Today is Mothers day. Since being on my own and recognizing my own adulthood Mother’s Day has been weird for me. This year, for the first time ever I stood up in church when all the moms were asked to stand. I’m not pregnant and seeing as we plan to live in our current living situation for a while, don’t hold your breath on grandkids. But there are people in my life I consider my kids. We take care of them, they rely on us, we have taken legal guardianship at one point of one and we have rescued another out of crazy situations multiple times.
Yesterday I got a ‘Happy Mothers’ Day’ call. Today I got a flower at church.
This week memories came back of my childhood. Sad memories. Memories I would rather not remember but have to because they really did happen. And I don’t know what to do with them.
I put words to a memory that I’ve been dealing with the trauma of for several years. When we were little, I was probably 5, 6, or 7, we would be shopping and start misbehaving. You would get angry and march us to the car. I need to stop and say that I’ve been shopping with little kids and it’s hard and I’m not saying you were not stressed out and we weren’t hoodlums. But you would take us to the car, throw us in our car seats and drive around the parking lot. Fast. Really fast.
A few years ago I started reacting to Micah’s driving. I was scared he would crash. I noticed that when I rode with other people this fear was much worse. To the point that I do not ride with people anymore. It took me a while to figure out what caused this crazy fear in me. But then I remembered…you used to drive us around the parking lot, yelling at us and I would be sobbing telling you we would behave next time and to please stop driving so crazy.
The words that came to me this week were ‘my mom tried to kill me’.
This week I remembered something else. I was 10 years old. I don’t know why but one day, we lived in _______ at the time, you left us. I called the neighbors across the street and they said you weren’t there. You were gone for several hours. I remember standing over my sisters crib wondering how I was going to feed her. Later you told me you had gone to another neighbors down the street. I still don’t know why you left but this week I remembered the fear that 10 year old me felt.
I don’t know why I’m writing you this. May be because I didn’t call on Mothers day. I couldn’t, not with these memories in my mind. I don’t think I could have faked a pleasant call.
I don’t know what I want you to do with this either. I’m figuring out how to work through the memories (with the help of therapists and friends) and the pain. May be I just needed you to know.
Happy Mother’s Day Mom