Mother’s Day is Hard……

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Mother’s Day is Hard……

Mother’s Day is hard for me.  My mother lives close by in a small house that I bought for her. It’s in a retirement community and is a 10 minute drive from me. And it is kind of a remarkable thing given our history. Let’s be clear though, I mostly bought the house for me, not her. I need to be OK with myself after she passes.

My mother has been mentally unstable my entire life. As a young child I watched her drink alcoholically, drive drunk, and create drama. There were the standard saturday morning thrashings if my brother or I woke her up too early. If I’m honest, my brother took the brunt of that. I would scurry away and he would try to reason with her, smack. When I was in first grade she was brushing my hair and got so frustrated with me that she hit me hard on the forehead, which caused a bump and a surprising amount of blood. I was told to say I walked into the door so mommy wouldn’t get in trouble. Most of the abuse was mental. She would routinely say “I wish you were never born”. That’s hard to reconcile as a child, hell it’s hard to type that now.

It was just the three of us – my mother, twin brother and I. My parents divorced when we were two years old. We saw our father on a regular basis until we were moved out of state at 8 years old.This move followed a custody battle between our parents and as soon as the ink was dry from the case our mother moved us to Florida with her charismatic and somewhat insane boyfriend. So we went from 3 to 4 for one drama filled year.

I remember crossing the state line in a red convertible Cadillac “Welcome to Florida – The Sunshine State”. It was pouring and the irony or perhaps it was foreshadowing was not lost on me. That year was filled with insanity and contradictions. We moved four times in 10 months and went to two different school districts. There were snakes and palmetto bugs, lizards and a trip to Disney. We had a 40-foot boat and I learned to fish and went snorkeling, it wasn’t all bad.

The bad was really bad though.The relationship between my mother and her boyfriend was volatile. I saw him beat her. I listened to countless loud, uncontrollable arguments. At one point my mother left with my brother to go back to New Jersey. I was left in Florida with a family that we barely knew.  They had rented one of the houses we had lived in and they had 5 kids, I was 9 years old.Who does that? Who leaves their 9 year old girl in another state with strangers for a month. A desperate crazy person, that’s who.

My mother came back in about a month and was promptly hospitalized after a suicide attempt. I was sent to a foster home for a week. Soon after my mother had another breakdown and destroyed the place we were living in. I watched her get arrested and placed in the back of a police car. A few days later I was taking my first ever plane ride back to New Jersey, alone.  My brother and I stayed with our grandparents for the next year until mom could get a place for the three of us.

The roller coaster continued throughout my formative years.Mother continued to drink and spoke of suicide often. Each day when I got home from school I would walk into every room in our apartment. Honestly, I did not connect the dots on this behavior until I was an adult, but I was looking for my mother’s body. There were also plenty of nights when I found her passed out on the floor with the telephone cord wrapped around her or in the bathroom. In between there was lots of yelling, uncertainty, acid laced gossip and talk of bankruptcy. I would be filled with panic when I heard my mother’s footsteps coming home at night, we never knew what to expect.

The high level of dysfunction continued until 1983. That year I was sent to rehab after a brief but intense bout of teenage rebellion. My mother had just gotten sober and once again introduced an insane man into our lives. Eventually that union caused the original three to be scattered in different living situations. My year consisted of institutions – including a cult working farm which portrayed itself as a recovery half way house. My brother lived with a friend’s family and mom couch surfed. The three of us never shared the same roof again – my brother and I were 15.

I grew up fast out of necessity, with little familial guidance. I learned how to “adult” in AA. Truly the 12 steps are a nice road map for life and I sure as shit wasn’t getting solid pointers at home. I learned about taking responsibility for my actions and my emotions. I became financially independent while I was a teenager and harnessed a strong work ethic. I put myself through college and really have done OK for myself despite the enormous odds stacked against me.

So how is it that after the shit storm that was my childhood am I able to care for my mother in a way that she never did for me? I don’t know maybe I get the illness part of mental illness. I mean if she had cancer or lupus I wouldn’t abandon her. I know it isn’t the same because the cancer patient doesn’t typically destroy others with their narcissistic ways, but I do know this, the woman is not well. So for the past 20 years or so I have managed to find a balance between compassion and self preservation.

So once again I will opt for the funny Mother’s Day card and some flowers, maybe a meal out for mom. I will not blubber on about how wonderful she is or post pictures on Facebook of smiling faces. I don’t do fake but I can do compassion.

 

 

 

 

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30 responses »

  1. that was so moving Bryce. I respect you beyond words for being able to care for a woman who gave you so little and took so much away. My father was an alcoholic narcissist and I have similar issues with Fathers Day – he now has dementia and doesn’t know us. It’s a sad fact that I feel relieved that I don’t have to pretend any more. I hope you find some joy on Mothers Day from somewhere other than your own mum xx

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  2. I have two crazy mothers in my life, dealing with them both now as they come to the end of their lives…it is a challenge to reconcile it all. It is a challenge to understand why I want to help them while still at my age processing the past. Thanks for the reminder about compassion.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. wonderful post. as an alcoholic mother (in AA/recovery for 27 years now), i wondered how bad it was for my older girls who were 3 & 4 when i got sober. i was fairly insane for the first few years of my sobriety as a single mother too. ah well. we do our best. loved this post. thank you.

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  4. Wow. I’m so sorry you experienced all of that. You are a kind-hearted person (and great writer). I commend you for caring for your mother now. I personally don’t have in me this year. And if I’m honest, I don’t think it’ll ever return.

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  5. What a beautiful post, Bryce! So sorry that some of have to go through such things…but I couldn’t agree more…that it makes us the women we are. My struggles made me see what kind of mother I never wanted to be and the feelings that I felt were ones that I never wanted to cause in my children. While my mom was physically there, she was not emotionally and I too, did the right thing and was my moms caregiver for the last 10 years of her life, as she had MS. Wishing you an amazing week!

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  6. This had to be so hard to write. I do sense you have taken yourself under your own wing, and if tormented from time to time, it seems you’ve located a very, very strong part of yourself. Peace to you.

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    • Thank you Susan. I think some of this pops up because I have children of my own and I think back to when I was their age…..what a world of difference on so many levels.

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  7. Just discovered your blog today, and I am truly grateful that I did. What an incredible story, and I’m inspired by your compassion and strength.

    Thank you for sharing and being so authentic.

    Liked by 1 person

  8. I think you do it because you’re a better person. Maybe all the sh** you experienced made you that compassionate woman. I salute your courage and perseverance!

    Don’t forget that Mother’s Day is also about YOU! I hope your kids are taking good care of you today!

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