If You Only Knew

My Dear Mother. . .

The woman who holds one name but many roles in my life. Through the years, in my overthinking and introspective ways, I have seen that these ways are not my own. They are yours, engraved into the notion of me. I observed from birth until now, someone who I believed was the most observant. Thankfully, my belief was wrong on that particular April day; your birthday.

I learned many things that day, more than any textbook could ever teach a sixteen-year-old, secret pill-popping, little pastor’s-kid-rebel. Everyone knew it was your birthday coming up: friends and strangers alike because it was all I could talk about for days. That and the homemade, fondant cake I had planned to make you, and executed though far from proudly.

As I baked that cake I watched the time pass. Suddenly it was three o’clock in the morning and I had just taken my third narcotic of the night, as I wiped down the mess in the kitchen. Of course, to keep me calm, happy, and what I thought was present-minded. I underestimated what power an all-nighter in addition to sedatives would have over me, and I went to sleep.

Waking is not a word I would use to recap that morning. I don’t have a word that conveys the feeling I felt opening my eyes that spring day. Zombie-walking and operating out of memory? That sounds more like it. All I know is I instantly felt this shame, as I moved through the motions and attempted to celebrate the day that marks my favorite being's existence. What you don’t know is that at sixteen, I peered through my own eyes from a distance, and I cried at the reality of the fact that I was not really present at all. Plainly said, I could barely walk myself to the car as we loaded up to head to Blue Jay Park.

However, you, the birthday queen, scooped your arm under my own and walked side by side with me to the car. Physically supporting what seemed like your typical exhausted all-nighter. Beautifully naive, to ever think otherwise. I’ll never forget the words that pinged the sharpest guilt. “Sweetie, you poor thing. You shouldn’t have stayed up all night for me.” Oh, my innocent and optimistic mother. Since it was a half truth, I rolled with it. All day. Every moment that slowed in conversation or activity, I dozed off. The full head nod and body jerking in the middle of a hot, sunny day. Including mid-bite into our wonderful sub-sandwich lunch, I rolled with it. Even buying into the lie myself, as I laughed and said, “Now I know next year I got to start baking before midnight.”

The guilt weighed heavier as these words left my lips.

At sixteen, that day, I learned that I had an ugly character. Deeper than the guilt was the poor fact that I did not truly value you as my mother at that age, even though every ounce of me believed I did. I valued the high and the escape more than the quality time. That day taught me exactly what drugs and addictions could steal: my presence, my passion, my intentions, and my overall spirit of love.

You know of this now, after I finally came crawling at eighteen to ask for your help in letting go of the toxic bond I had created with an innocently prescribed pill. What you do not know is the day I told you, I lied. I hadn’t just taken one pill as I, 'confessed.' I had actually taken four by the time we reached Blue Jay Park.

That is not the only aspect you don’t know. What you're not aware of, is that you forever marked that day as the most compassionate, loving and tender support I have ever received to this date. Yes, at twenty-five, and multiple friendships and partnerships later, I have yet to ever see such a genuine approach to helping an addict, or a daughter, or a friend. You altered my view on what seemed like a simple rebellion and revealed to me all the complex struggles I had going on beneath the surface. I felt so safe and free. I felt that I had a second chance to show I was a caring human too and that I would never let substances come between me and another human again.

What else you could not possibly know, is the impact of that day and the way it carries into every other day since. I am reminded of your genuine, listening ear as I roam the middle school that I work at, being stopped continuously by kids ready to confide their struggles and addictions. Every day I reference that tender love as a place to come from; a place of compassion and genuine care. For after all, it's enough to save a life.

Now, after the last bell has rang, I sit here reflecting on that day. Praying and striving to come from that same place, if I ever have a daughter of my own, who comes to me looking for support; of any sort. I can only hope that I too listen and receive her darkest secrets in such a way, that she too, finds Light within herself to unravel the mysteries of the mind, heart and spirit throughout life. Then, passes it along . . .