Just Another Day (Or Why I Don't Celebrate Mother's Day)

Dear "Mom",

I know people operate under the presumption that you should love and honor your parents. But I feel neither for you. For 17 years, you mentally and emotionally abused me. Leaving home was like removing a heavy weight from my chest that I didn't even realize had been there.

And it stung that you didn't bother to visit or call -- I had to be the one to do that. To see how you and my siblings were doing. I guess I should appreciate that you did come to my high school graduation party (which I had to throw for myself). But I think I would've appreciated your presence more if you didn't immediately hit me up for the cash I received right after.

Up until then, I hadn't put much stock in what your extended family said about you being a user and only interested in how they could help you. I learned that message fast, but the lesson slow. I gave you the money, but I hated the way it made me feel, pushing me down the path I'd started on away from you.

And when I moved 1000 miles away for my husband's active duty, and became pregnant. Do you remember when I told you that you were going to be a first-time grandma? I do. You never responded or showed the slightest bit of interest until I miscarried. But of course that was also about you. "I've been trying to get pregnant too, and experienced X, Y, and Z. What were your symptoms? If they're the same, maybe I've been miscarrying too. What should I do to avoid that?" Not once did you ask how I was doing. Me alone in a state far from everyone I knew, my husband deployed for six month in South America. I felt even worse after hanging up that call, which I hadn't thought possible.

Of course after we returned, you just had to break out and move a couple states away. Damn needing jobs, savings, or a place to stay, and an added bonus of taking my sister far away from the rest of her family, denying them visitation. But it was me you called when shit hit the fan, your current husband bailing and leaving you with nothing. Pleading with a daughter you hadn't spoken to in years for help, but refusing to actually make any luck of your own. In the end, you ignored my help and fed on the kindness of strangers that cared for my teen sister and her unfortunate situation.

And I don't even want to rehash Renee's graduation. That was a mess.

 But the last time you had the gall to contact me, to say you finally wanted to know exactly what the issues were and how they should be fixed. You got to me. That's all I've ever wanted from you. And then you fled down the dark rabbit hole of denial and showed your true intentions. You wanted me to make a three-hour drive to "fix things" face-to-face, and soon. Disregard the fact that I work full-time, that I have a family too, that I'm a full-time student. I knew it wouldn't be a short conversation, so I offered to take vacation from work after the college semester was over. It'd give us as long as we needed, whether it be a few hours or a few days. Your ultimatum showed your hand -- you only wanted some kind of assistance, it didn't matter who it came from and it had to be soon. You preyed on that mother-daughter relationship you knew I'd always craved and said it was now or never.

And so it will be never. Our relationship is not a hostage you can keep using to pull my heart strings.

I'll admit, it still tears me up inside. I still cry. But I've accepted the reality of the situation, and refuse to be your doormat, just because you gave birth to me. All the things I wish we could talk about, that we could share, I know it's not an option. If it was, I would've invited you to my college graduation last week. Yeah, did you even realize I was in college? I'd told you last time we spoke that the semester was the reason I had to wait to visit you, but I don't think it ever registered. First person in our family ever to get a college degree, doesn't that make you proud? Don't you want to know what I'm trying to be when I "grow up"?

Biologically, yes, you're my mother. But in any other way, I deny it. There are wonderful women I have met that have been a much more caring, nurturing, supportive force in my life than you ever were. They were there at my graduation, cheering me on and telling me how far I have come, how strong I've been, and how proud they are of my accomplishments. They see me for who I am and can be, not what I can give them.

And they serve to remind me. I am not the one who's missing out. It's you.

The Last of It

Spending time with Renee was certainly the high point of the trip. She was our tour guide through town, mentioning memories she had made here and there. Eventually she directed us to a park on the edge of town.

We were transformed into kids again, playing on the swings, walking on jungle gym, trying our hand at the monkey bars. Anything to lighten the mood for Renee – who undoubtedly had heavy thoughts clouding her mind.

Although it was beginning to get dark, we strolled through the grassy trails, finally able to talk without Mother’s nagging presence. It was clear Renee was resigned to her fate, but hopeful that within a short amount of time she would be able to work, save up some money and return. Glad that she hadn’t fully given into despair, I smiled outwardly. But inwardly I worried about how unrealistic her expectations were.

As the bugs snacked on us, we decided to head to a local retailer still open for the evening. Browsing the stacks and making jokes, we knew the night was winding down, but were reluctant to leave. Mother called twice, stating she was concerned and wanted to know exactly where we were and what we were doing. She has always thought being in our presence was some reason for alarm, and that we were going to kidnap Renee. (No, Mother, I’m not stupid enough to get in trouble with the law on your account).

After the second call, we decided to call it a night and return her to the motel. We said our sad good-byes, but it was a little better knowing she would be with her father over the summer and we’d see her again soon.

Trying to get a leg up on the trip back, we headed towards home. Plans to stop at a hotel were scrapped as Lawrence drove us home through the night and into the next day.

I love to travel, but it was a sigh of relief to come back home and to “normal”. 

Graduation Day

Our sleep is restless, but eventually the sun comes out and Renee’s graduation day is upon us.

After enjoying a decent complimentary breakfast, we check out and whittle away the hours until the school doors are opened for friends and family. There’s a lot of scenarios and theories we speak about regarding Mother and Renee, but as the unanswered questions grow the conversation dwindles before finally extinguishing.

I text Renee to speak with her as privately as I can, since we haven’t had a Mother-free moment. Even though she has put on a brave face, I remind her how we care for her and when things are getting bad we can help her. But she has to let us in, has to keep us informed. Her reaction is stony – she has given to the pessimistic view of things and says she knows, but there’s no way we can help. It’s disheartening and heavy to see those words from her, hours before she received her diploma.

Finally it’s 3 o’clock and the air-conditioned gym is opened to us. We wait in anticipation as the crowd filters in. Looking over the program, we see she has excelled beyond what we thought – 5^th in her class, National Honor Society, high honors in multiple programs (some due to the college courses she has already completed). I am beaming with pride at her hard work and the potential it holds for her future.

The band strikes a chord and all the faculty and graduates filter in. I can tell she is having trouble walking in her first pair of heels and wonder if she regrets choosing them during our shopping trip for her graduation outfit when she came to see us on spring break. We also scan to find her beau (located a few rows behind Renee). We nudge each other when they are called to the stage and wonder if we will meet this mysterious person later on. (We don’t).

The ceremony itself is as lackluster as I remember mine being and beyond my sister’s accomplishments, I zone out for most of it.

The band plays out the graduation, but exiting the gym takes a long time due to the size of the crowd. Eventually we emerge outside in the heat and search for Renee. Mother has beaten us there. She calls my brother, Steven, and asks him to meet us to determine where we are going for a celebratory dinner.

He shows up a few minutes later, much taller than when I’d last seen him, sporting shades and a shaved head. I wonder what kind of crowd he has integrated himself with here. Renee has told me he is still pursuing drugs, still behaving irrationally and irresponsibly. His bald noggin makes me question if he’s become involved in a skin head organization, but I keep to myself. He is no longer the little brother I was close to and loved dearly.

A local pizza parlor is decided on and we split for our respective cars. When we arrive, two girls are waiting for Steven. No introductions are made, so best guess is one is his girlfriend, the other her tag-along friend. 20 minutes into our meal, another couple that Steven knows and invited show up – making half our party pals of his that our disjointed family doesn’t know. I’m surprised I can feel even more disappointment in this trip, but I do  – Renee does not even get to have her spotlight time during her graduation “party”.

Thankfully the dinner ends quick enough and we head once more for Mother’s motel room. There is a cake, but between the heat melting it and our lack of appetite, it sits in the box. After much to-do and uncomfortable small talk, we are finally able to spend a few wonderful hours with just Renee.

Table Manners

Set on keeping the peace, we don’t resist her request and continue to pile in, but Mother hangs back.

“I don’t have enough gas in my car to get there and back,” she says, with an all too revealing look. I shrug again – less than 10 minutes in her company and I’m fed up. Renee says they’ll make it work. Five adults squeeze into my little 4-door sedan – Lawrence as my co-pilot, with Devon and Mother separated by the only thing in this world they still share, their daughter. A heavy tension descends upon us and refuses to shake loose until we leave for our hotel later that evening.

At the run-of-the-mill buffet, we share our meal in silence. We are voracious eaters, but keep our table manners in mind. As the meal draws to a close, I begin to note more closely how Mother has been eating – heartily and without a thought to chewing before swallowing her food. In my 17 years under her roof, we were expected to have exemplary table manners, no matter how hungry we were. To see this side of her is a new leaf, and I’m not sure a positive one.

Feeling like a fool, I connect the dots on why Renee requested we include Mother. I wonder how long it’s been since she’s eaten, and eaten “properly” to boot. Again, I am floored by the generosity and kindness of Renee’s heart – Mother is pulling her away from the one place she’s made a stand to remain at (along with a lengthy laundry list of other wrongs) and yet she is still concerned for Mother’s well-being. Sometimes she seems too old for her age – like she is raising Mother instead of the other way around.

We drop them off at their hotel and make our way to ours. It’s been a long day and we’re ready to recharge our batteries for tomorrow, Renee’s graduation. Navigating our way in the dark, we contemplate on how bizarre this day has been and the unexpected moving issue that has overshadowed the barely begun weekend.

"At least now you've had dinner with my in-laws," I tease Lawrence, who has just met Mother for the first time. 

"And it went as badly as you predicted. Your stories really weren't made-up."

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

I stop the car and put it in park. There’s no use denying we are there – Renee pointed at us the moment she could make out our faces. Mother’s car stops at the end of the driveway and she gets out to meet us, Renee remains in the passenger’s seat.

“I’ve missed you ,” Mother says to me, holding her arms out expectantly. I begrudgingly hug her back, mumbling a return, not heartfelt in the least. Quickly pulling away, I busy myself shuffling items in the trunk and getting an iced tea from the cooler. I can hear her talking in hushed tones to Devon, explaining her version of events. While not every word is audible, I catch words that disappoint me – “fight”, “moving”, “roommate”.

Wait, roommate?*

*To make a long story short, Mother has not worked in over 3 years, and does not go out and socialize. I’ve never known her to have a single true friend. So this fact is puzzling – who is this roommate and where did they materialize from?

As I close the trunk, she takes it as a cue and asks us to follow her to the hotel they are currently staying at. With more questions than answers at this point, we have no choice but to go further down the rabbit hole.

The short drive across town is tense, but will not even compare to others later during our brief stay. Rounding the final corner, we come upon 60’s style one-story motel that looks abandoned. My insides cringe, realizing Renee has not been truthful about the situation, trying to protect and prevent us from worrying.

Exiting our cars again, Mother finally acknowledges the third person in our party – my husband, Lawrence. It’s a standard “Hi”, but serves as a reminder that Mother is so wrapped up in her own life that she is not even curious or interested in who he even is and why he is there.

Devon and Mother doing most of the talking. Mother acting like nothing is going on, a bad history doesn’t exist, while Devon tries to diffuse the situation. I don’t trust my mouth to keep things low-key, clamping my lips tight and looking to Lawrence for something – anything, a reassuring smile, a comedic gesture, or an inside joke. He returns my gaze with a look of acknowledgement, confirming in his level-headedness that things really are that bad.

Renee finally opens her door and joins our terse group. She is quiet, her usual, but her eyes are puffy and she refuses to look at anything but the gravel under her tennis shoes. Devon asks her if she’d like to go to dinner with us. Between the gravity of the situation and our stomachs running solely on trail mix and jerky, we are anxious to hightail it out of the current situation.

After many indecisive answers (Renee’s forte), we agree on a restaurant the next town over. As we troupe towards the car, our appetites raging, she adds a clause to our trip.

Mother has to join us for dinner.

So It Begins...

What should be a happy occasion is laced with anxiety and a tinge of sadness. My intelligent little sister’s graduation should be a cause for celebration, for cheer. Instead it’s a 500 mile trip of white knuckles through the mountains, hoping my recently repaired car is truly repaired. 

As her father (Devon), my husband (Lawrence) and I travel to our destination, we muse over small things – the changing landscape, how big her class is, if we’ll meet her significant other and what (not if) her mother has in store to make this occasion less momentous than it is. It’s a bleak, but honest, view of what we know is inevitably in-store. I try to stave off tears, knowing after this there won't be any quick drives to see her at her father's during holiday visitation. Renee has stated her intent to continue living far from us, in order to remain among the community of friends she has finally been able to build for the first time in her life. I am proud of her and how she has grown, but I don't relish the thought of having to treat a visit as an actual vacation to have quality time together. And we're both miserable conversationalists on the phone. 

The day crawls from morning to lunch to late afternoon as we wind through the hills, occasionally stopping to fuel up and stretch our legs.

10 miles out, Devon calls Renee to let her know we are close. There is commotion in the background – the problems have already begun. Mother is making arrangements to meet anywhere but their home. And since Mother won't do anything that doesn't benefit her, we know something is up. Red flags raised, we make it a point of heading there straight away, instead of the proposed meet-up location.

Turning off the beaten country road, we begin inching down the gravel lane that provides access to the main road for a few homes and trailers set inside the field. An oncoming speck slowly grows larger and morphs into an old blue Mustang – Mother's car. The back windows are tinted, but I still can tell with a growing despair there are boxes in the back. Boxes for moving.

Moving 600 miles away merely two days after graduation, away from Renee’s friends and serious significant other of 2+ years. Friends that she has been fortunate to make in high school, after already being transferred through 4 previous schools. Moving away from the place I’ve seen her happiest.