mom

I thought I had a few more years before I would have to deal with all of this,

“All of this” meaning my mother.

I hadn’t spoken to her in 5 or so years

And that’s the way I wanted it,

because trust me, not speaking to her is easier than speaking to her

(If you knew her, you’d know what I mean).

Or at least that’s what I told myself for those few years.

 

We’ve always had a really complicated relationship.

Not because of me though,

Because of her.

She liked drinking more than she liked being a mom.

To this day, I can’t recall a time in my childhood when I spoke to her and she wasn’t under the influence of something.

I thought ABC was a pharmacy until I was 14.

I thought everyone's mom slept all day,

and disappeared for days at a time,

and kissed men who weren’t their dad.

I thought it was normal to lose some sleep over your parents yelling every night,

and play sports you didn’t like playing so you wouldn’t have to go home.

I thought it was normal for my chest to get tight, and my fingers to go numb,

and to cry during recess without knowing why.

I still wonder if my first grade teacher, Mrs. Carpenter actually got a call from my mom on Mother’s Day saying she “couldn't make it”, or if she just felt bad for me.

I guess it doesn’t make much of a difference now.

 

My little sister and I weren’t allowed to tell people what happened at home,

we’d get in trouble if we did.

It wasn’t something I ever questioned as a kid,

I just listened.

I was okay with my friends thinking that my mom was a nurse and too busy to come to my volleyball games or award ceremonies.

She was a hard worker!

I would get teary eyed during warm-ups knowing that she didn’t care to come,

but I had a game to win,

so I’d deal with it later.

 

I went to therapy my sophomore year of college.

It was trauma therapy.

I figured out why my memory is so bad, and why I struggle to remember insignificant things

like my boyfriend's birthday or the name of the guy my roommate went out with the night before.

My brain doesn’t care,

It thinks it’s got bigger fish to fry.

It had HUGE fish to fry when I was little,

and that’s what we mainly talked about.

What happened and how I felt about it.

I’m really good at putting things in boxes and then not opening them ever again! (not a good skill to have)

 

I went to therapy again my senior year of college.

We focused more on my mom leaving when I was 16,

what was nice about it

and what wasn’t.

Along with why I hate myself.

My therapist said she couldn’t help me and suggested I do EMDR or Ketamine treatments.

I just stopped going after that,

It seemed like a lot,

and I wanted to deal with it later.

 

I went home this past year for Christmas.

Holidays look a little different now because my dad got remarried and my step-sister lives with them.

It’s not a bad thing, there’s just more people. 

My mom gave my little sister a box of presents to give to me.

I sat in the living room and opened them.

Everything was used and smelled like stale cigarettes or liquor.

Her friend, John, killed himself earlier that year.

I think she might’ve taken stuff from his basement and wrapped it up as gifts for us.

Either way, it was overwhelming for me.

I stopped half way through and decided I’d open the rest of them later.

 

It’s weird,

I feel like when 22 year olds think about their wedding day, they’re thinking about the dress and the flowers and the bridesmaids and the location and the photographs.

I’m only thinking about the guest list.

I’ve never been able to think about anything else.

Do I invite my mom?

What about her parents?

Do my cousins from that side even care to come to my wedding?

Will my partner meet my mom for the first time at our wedding?!

Is that crazy?

What if she just doesn’t come?

Who would she sit next to?

Would her and my dad even attempt to talk?

My shoulders get tight just thinking about it,

I can't imagine how tense I’d be on the actual day.

With everyone in one room.

But, I’m single 

so I remind myself that it’s not something I need to think about right now,

it’s for later.

 

I used to get real panicky thinking about giving birth,

Especially before my dad was remarried.

I didn’t know who would be in the room with me.

My sister, obviously.

Maybe my friend Abigail?

But what WOMAN was going to guide me through it all based on her experience and wisdom?

There wasn’t one.

Even now, the thought of my step-mom seeing me spread open like that makes me uncomfortable.

But, I don’t even know if I want kids

and adopting has always sounded nice to me.

But, I can worry about it later.

No one’s making me decide who’s in the room, right now.

 

You think you have time.

Everyone thinks they have time.

And even if all of my decisions surrounding my birth-mother ended up being,

She's not invited to anything

She won't meet my spouse

She won't be in the delivery room

She won't meet my kids

I won’t open the other half of the gifts

I won’t dig up the mothers day poem I wrote her in first grade

I won’t care, 

And I won't deal with it.

At least those would all be decisions that I made

because I’ve had the time to make them.

 

But I don’t have time.

Not like I thought I did.

Stage 4 cancer doesn’t give you time.

 

My time is spent differently now.

My time is spent googling “invasive keratinizing squamous cell carcinoma of the mouth”

And “how do people without tongues eat?”

And “where to learn ASL”.

 

I’ve had people text me they’re sorry,

And venmo me money to “take care of myself”

And dm me telling me they’re here for me.

I’ve had managers ask if I'm doing well, and if I need my hours cut back.

I feel guilty for crying about it

And posting her GoFundMe link on my story after praying to God that she would just die.

 

I think about sitting at her funeral and crying,

And being forced to stand in front of people and talk about how awesome she was.

The truth is, she wasn’t.

But she always got me chocolates on Valentine’s day

and loved animals

and called me pretty

and loved me

and did her best.

 

I just don’t have time.

Not like I always thought I would.

 

So when she told me she wanted to come see my apartment and my face,

I said yes.

I gave her a hug and I let her cry.

I didn’t interrupt and I didn’t ask questions.

I told her I loved her,

And that we could forget about the rest.

Waiting can be a good thing,

But I'm tired of doing it.

I want my mom.