didn’t realize I missed a post yesterday until I had just about fallen asleep. Well, at that point, I wasn’t getting up to  write something.

It’s Mother’s Day. It wasn’t until I was grown up that it occurred to me (after hearing it in various circles) that why is it only set to one day? Should it not be a daily thing? I know, I know….money, marketing, etc.  Big business for many places.  I just can’t understand why a mother (or father come father’s day) is only super important one day a year. What about the other 364 day?

In the last few days, a week maybe two even, as today was drawing nearer I have been thinking about my Mom. We didn’t have the greatest relationship.

As I’ve mentioned before, she didn’t allow me to do the normal kid things like have or go to sleep overs, birthday parties, play dates.  I was about 12 before I was able to over a friend’s house to play. Close to 13 before I ever went to a sleep over.  I went to exactly 2 sleep overs. Same kids, once when they lived down the street and then when they moved to their new house.  That was it. I didn’t go on dates. She was always around.

After I got married, we didn’t speak for almost three years.  It wasn’t until I was expecting my first that we spoke again. We didn’t speak often, she didn’t have a phone. I probably spoke to her after I had the baby, the week I visited with said child, the week of my father’s funeral.  I honestly can’t recall actually talking to her until I found out I was pregnant with and lost my second.  Then when I was pregnant and gave birth to my youngest. The last time I probably spoke to her was when the youngest was almost three.  The last letters were probably a year later.

My mother died four years ago and it was over 15 years since we last spoke/wrote.  I’m okay with it.  I really am.

At first I was angry, not so much that she didn’t want to speak to me but because she would take every opportunity to trash talk me with lies and half-truths. I might have been a little hurt too.  But after a while, I just became numb to it I guess. I couldn’t change it or stop it.  I lived 900 miles away. People would either believe her or not.  I stopped caring either way.

I couldn’t, still don’t understand all that.  But strangely enough, I think I do understand something about her.  I don’t think she was meant for motherhood.  She had my sister, gave her up.  She had me, I think because it was expected of her because she was married.  My father swears she caused a miscarriage of the one after me.  I think he thought she might have tried to do that with me too.  I don’t think she actually wanted me, but was instead stuck with me.  I don’t think she had the skill set to be a mother.

She kept me fed and clothe and clean.  Once I hit 16, she told me she did her job taking caring of me and that it was now time for me to take care of her.  I think she actually expected me to repay her for everything.

I don’t know what it was like between her and her mother.  I only know what I was told about her father, and that was that he was strict and cruel, abusive even.  I don’t know how he was with my grandmother. I don’t know if she tried to protect them from him, or was she a willing participant. The rod wasn’t spared, the children weren’t spoiled but it seems all the kids between the oldest and youngest were wayward in some way or other.

So as I think about her, I think that she didn’t know how to be a mom in the “traditional” sense.  Not the idyllic sense of the word, the way books or TV would have us think of a mom.

And maybe I am way off  base here.  Maybe I am totally wrong in my thinking.  If she didn’t want me, she was stuck with me and I don’t think she knew what to do. So, I think that she just didn’t know how to be a mother.

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