I would like to take a couple of minutes and write about my mother. I do a lot of complaining and I probably shouldn’t. She is my mother. She did take care of and provide a home for me. She does love me. She is who she is and nothing will change that now.
When I was little I remember looking up at my mother in church. She was singing her heart out. I thought she had the best voice in the world. She was my mommy. I remember things like coloring Easter eggs, decorating our Christmas tree, and getting all pretty for holidays. This had to have been mom’s doing.
After I got married, at 19, and had children it was my mother I called when something happened and I didn’t know what to do. It was also my mother who came almost every day after work and had tea. Partly to see the girls and partly to take Beth home for supper because Guilia was a bit of a screamer. Oh hell, she was a screamer, and by 4:00 pm I usually needed a break.
I try to remember all these positive things she has done for me. Why do they not stand out? Why don’t more of my happy childhood memories involve my mother? I don’t know. I know she was there.
It usually comes back to me thinking it was my fault. I should have been a better daughter, I should have been a good girl, I should have been a happier child. You point out the guilt trip and I guarantee it has my name on it.
Visits to a psychologist told me that wasn’t true. I was the child and I was not responsible for making her happy. However; what the psychologist did say was I needed to kind of make a split from her so I could be happy. Good advice? Bad advice? A little of both is my guess.
Good because, if, at 30, I had not decided I needed to be happy and have my own life I would not be with my husband (
Jim, Bill, the man who lives here). Most likely I would still be with my ex and on coma inducing antidepressants, or hospitalized. Bad because I became even further away from the daughter she wanted me to be. Which is something I haven’t figured out yet, by the way.
The big thing I can tell you about my mother (yes I have a very hard time calling her mom) is she is very Catholic. Everything revolves around the church or her perception of the church. I often think she would have loved it if I had become a nun. Then I realize that wouldn’t be right either because I wouldn’t have given her grandchildren, because no nun has ever had sex. Ever. Maybe she should have become a nun and that would have solved all our problems. 🙂
There is so much more I want to share as 2013 progresses. I promise there will be good memories in there too.