I realized yesterday that even after all these years I am still very bitter about my mother walking away from me when I was 5 years old, and never looking back. How bitter you might ask?
How’s this for a clue…
you were supposed to be there for me
how easily though, you gave me up
never once even looking back
too busy being a common trollop
I hope all your men made you happy
as happy as happy can be
and when you look back on your life
know that all I feel is pity
It’s a poem I started working on early Sunday, but never finished. As per my usual habit, I stop writing every stanza or so to spellcheck, and when I did this time, I was shocked at how angry and mean I sounded in that poem. I immediately stopped writing it. I have always been on the dark side of things, but never so enraged sounding before.
The whole story behind my being motherless is a long, and sordid one. The short version is that she wanted to be free from matrimonial obligations and to sleep with random men on a frequently revolving basis. My father objected. Silly him. So, she picked up and moved to California. My father called it “the land of fruits and nuts.” In his mind, she belonged there. He filed for divorce, and custody of me and she didn’t object or fight back. Instead, she requested custody of my older brother. That was it. Well, not quite, but you get the gist of it. I grew up with my father and my brother with her. I never saw either of them again. That it not an exaggeration at all. I have never, ever, been face to face with them since I was 5.
Once upon a time, years back, she found me somehow, and I was informed that my half-brother (a different one, her son, not my fathers) had died of an overdose. She stayed in contact with me for less than a month before suddenly vanishing as quickly as she had popped back in, without another word. During our brief and awkward reunion phase, I had asked questions about why she had never fought for me, wanted me etc. She was full of excuses and blamed most of it on extenuating circumstances, but promised to make it up to me. Obviously a month later, that would prove too difficult for her.
Where am I going with all of this? I’m not really sure, but I do know that there are people out there who bitch and complain about how their moms are hard to get along with, or expect too much of them etc etc.. and to those people I would like to say.. wise up! They may be difficult, or a pain in your ass, but the bottom line is that you HAVE one. Some of us were never that lucky.
Thus concludes this brief glimpse into my personal life.. thanks for joining me on this journey of self discovery.