A Mother's Pain, Don't Pass It On

Have you ever felt unloved in your life? Unloved and alone?

I have felt this way my entire life. I have always given my love freely but I have always felt like no one saw me. Growing up I promised myself never would I make my children feel second best to anyone. The love I felt I never had as a child, I gave my kids all the love and affection they can stand. But as my daughter grew up, somehow, she began drifting away from me. Being my only girl and having been raped and molested in my younger years, I swore I would teach her everything no one bothered to teach me.

But 12-years-old is when she went sideways like most kids but she wasn’t a really bad kid, but I missed the times where we would lay in bed watching movies and laughing. The older she got, especially after the untimely death of my mother, my daughter, my shining light, never looked at me the same way. She blamed me for allowing my mother to die. It took her years to admit it to me, but I knew, I’ve always known. Do you know what it's like to have your child who you carried in your stomach for 9 months to think, look, and treat you like a murderer? Yep, that was the word she used. “Murderer.”

She has never forgiven me. Losing my mother meant I also would lose my daughter. If for a moment I could hug or speak to her without her groaning I would gladly give her what she truly wants. I would trade places with my mother in a heartbeat if my daughter would have love in her eyes for me again. The black hole in my heart, eroding my very soul, grows more and more with each burning stare. Now 14 years later my relationship with my daughter is tethered by frayed roots.

My relationship with my own mother wasn’t very easy. By the time I was 14, my mother began having episodes, bursts of anger that at that age I didn’t understand. I knew something was off with my mother was off, I wasn’t a bad a kid, but I’ve always felt out-shadowed by my older brother. Always in the background waving. I learned bad attention is still attention but most of my dealings went unnoticed, just like me. I mean I modelled for a while but no one believed me, so no one showed up. I wrote a play when I was 15 and got noticed by people in my town.

No one showed up.

Standing alone taught me at a very young age I was alone and the only person I can depend on is me. Tragic for a 15-year-old in the 80s-90s to learn. By the time I was 17, my mother wiped her hands of me and sent me to live in Denver with a father I barely knew. Four mouths later I was living on the streets in a strange city, with no friends in the dead of winter. I can say I never sold my body for food and I never did drugs. Pride stifled me from calling my mother right away because I wanted to show her, show them all that I could make it.

So, after wandering around, a nice lady with blue hair found shivering in a doorway took me in for a few days. Her roommate was Spencer; he was so tall and skinny with pitch black hair. I wondered why when the phone would ring, she’d go in closet. It wasn’t until later that I learned she was a phone sex operator. She was one of the coolest ladies I’ve ever met. It’s funny the things you remember, isn’t it?

Memories that are still so sharp and clear like they happened yesterday.

I remember them just like I remember the day my mother died taking a piece of my soul and my daughter with it. I’ve tried with her. In 25 years, I always tried to be there for her. She still looks at me with wishes it was my mother here instead of me. Yes, it is true. All I wanted was a daughter who I could hug and love and be loved back. She loves because I am her mother but that’s as far as it goes.

I don’t understand. Well, I guess maybe I do. As I get older I am really starting to look a lot like my mother. Growing up I never saw it, maybe I didn’t want to see it because of how she made me feel, I didn’t want to look like her, I didn’t want to be anything like her. But to tell the truth now that I am older, my health is shit, and all I can think about is my mother.

Once my mother was diagnosed Bi-polar and on meds, she was a tad bit better but having my daughter brought us closer together. I can remember many times my mom would ask me to chil,l I always thought some other time. I never thought I’d lose her. No matter how much of a screw up my family saw me as I always thought I will next time. I will never get another next time. I would never hear her laughter, or eat her home cooking, or even arguing over what I thought was best for my daughter.

It’s funny the things you miss when you lose someone.

How do you not love your mother? How is that possible? My other children never got to meet my mother, so the memories passed down only come few and far between. As I sit here writing, recovering from yet another trip to the hospital my daughter is getting ready to go with her “other mom.” The one she just met, the one she doesn’t think of as a killer. My heart is broken. Loves it, love causes this pain because it is how she feels without my mom. She will never see it from my side. I lost my mother.

The other mom is yet another shadow I must stand in.

Why is the path the dark and lonely when all I want is a family to love? I am strong because I have to be, I was conditioned to think about survival but now standing in the void of yet another person, another mom, makes me want to pull my weave off. LOL.

Mothers are important. I would think. Not having a really close bond with my family growing up all I want is a loving family that I could rely on. No such luck in that department.

So, what do I do? Nothing. There is nothing to do. Just keep hope alive that she will love me again.

If you’re here, reading this, please love your mother, respect her, and spend time with her. Mothers don’t ask for help and healing most of the time, so an expected hug does wonders. Time is important. Make good memories because we are not promised tomorrow.

Signed,

“The Murderer.”