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| The face I still make when I am angry |
When I was younger, my mother was my world. She was the
person I thought could do no wrong. I saw the drugs, the alcohol, and the
absences for days at a time. I did not register them as faults but personality
traits. They were who she was. They were not bad. Nothing she did was bad.
I had this rose-colored image of her that I wasn’t able to
shake until around age twenty. For twenty years I watched and allowed my heart
to be let down time and time again just waiting for the moment when I would
finally have a mother. Like a puppy, waiting by the door I diligently sat
craving her love and attention. If that was just part of who she was, why did I
have to feel so empty on nights when she was gone? To say I have abandonment
issues would be an understatement.
Last week, my mother was arrested. When my brother told me
the news, I stared blankly for a moment. I did not ask why. My brain
automatically assigned my feelings to resignation and lack of interest. Another
flaw in her personality. But I felt my jaw clench momentarily with anger.
When I thought about my reaction later, after learning why
it brought an incredible sense of sadness back to me. Sadness I thought was
long ago buried. I know that it will never fully be buried. I know that I will
never fully accept the fact that my mother is not a part of my life and hasn’t
been for quite some time now.
Nevertheless every now and then when I smell fried eggs the
child within me yearns to be seated at the counter with my mother, dipping
toast into eggs over medium and watching the yolk, like lava envelope the
plate. Like a flashbulb memory I can smell the stale smoke and day-old Tresor perfume.
Suddenly I can feel myself smiling unknowingly and I long to pick up the phone
and tell her about my day. It takes everything in me to shove those emotions
back and remember why not having her in my life is better.
I am no longer that mousy blonde child whose eyes peered
through the diamond shape window of my bedroom waiting for the head lights of
my mother’s car to appear after her absence. Instead I am an adult, with an
incredibly large hole inside of me, wondering how I will fill the void and find
acceptance.
Waiting to find peace.
You can only lose what you cling to. - Buddah
