Wanted, Dead or Alive

I guess I’m not through with my mother yet.  I have been processing all I wrote about her and she weighs deeply on my mind and my heart.  It might even help me have a better relationship with my own daughters if I explore the nature of mine with my own mother.  After all, her issues are my issues.   I can’t help thinking there is something I need to do, yet.  Just the term I use when talking about her indicates a great deal about how I feel at the moment.  The term “mother” is a distancing term.  Odd, I know, but most people refer to their mother as mom or some other term of endearment.  No one can say my mother was endearing.  She had her moments, but all I have told you about her to date amounts to a woman incapable of much.

I have come to realize the process of forgiveness was different from my mother than that of my father.  I did not compare myself to my father.  Everything I did was a direct comparison to my mother, and she failed on almost all counts.  It wasn’t a fair comparison, I know that now, but whenever you hold yourself up as better than another person, you stunt your own growth.  Life is about spiritual growth.  There are lessons we need to learn here to be worthy of the return back to spirit.  For now, that is what I have decided to use to refer to “God” since that term does not correctly describe the “higher power” which isn’t accurate either.  I need these lessons, but there is no promise I would have to be happy with the lesson plans.  So far, I would have liked a different curriculum. 

It is a humbling experience to realize how wrong you were about anything important.  I was wrong in my interactions with my mother, but as Dr. Phil likes to say, “You can’t know what you don’t know.”  I didn’t know.  It is hard to learn something when you think you know it all, and I thought I knew it all about my mother.  It was only examining my own path into adulthood and then into maturity that I have been enlightened enough to understand more about this woman I describe as cold, hard, mean and petty.   She was all those things, and it blinded me to everything else she was or could have been.  Coming to understand myself, helped me to understand her since the path we walked was not so very different.  I don’t know the details of her life, but I know enough of the broad strokes to understand my mother was as handicapped as I was when she entered into adulthood.  I know she made some strides into maturity, but I’ll never know how far of the journey she succeeded in making. 

When my mother hung up on me the last time we spoke, I was not wise enough yet to understand she was still a child hiding in an adult’s body.  Without hearing her side of it, I am only guessing she was hurt when I told her my father visited me in the hospital and how much I appreciated his visits.  She felt slighted, though that was not what I was implying.  That is what can go so very wrong when people do not communicate to each other.  All I could see was a woman who was supposed to be my mother acting selfish and petty.  When I initiated the attempt to accept her as she was, I did for a long time.  I was frequently frustrated with her pettiness, and frequently disappointed in her inability to be my mother.  I was also disappointed in her lack of being a grandmother to my children.  I accepted this as the price for a relationship with her.  I said I was willing to accept her at face value, and yet I clearly did not.  I still had expectations of her. 

I understand our relationship could not have been anything but what it was.  I cannot learn when I think I already am wise, but here is where the lessons on spiritual growth happen, and no, I don’t like the lesson plan.  In my attempt for “unconditional acceptance” of my mother, it was conditional on my ability to be accepting.  That ability was limited, thus my ability to interact with my mother on that level was also limited.  I gave it all I had, though.

When my mother hung up on me, all I could see at the time was my own needs.  I had hit rock bottom.  I just got out of the hospital for a suicide attempt as a result of being misdiagnosed as Bipolar and the medications used to treat it.  My husband had already left and my future was dismal and scary.  I had no job, my house was heading for foreclosure and I was still under the impression I was Bipolar, only now the doctor had taken me off nearly all medication to treat it.  I wasn’t mentally well, and I was terrified of getting worse.  My youngest daughter had gone to live with my oldest daughter, a bitter blow for me to bear.  My middle daughter had called Children’s Services on me, and that was a terrible betrayal.  I was alone and I needed my mother to be there for me.  Instead of asking what she could do to help or better yet, just jumping in and helping, she hung up on me in the middle of a conversation.  I was in no position to be accepting of my mother, and her failings.  If ever I needed her support, this was it.  Come to think of it, this was the same pattern our relationship consisted of throughout my whole life.  I was insane.  My mother had never been there for me before, and here I was expecting her to be there for me now. 

I was expecting a lot from my mother, more than she could possibly give.  I wasn’t wrong to expect my mother to act like a mother, but I was wrong as an adult woman myself to believe she could do it.  Here I am being superior.  I gave my mother another chance at a relationship with me and she failed me yet again.  I never once considered I was failing her.  And I did fail her, but I was still the child, her child, although I am a woman.  I don’t know if adults ever stop being a child in relationship to their parents, since all I know is what I had.  I did not know how to interact with her, to have a relationship with her, that wasn’t toxic and detrimental to me.  We were in constant competition with each other to get our own needs met.  I needed a mother, and she needed someone to save her.  No one could have saved her, she needed to save herself.  She is filled with anger, bitterness and disappointment.  No one could blame her having lived the life she did, but like so many others; she is stuck in it and can’t see her way through to a happier life.  One of the many reasons I moved to Arizona was to get away from my adult girls.  I need them to make me feel whole.  I was repeating my mother’s relationship with me.  If my girls don’t pay me the attention I think they should, I am hurt.  When I am hurt, I strike out and distance myself from the person hurting me.  My girls were hurting me, but they are not the ones who are broken, this is my burden to bear, my responsibility to heal.  They are doing exactly what they should be doing; living their own life.  They needed me to leave, and I needed to leave if I want to break the patterns of my childhood.  It is not their fault I need them to feel whole.  It is not their responsibility, either

And it was not my responsibility to make my mother feel whole.  But still, I know I caused my mother pain by the relationship I had and didn’t have with her.  She needed more from me than I could give.  I needed more from her than she could give.  There was plenty of hurt to go around.  I would like to take the blame for not being a better person; it’s what I do best.  I punish myself for not being what I think I should have been.  I wish I could have been the more gracious of the two of us and called her back.  Even if I called to say “What the hell was that all about?”  It would have opened dialogue so we could have continued to be in each other’s lives.  I can’t know if the results would have been the same, but when she hung up on me, I was so very fragile.  I was focusing all my energy on putting my life back together and getting well, I didn’t have any energy left over to play silly childish games to placate my mother’s insecurities.  That is exactly what I needed to do both for myself, and my children.  My children needed a mother who was functional and well.  I was not either at the time.  I couldn’t be accepting and tolerate of my mother’s childish behavior when I was so very ill. 

Yet, I regret not calling her back and making the attempt.  I hate it when my brain, logic and reason tell me one thing, and my heart tells me another.  I wish I could have saved my mother.  I could barely save myself at the time, and yet I wish I could have saved her.  I wish I could have done for her what I was able to do for my father, just be there for her.  Now that I have forgiven her and let go of the anger, I can see my mother differently, and it fills me with sadness.  My mother was a victim, just as I was, but my mother did not survive in a meaningful sense of the word.  I wish I could have been so introspective when my mother was still a part of my life. 

A case could be made for my mother needing to be alone these last years of her life, often; things are as they should be, as they are meant to be.  Like my father, my mother was unspeakably cruel to me in many ways.  She didn’t cause the same kind of scars my father left, my mother isn’t the reason I can’t sleep at night.  She left a Waco of her own, though.  I had to learn to be affectionate with my own children; it was not something I was able to do without effort.  My mother was critical of me in about every possible way, and I had to learn to be accepting of my girls.  When my children come to me in a vulnerable state, I constantly dance between empathy, helping them, and tough love.  My mother did love me to the best of her ability.  I think what I viewed as my mother being cold to me could have been her way of trying to make me tough to handle what gets thrown your way in life.  If that was her intent, she succeeded.  I became so tough, I had to learn compassion. 

I thought forgiving my mother would bring me closure.  It has not.  My mother’s spirit has been with me my every moment, and my Angels are relentlessly whispering in my ear.   There is something else I need to do, and I don’t know what it is.  A couple of years back, she tried to call me.  I attempted for two weeks to return the call, but never got an answer, so it is like having an open door in my soul, but the door doesn’t lead anywhere.  I don’t know what she wanted, but it sounded urgent.  I have scoured the internet, and it is ironic that I can find a wealth of information out there, but not if my mother died or not.  The social security web site does not offer such information, it is not available for public viewing from any of the health departments, and I’m not sure my brother would post an obituary about my mother, though I also scoured public records for one.  I have to find out if she is alive or not.  How do I do that without making some connection with my family? 

I have spent hours trying to find out more about my mother to no avail.  Plenty of websites offer information for a fee, but the problem is they compile the information from the same sights I was looking through.  I did try one, just in case.  As I thought, it was a waste of my money.  I made some phone calls, again to no avail.  It was as if my mother did not exist, but I couldn’t find out if she had died, either.  It has been quite a frustrating experience.  I had to know if my mother was dead or alive. 

Well, as fate often does, it has opened up a new challenge for me.  I struggled with the idea of contacting my family to find out, and put it off as long as I could.  I don’t know what will become if it, but I called the apartment manager where I last knew my mother to live.  He was evasive, but I finally told him I was her daughter.  He was surprised.  He didn’t know my mother had any children.  My mother cooks him dinner frequently, he likes her and thinks of her as “good people.”  My mother, at age 73 and 4’10” tall works as a security guard somewhere.  I wished he wouldn’t, but he is going to mention to my mother that I called and inquired about her.  So now the waiting begins.  Will she call?  I don’t know.  What do I say to her after hello?  I don’t know that, either.  I am afraid to talk to her.  My only comfort is in knowing I am safe here in Arizona.  I doubt she will make the trip here to see me, and I have no immediate plans to return to visit Ohio. 

I have forgiven my mother.  I have a greater understanding of her ability to be a mother.  I am more mature now than I was then, and have gained valuable insight.  But even at 48, there is a little girl inside who wants her mommy.  I don’t know if I can talk with her and not be her daughter, bringing with me the expectations a daughter does.  I don’t know what she expects from me, but I do know I will never meet her expectations.  I never have in the past, so I can’t expect to in the future.  It has been nearly ten years since the day my mother hung up on me.  It is possible in those years; my mother has had time to reflect as well.  The fact is, as much as I know about my mother, I don’t know anything about the person she is today.  Then again, maybe she hasn’t changed at all.  Should she decide to call, I do know I need to leave my expectations of what a mother should be in my dreams.  Dreams are not reality, and the reality is had circumstances been different, I could have been my mother.  I need to keep the gratitude I feel close to my heart, burn my judge’s robe forever, and be open to what I still need to learn from her.  Maybe recognizing I have caused my mother pain, no matter how inadvertently, is not enough.  Maybe an apology would be in order. 

I can already hear my friends screaming “And what about an apology from her?”  In order for someone to apologize, they must understand they did something wrong.  My mother is still a child, now in an old woman’s body.  Forgiving her also means I do not need an apology from her in order to heal from the past.  More than anything, I want to let go of the past, and quit using it to cause myself sorrow.  Surely, I have enough reason for sorrow, but there has to come a time for it to end.  I am choosing for it to end.  Now that I see my mother not through her actions, but through the adult I became, I have a duty to step up and take responsibility for my part in the very difficult relationship my mother and I have had.  But I am worrying myself over something that may never happen.  Hopefully, should she call, I will be able to respond to her with kindness.

Should she choose not to call, I must also accept this without judgment.  The relationship she and I have had was never easy, and I know my interactions with her have hurt her deeply.  I do not wish to be the cause of more pain for her.  She has had enough pain in her life.  I hope someday she finds peace.  Her life has been difficult.  No matter what her mistakes have been, she deserves some happiness and peace.  I want her to have that. 

So now I wait.  I wanted to close the doors on Ohio, and all the ghosts who live there, but my Angels had other plans for me.  I wanted forgiving my mother to be the final chapter of my childhood, and if my mother never calls, maybe it will be.  If she does call, I must keep an open mind and an open heart when speaking with her.  I have to leave the past where it lay, and be open to what I need to learn.  It will be difficult, but if I can keep myself from feeling worthless around her, or superior to her, I might be surprised at what happens next.