A Tale of Two Mothers

On this mothers day I reflect on the relationship and lack thereof that I have had with my mother over the years. The role of a mother, to provide nurturing and support, was a role that my mother wasn't quite ready for. At nine months old, she abandoned me in a small southern town under the assumption that she would return when her core training with the United States Army was complete. She did not fully return for many years. For the next decade she was like an imaginary friend, appearing and then dissapearing, as though she was a figment of my imagination. The memories I have of that time are of a woman covered in glow of glitter and theatrics, always smiling this gleaming white smile. A Halle Berry haircut circa Boomerang. To me my "mom" was more like a fairy godmother. She appeared with gifts and left me to return to rags at midnight.

For those first ten years of my life the woman I called "Mama" was my great grandmother. She managed my day to day. Made sure every day I was fed, dressed, and hair pressed. She taught me the core lessons that make up my character to this day. The lessons of self care. Even though we lived in what would now be called the projects, in the 80's it was a community of elders who had literally built each of their homes brick by brick with their own hands. This home that she created was one where you never left without your hair combed and your clothes pressed. There was always enough food to share, and if you couldnt share you didnt eat in front of other folks. There were plums and blackberries in the backyard, and every neighbor knew who's child was whose, and helped keep them in line.

When my my great grandmother passed my mom was asked to come get me. Whether she wanted to or not I'll never know. Even to this day it seems hard for her to talk about that time of our lives. When I arrived in the suburbs of Chicago my experience went from open land to run on to a small apartment that was shared by my mom and her fiance. The story became one of a runaway child, always feeling abandoned and looking for anyway to have her own way because, to her, no one was capable of taking care of her better than her. This way of thinking was proven over and over as I became victim to the danger of sexual predators, some my own age and some older. It led me to teenage preganancy and abortion. Drug use and alcoholism became the norm of my teens and early twenties.

My memory of this is time is very one sided. I can't recall all of the ways that my mom tried to save me from my own destruction. I know her attempts were there because at the fall of each situation, I find myself back in my room able to find respite from the dangers of my trails. I find myself back in her kitchen being fed. I find her there with clothes to cover my wounded spirit. I find myself at her doorway again readying myself for the next part of my journey.

As a mother now I think of how hard it must have been to become pregnant in college at the age of twenty two. I think of what I was up to at that age, and I thank God that a child had not become a product of who I was then. My mother and I talk everyday. Each day we find something more about ourselves that we share. Our communication can sometimes become brash when one feels unheard. We always return to love. It's all we have. Sure I would love to know the whys of her decisions that created the timeline of my life. What's more important to me is the experience that I am having with her now. I see the way she loves my daughter. I am thankful for the time that she sacrifices to assist my husband and I in our journey of parenthood. Instead of judging and blaming her for my past I am choosing to acknowledge, love and appreciate the actions of our present.

Happy Mothers Day.