October 24th, 1953.
October 24, 2006
Don’t cry to me.
If you loved me, you would be here with me.
You want me, come find me.
Make up your mind.
Should’ve let you fall,
Lose it all,
So maybe you can remember yourself.
Can’t keep believing,
We’re only deceiving ourselves,
And I’m sick of the lies,
And you’re too late.
Don’t cry to me.
If you loved me, you would be here with me.
You want me, come find me.
Make up your mind.
Couldn’t take the blame,
Sick with shame.
Must be exhausting to lose your own game.
Selfishly hated,
No wonder you’re jaded,
You can’t play the victim this time.
And you’re too late.
So, don’t cry to me.
If you loved me, you would be here with me.
You love me, come find me.
Make up your mind.
You never call me when you??re sober,
You only want it ’cause it’s over - it??s over.
How could I have burned paradise.
How could I, you were never mine?
So, don’t cry to me.
If you loved me, you would be here with me.
Don’t lie to me, just get your things.
I’ve made up your mind.
~ Evanesence
Happy Birthday, Mother.
Yeah, so she’s been on my mind lately. This happens every October 24th, every Mother’s Day, every Christmas, and sometimes when I least expect it. Every angry song I can belt out gets belted out. Breakaway by Kelly Clarkson, Good Enough by Sarah MacLachlan, and this one by Evanesence. There are others but it doesn’t matter.
Why can’t I forget she exists? Why do memories of her creep up on me when I least expect them to? Why, when I yell at my kids, do I stop my self mid-syllable and think of her? Even tonight, snuggled up with Dylan in my bed, talking about his day at school, I lay there, half-listening to him talk about gym class and half-thinking about how I had yelled at him earlier for not going up to brush his teeth after I had asked him 4 times, and why can’t I handle minor things without yelling?
I know everyone yells at their kids, and I know that I’m not excessive. Maybe once or twice a week I yell. That’s really not alot anyway. But the guilt that shows up, unexpected, tightens the grip around my head and my heart and kills me a little, every time.
I don’t think about the childhood memories. Not much, anyway. I think about what could have been. I think about how nice it would be to have a mother that I could call on a moments notice and say, “Hey Mom, can you take the kids for an hour while I get my eyebrows waxed? The tweezers I bought are useless and curling my eyebrow hair like ribbon on a shower gift.” And then she would come.
And so the tears start. I hate that too though. Why should I sit here, feeling sorry for myself because I don’t have a mother who is here to pick up the pieces when I’m down? There are plenty more sons and daughters who are in this very situation.
I just sometimes feel like something is missing. Maybe it always was for me, considering the demons she battled, the times she wasn’t there, emotionally or otherwise. Mental illness, alcohol, lack of self-worth: these were all things she fought. Unfortunately she didn’t win any of those battles and ended up waging a war on herself, her family, the men in her life, and us kids.
I speak of her in the past tense because I have to be clinical about her true existence. To survive. I’ve said goodbye in my head and in my heart, many times.
It is as though she is dead to me.
What I’ve never shared after this post about our final goodbye, was that a few months later, I received a registered letter from her. It was 3 or 4 pages of vile, toxic, hateful words that she held for me, for my brother, for Daren, even for Dylan and for Thomas (who was named as “the unborn, if you even carry this one to term“). I handed the letter over to Children’s Aid to further the case in the best interests of her boyfriend’s daughter. I remember alot of the letter though, and I wish I had never read it. To read about how much your own mother hates you is painful. I never talked about it here because I felt ashamed. I felt as though I was some kind of reject because I was told, in that letter, that I was unworthy of my mother’s love. That is how she left our relationship. I still feel the sting, the shame. It sounds pretty stupid for me to feel that way, but I’ve deleted this paragraph at least 8 times. So obviously something in me believes what she wants me to believe. And maybe she does hate me. What do I do with that? How am I supposed to understand that? I can’t imagine feeling that way about my kids, ever.
I’ve said before that I have no regrets about reporting her to Children’s Aid, and truly I don’t. I just wish I had been born to a different woman altogether; she never should have had children.
So when these feelings overcome me and my heart feels as though someone is holding it underwater, I sing. I sing with all my soul, all my being, all my voice. Tears stream down my face, my voice is loud and powerful, and when it’s over, it’s only over for a little while. Sometimes a few weeks, or a few months, but I’m pretty sure the hole in my heart will always be there. Given what fills the rest of my heart, this hole is merely the size of a pinprick, but it’s there, and it’s sharp. It bites. It’s there, and it may never fill.
If your Mom is alive, go call her. Just let her know you’re thinking of her. Tell her something you appreciate about her. I’m sure she would love to hear from you. I’d do the same but I would rather not set myself like a bowling pin ever again, and can you blame me?
Thanks for listening if you made it this far. I really appreciate you being here. Yes, you.
October 24th, 2006 at 11:37 pm
I’ve been meaning to tell you this, but I always thought it would sound like bragging.
You have made me appreciate my mother even more than I did before. I also think reading about your struggles have made me strive to BE a better mother.
It totally blows that you are saddled with all of this bullshit and I wish you never had to go through any of it but I want you to know that you telling us about it makes me a better person at least.
October 24th, 2006 at 11:46 pm
Thank you. So. Very. Much. Sometimes I feel as though I should just get over it and stop babbling about it. But then, you come along and make it feel meaningful. Thank you Sarah…can’t type - tears…
Love Karen
xo
October 24th, 2006 at 11:48 pm
My mom can be a little cold, but not like THAT.
I can see why we answered that one question the same, though. Not to screw up our kids.
I’m gonna be the best Grandma EVER! That’s another quest I have.
October 24th, 2006 at 11:53 pm
Oh Karen. How incredibly sad. I am so sorry…
October 24th, 2006 at 11:56 pm
Annie,
I’ll save you a rocking chair on my porch. Add that one to my quests (go Frodo!) as well.
Anne,
Don’t be sorry. Sure I get sad about it sometimes, and this is one of those times, but really, in the grand scheme of things - I turned out alright and I’m nothing like her. The singing helps. ALOT.
Karen
October 25th, 2006 at 12:16 am
Your mother doesn’t hate you, baby. She hates HERSELF.
It is fucked up that you didn’t get a good mom. You deserved and deserve so much better. From what I know about you, you certainly turned into a fine person in spite of it all. And by being a good mom, a conscious mom, you are erasing her legacy of hatred and pain.
October 25th, 2006 at 12:35 am
I’m having a hard time finding the right words, but I didn’t want to leave without saying something. I am so, so sorry that your mother treated you that way. She will never know how terrific you are, what a great family you have, and it’s so totally her loss. And you’re right, singing can be amazingly cathartic. Sing on, sweetie.
October 25th, 2006 at 12:39 am
Your mother, like mine, has a mental illness and really can’t be responsible for her words, her actions, or her feelings. Her brain is fucked up. That doesn’t negate the pain, the lonliness and the heartache you feel daily. Nor does it make it any easier to parent when you have had no example of good parenting to follow. My mom told me to my face many times that she wished I’d never been born. She told a friend of mine that she wished birth control pills were retroactive so she could get rid of me and my sister. My mother is certifiable insane. She refuses any and all help. She is toxic to me, to my children, to the world. Is it her fault she’s a nutcase? Is it her fault that there were no meds available for her mental illness when she was younger?
No, it’s not her fault. But that really doesn’t mean that I want her in my life ever again. In April, it was 26 years since I’ve spoken to my mother. She has never met my kids, although she’s twice been in the same room with them at family functions. She pretended that she didn’t know me. It is her loss that she doesn’t know my children. It is her loss that she has isolated herself from all her kids due to her refusal to get help.
That we have chosen to become mothers when we have this legacy on our backs says how strong we are. That we still work on our parenting and are very conscious of how we do fail makes us better people. You and I, we’re doing fine. Our children love us, and more importantly, we love our children unconditionally. That, in and of itself, breaks the cycle.
I get sad too. I appreciate Motherless although it still has been too painful for me to write the post I need to write. Maybe we Motherless people with toxic moms need to hold virtual hands on days when things are bad. For me, Thanksgiving is the holiday that drags me way way down. I can deal with all the rest, but that one… man I hate it.
October 25th, 2006 at 1:12 am
what strikes me (aside from your obvious strength and self-awareness) is how lucky dylan and thomas are to have landed you for a mom. break the cycle indeed; you seem to be crushing it. and along the way, you may even heal yourself.
be sure to notice when you’re loving your kids and think of your mom then. think of how you’re refusing her legacy and instead creating a new one. one where the mother values and treasures her kids.
then go pour yourself a glass of wine. you deserve it.
October 25th, 2006 at 1:18 am
I have no idea what to say - but I had to leave a note saying that you didn’t deserve any of that NOONE deserves that!
You have made me appreciate my Mom even more. We didn’t get along that great while I was a teenager but now we’re great friends.
I hope you have a wonderful Wednesday and sing your heart out girl!!
October 25th, 2006 at 2:10 am
I feel this way about my father. He was never there, and now when ever I do think of him, I wonder why I have to. He makes me very sad just to think that he brings it all on himself. Its been a long time since we talked, and I dont miss it at all. Yet I still cry alot when I think of him.
October 25th, 2006 at 4:00 am
This post really struck a chord with me. I agree with Suebob, your mom is projecting & to her, you represent her failures. Things she can never take back.
I have a mental illness & was an addict, even lost my kids for a bit. (in 1986) We’ve got a very close relationship now & while it’s hard & I do have regrets, I try my best to keep them to myself. Afterall, I’m the mom; they’re the kids..no matter how old they become.
1 mistake I made with them, that I see you might is making up for them what you wish you had. Feeling guilty about disciplining them when your mom’s abuse wasn’t loving discipline, like yours is. Fortunately, your children didn’t live thru your childhood.
I think you’ll always want your mom. At 48, I call my mom & cry about things, and my daughter still calls me when she needs a shoulder to lean on. The needing never ends.
BTW, if you ever need someone to listen or a phone-shoulder to cry on, I will more than gladly be here for you.
Karen Rani, you’re a remarkable & beautiful person. I’ve got no doubt your kids see love in your eyes.
October 25th, 2006 at 9:10 am
The appreciation is reciprocated; thanks for making me love my mom even more.
I’m sorry that you have to deal with this. Life sucks right now, but it will get better. It has to. (that’s been my mantra over the past several months.)
And you have two boys who love you more than anything. Your mom will never have that.
October 25th, 2006 at 9:17 am
Suebob hit the nail on the head. It’s not that you’re unworthy, honey. It’s that she has no capacity for love. (And if she “loves” someone else, like her boyfriend, I’d wager that any such affection runs about a millimeter deep, ready to be snatched away at the first perceived transgression.)
My daughter often comes up with statements about my mom out of the blue, things which tell me that she understands (perhaps better than I do) and that she and I will never have similar problems. “Poor Grandma,” she’ll say, “no one ever taught her how to love.” Or, “Grandma did the best she could, and really it’s much sadder for her than for you, though I guess it’s sad for you that your mom doesn’t like you very much.” She’s smart, that kid.
It still grieves me, of course, but I remind myself that my life has been blessed with a bounty of love… much of which I might not have been open to appreciating quite so much if not for the work I had to do to recover from my toxic relationship with her.
October 25th, 2006 at 9:54 am
Suebob - thank you. Deep down I know that, but it doesn’t hurt to hear it again…
Elizabeth - thank you. You said you didn’t know what to say, but what you said helped anyway…so thank you…
Margalit - thank you ….you and have that bond and I think it’s bittersweet…but good. I’m so glad I started Motherless. Whenever you’re ready…we’ll be here. I don’t write very often there only because I hate “going there.” It’s like having to go to the cold basement of my memories, you know?
Laurie - such great advice….thank you so very much - I will try very hard to remember that the next time we’re snuggling or reading, or playing, whatever…just the other day Dylan asked me to let him help make dinner, and I remember my mother would never let me do that. Him and I had a blast and he even came back the next night to see what he could do to help again!
Tanya - that’s good….call your Mom!
Hulai - I’m so sorry to hear that…if you ever want to tell your story at Motherless, I would be honoured to post it. In the meantime, at least you know he brought it on himself…hugs…
Jane - you’re so right….I have to remember that I’m disciplining the kids to be good people, not to punish them. Daren says I’m a softie, but when it comes down to it, my kids respect us as their parents and when I say something, they know I mean it. I’m pretty good with follow up and sticking to whatever I say.
Amanda - thanks. Life doesn’t really suck right now - this is just something that creeps up on me every once in a while and I wanted to get it off my chest. Gotta love blogs for that reason…
Mir - I know…though I didn’t know you had issues with your mother…I’m sorry to hear it. And Chickadee? Brilliant.
Thanks everyone. Talking about this does help me to deal…
Karen
xo
October 25th, 2006 at 10:09 am
You feel that guilt after you yell at your kids because you want so strongly to NOT be like her.
You continue to think about her because no matter what she IS your mother. You are a part of her and that will never change.
I despise my mother…even now that she’s dead. I was nothing to her, but I still find myself thinking of her from time to time. It’s unavoidable. Don’t beat yourself up over it.
October 25th, 2006 at 10:34 am
Sometimes it’s just good to know we’re not alone. I’ve been really struggling not to start drinking these last few weeks… because holiday times are comin’ round again and once again, I haven’t heard from my mom.
It sounds like we have similar stories, although mine are far less dramatic. I don’t mean that to try and demean your experience at all, just where your mom has called names and sent hateful letters, mine has just… faded… away. And occasionally (usually with prodding from her own mother or through some odd alignment of stars) has popped up and started casually talking to me again like nothing has ever happened. This happens every 18-24 months or so.
Maybe my mom is just more passive agressive, I dunno. I just dont’ really have a mom. I briefly had a “mom” through my husbands mom, but she’s crawled SO deeply into alcoholisim she’s gone now too.
October 25th, 2006 at 12:21 pm
I’m so, so sorry, Karen, about your mother. I’m going to go call mine right now and tell her how much I love her and how very very grateful I am that she is she.
October 25th, 2006 at 12:23 pm
I am one of the very lucky people who can count my Mom as my best friend. My Father, OTOH, walked out when I was 2 and never looked back. Oddly enough, I have absolutely no feelings about him, good or bad. in some way, that’s worse because it leaves me wondering if there is something wrong with me.
I commend you on even being able to talk about this. It must be incredibly painful.
October 25th, 2006 at 12:49 pm
I’m lucky that my mom has always been there for me, but your memory of the letter your mom sent you reminds me of all of the toxic letters and hateful phone calls I’ve received from my father. Like your struggle, his determination of my worth haunts me everyday, and I struggle to prove I’m not the person he says I am. I know his opinion of me means nothing, but the words he flings at me still hurt.
I’m thankful that my mom was strong enough to leave him and to fight to make sure I came with her (and it was a fight, involving kidnapping and court battles). I can’t imagine growing up with him as an active parent.
You had the strength to get away from your mom, get out from under her abuse, and you still have that strength. Don’t let that guilt eat at you - you will NEVER be her. You’re far too strong to ever be her, and you have too much love for your family to ever hurt them like she hurt you. I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with so much pain.
(And for the record, that song sends chills down my back sometimes. And even though I hate Christina Aguillera, I like her song “Fighter” because it reminds me of my own fight against my father, and that in the end he’s only made me a stronger person.)
October 25th, 2006 at 2:13 pm
I started to read the other comments, but stopped myself short. I wanted to say what I felt, even if it’s what someone else says, if that makes sense.
Karen, I know firsthand how much it hurts. My mother did similar things, said many of the same things, and the revolving door with all the guys she either brought home or was with for a one night stand still rankle in my memory.
But I will tell you this: you know in your heart how much better of a mother you will be to your boys. You’re already ahead of the game by talking about it. My mother’s birthday was October 15th, and yeah, I’m like you, I think about her, at least once a day. Your boys will never have to go through what you did because you made a conscious choice to overcome your circumstances. And you made a difference in another kid’s life by reporting her, although it was a hard call.
((((((((((((hugs to Karen in Canada)))))))))))
October 25th, 2006 at 7:30 pm
I think of my mother only insomuch as that she doesn’t find my blog.
I never remember her birthday. I send mother’s day cards to my best friends’s mom. Mine doesn’t enter my head….not anymore.
I let her fool me a second time but i’m not going to be a fool again.
I just don’t care.
Ya know, that makes me really happy.
October 25th, 2006 at 7:44 pm
I know how you feel Karen. As you know I don’t have a mother in my life. I wish I did. I wish alot of things. Things are the way they are. We are the only ones that can break that cycle. I have to keep reminding myself that I have broken the cycle. A couple of years ago I got a letter too. I still have it somewhere. I forget most of what it said cause I had to. But, I could not forget that she told me I was dead, that she never ever had a daughter, that I was never born. Umm yeah I was born. The only thing that I am grateful to her for-Is having me. I do not like her nor love her. I have completely washed my hands of her. Everyday it is a battle, I hear you there. I have to keep telling myself that I have broken the cycle, I am strong. Big hugs to you hun
Love ya
October 26th, 2006 at 1:38 am
And that, my dear is why, when my mother was on her death bed, I refused to go despite my sister doing her very best to shame me into it. Had I managed to scrape together the money for the plane ticket ($1500 round trip) I would have been subjected to literally days of non-stop vitriol - all of it boiling down to her mantra - that I was fat, ugly and stupid. That she wished I had never been born. That had she the ability to do it over she would have strangled me in my crib. I know that I would not have been able to maintain my silence. I would have unloaded upon her all the hatred I harbored over those long, empty years of abuse. She would have died listening to me telling her the truth so I decided not to expose either of us to that kind of toxicity. In the end, she died with my sister the only child she had loved out of the 4 she gave birth to. Luckily, I do not have a memory of her last hateful words swirling around in my head. It s enough that I remember my childhood. That alone gives me nightmares I can never escape. So I m sorry you ever opened that letter, honey. You don t deserve that memory. What a pity we cannot wash our minds free of the flotsam that accumulates over time. You and I could do a ritual cleansing; scrub out all those horrible memories that still have the power to hurt after all these years. There s a lot more I d like to say but I ve reached the outside edge of what my injured back can stand before have to go lie down. Be well.
October 26th, 2006 at 6:15 pm
Karen, I’m sorry it still hurts. I can’t imagine how it wouldn’t still hurt, but I wish it didn’t have to be this way for you.
There was plenty of unnecessary pain in my childhood, but I feel very fortunate that it hasn’t precluded a good relationship with my parents now. While they don’t live nearby and they are only able to visit rarely, I sincerely enjoy them.
But I do owe them a phonecall. Thanks for reminding me.
October 27th, 2006 at 11:21 am
Funny thing about mothers, no matter how badly they treat us, we sometimes go back in the hopes that this one time, they’ll say or do something to show us that, hey, I do love you. Sometimes it happens and yet, there are moms who will never do that for their children, no matter how many times we go back or want it. You’re a great mom and don’t let those memories that creep up on you sometimes ever make you forget how wonderful you are.
October 27th, 2006 at 3:26 pm
Karen, you are so brave and already a better mother then some I know. You are so aware of every move you make b/c you are so convinced that you’ll be like your mother. You are already different. Reading your posts really make me evaluate the choices I make with my kids. We are all human and need to feel in order to appreciate all that is good.