Pages

Sunday, May 8, 2011

I Miss You, Michele

  

 This is one of the most bittersweet days of the year for me. In 1998, after years of declining health due to a lifetime of smoking, I lost my Mom to COPD and emphysema.  I had rescued her from her younger husband who due to his own issues had never been able to really take care of her, and she lived with me the remaining years of her life. I eventually becoming the "parent", until finally the day came when the Wife and I could no longer trust her alone while we were at work, and had to place her in a nursing home.  Up until that point she had had a fierce independence (as much as one could who relied on others to pay for food and rent) and a lust for life that only a gifted artist and gypsy at heart could have.  But like a balloon which had suffered one prick to many, going to the home deflated her spirit and she gave up there and then.  With nothing else I could do, and knowing her lungs would soon enough not be able to keep her going, I nonetheless suffered so much guilt, even though if truth be told, I gave my Mother back much more than she had given me beyond birthing me.  She didn't raise me; the Mississippi Welfare Department did.
     It wasn't really her fault; it all came down to a conspiracy of irresponsibility, passing the buck, hurtful blame, and a bastard of a sperm-donar.  It wasn't until I was sixteen that I finally met her, and even then I had barely a couple of years before she split with her then-boyfriend (whom I had mistakenly thought was her husband) and I was, having turned eighteen the summer before my senior year, on my own.  With no home and no options, I joined the Navy and I've been having it out with life ever since, only on MY terms and not those of a loveless bureaucracy. 
     Yet, from the moment we met, I fell in love with that woman, and no woman has loved me the way she has since, always proud of me for what I accomplished on my own, never judging me for being young, naive, and infused with the same lust for life that had kept her going thru a very rough life.  I was both amazed and envious of her artistic talent, thinking she had passed nothing on to me that I could be equally proud of, talent wise.  Matter of fact, it wasn't until blogging came along and I took to writing on a regular basis did I feel that maybe SOMEthing of her talent maybe HAD rubbed off on me.  So, despite my exasperation at her innocent, irresponsible hyjinks throughout the years (like burning through money I left her while on deployment for rent and food, or packing a lid of grass in her carry-on luggage when she flew down to visit), I never felt as though she'd ever had to EARN the worry and care I afforded her as she grew older and I matured.  I used to think I was such a lucky guy to have such a fox of a Mom, who always looked young enough to be my sister.  
     My Mom was the first born of my many Aunts and Uncles and became the black sheep of the family, and by extension, I suffered some fallout for her estrangement. Even now, the oldest of 20-odd cousins, and the one only child, I have taken over the mantle of being the odd-one out, the pagan, the one far removed from the others with the exception of one with whom I shared a very special relationship.  But, I am who I am, and I dare say that Mom would be proud of me, even in these dark days when I seem to be able to see the end of days, and my own future seems under constant threat, as the clouds of uncertainty surround me and I face my own mortality.  I look at her picture and she smiles back at me and I feel her love even all these years later.


      Had to take a break there........


     Anyway, I have one thing to say to people with children.  Please don't assume that just because you bring them into the world, they really owe you anything. Remember, they didn't ask you too, and what they think of you in the long run is going to depend on whether or not your love for them was selfish or selfless.  You'd be amazed at what they can forgive you for, but NEVER take their love for granted.  I hated my Mother the day before I met her.  I thank the Gods I couldn't once I met her.  And I thank the Gods for taking over for me in the Summerlands.  I miss her so much.

2 comments:

Anne Johnson said...

My mom was bipolar and abusive, I hated her until the day she died, I laughed at her funeral and sang on the way to her grave. Only now that she is long gone have I come to terms with the person she was. Now I try to remember the few times she showed me how much she really did love me. Ironically, she was the epitome of how NOT to parent, so I just did the exact opposite of her, and my kids love me.

You, on the other hand, went an extra mile for your mom, and it sounds like she appreciated it. And you're right, she was beautiful.

Judy Bracher Carmichael said...

I often think we learn from our parents no matter what -- from their good examples, and their bad. You do have her beauty, spirit, and talent, plus a commitment to your loved ones and to a place that you nurture. The best of her, and a conscious decision to be different where she failed. The world is lucky you were born, and that you got to know her.