Today is the third anniversary of my mother's death.
It seems odd that it has been three whole years. In some ways it seems like it was only yesterday.
I don't want to sugar coat things. My relationship with my mother was a rocky one. She was a free spirit, throwback from the 60's. She believed in art, freedom, beauty, but mostly freedom. My mother was a woman who loved her children, but didn't really know what to do with them. She wanted to have a life and sometimes we got in the way.
My mom was 20 when I was born. She was incredibly beautiful, you know, the kind of woman that makes you turn and look. As I grew up, she was always the first to point out another beautiful woman. She would tell people she noticed them, noticed their clothing, hair, or whatever. It was embarrassing, but now I realize that it was her way of showing us to appreaciate those around us. In many ways we grew up together. She remarried when I was 5, had another child when I was 6. She worked when it wasn't fashionable and taught me in this way how important it is to feel like what you do is worthy. My mom was never an "at-home" mom. Now, I think I relate. I have never been one either. I love to work and constantly try to balance motherhood and my job.
As I got older, things became rockier. She began to use drugs when I was in the 7th grade and continued to both use and drink heavily. Our roles were beginning to reverse. I was taking care of my brother, scraping together food to feed us, stealing my mother's boyfriends drugs to sell to get things to eat. I am not proud of that now, but hen, it was all about survival. When the adult in your life isn't an adult, something had to take over.
After 8th grade, I told my dad that if he wouldn't let me move in, I was running away. Sometimes there is clarity and this was one of those times. He and his new wife, Susanne, took me in. They had only been married a year so it was quite the task.Susanne, the woman I now call my mom, was my saving angel. She and my father saved my life. The four years of high school, I worked to be another person. I was in choir, involved in activities, and didn't talk to my mom. Sometimes she tried, but mostly I didn't care.
This pattern continued for many years. Honestly, I didn't really give her much chance. She had made her mistakes and I was not going to let her apologize. I didn't believe her. I was bitter, angry, and frustrated. She had never been what I wanted or needed and, in many ways, I never let her forget it.
I don't want you to think that this is all about bitching about my mother because it's not. What this is about is remembering her and all the beautiful things she brought me, things I never thanked her for. So here it goes:
Mama,
Thank you for encouraging me to see the beauty in people.
Thank you for teaching me how to compliment people.
Thank you for showing me how to make a window into a work of art.
Thank you for teaching me that brown paper wrapping or the comics can be the greatest wrapping paper!
Thank you for introducing me to the "puppet" christmas shows and watching with me!
Thank you for teaching me to value my job and the person I can be there.
Thank you for teaching me to batik, even if I can't remember.
Thank you for teaching me to be an independent thinker.
Thank you for encouraging me to go toward any goal I wanted.
Thank you for telling me that you were proud of me.
Thank you for telling me that I was a good mother.
Thank you....
I wish that I was able to go back three years and two weeks. If I could I would bring Javad to you so you could hold him, I would bring Stesha by to see you and I would tell you I loved you with all my heart, not withholding that little piece that I always did.
You did what you could and, even though it wasn't always the best, it was what it was.
I love you and I miss you.
Shannon
