My Mother

I am going to write this. I had already decided (kinda) not to write anything about my mother and our life together. But something gave me second thoughts... and third... and fourth thoughts. You see, I, recently, received a lot of encouragement from an unexpected, but cherished source. So, since I just had a birthday, I thought why not say a little about the person that brought me into the world - and could have taken me out of it?!

I was born on a beautiful day in March 19non-of-your-beeswax. The air was filled with the almost indiscernible scent of bluebonnets and cow pattys. Birds were building nests in the trees as they called and sang to one another. Squirrels where flitting here and there; gathering stored acorns. It was one of those perfect spring days that happen in the southern portion of the Hill Country. As the sun was hanging somewhere in the sky, a young, 20 year old woman was yelling, "What Did You Do To ME!? This is all you fault!" Well, at least that is how I see it in my imagination.

I really don't know anything about my birthday. I don't think I am alone in this. I am sure that a ton of people were told bedtime stories of their birth, how their parents met and how their ancestors for time immortal met and fell in love. However, I am not one of those people. My mother did not talk much about the past. She would get frustrated if you asked too many questions about the past; no matter how innocuous it a question may be.
Maybe she couldn't remember. Maybe she felt that dreaming of the past was a waste of time. Maybe it was painful for her to remember anything about her past. I don't know. Unfortunately, I never will. Then again, maybe I don't need to know.

My Mother has always been a huge mystery to me. I don't know if it stems from never having questions answered with any enthusiasm, or that we just seemed to be so very different from each other. (I used to pretend that I was adopted or switched at birth. I think I would have convinced myself that it was true except for the glaringly obvious fact that I looked just like my mother. I always thought it a huge cosmic joke that we should look soooo much alike.)
My mother was very stiff. She didn't let her guard down very often, not even with her children. However, I can say, in all honesty, that she probably let it down around us more than with anyone. She was a very proud woman. She would hold her back very straight and stiff 99% of the time. Even when she was relaxing, you could feel and see that stiffness. Do you see a 'stiff' trend here?
She was very unpredictable. I think that may be why I crave predictability in so many things; from vacation plans to the people I befriend. I never knew what mood my mother would be in on a given day... hour... or moment. She could turn from nice to nasty on a dime. Unfortunately, it seems to me that she hovered in the nasty area more often and longer than in any other mood. Sometimes, I think that she expected the worst out of everyone and everything. So, when anything happened to prove her right, she exploded the explosion of the righteous. (Or righteous to her.) Sometimes, I think that maybe she was hoping for more and her disappointment added to her fury.
Consequently, living with her was like walking on glass- barefoot. You knew it was just a matter of time before you would get cut. You knew it was inevitable. The entire floor was full of glass. You had no idea which step, which piece of glass, would be the one to cause you to bleed. But what choice did you have? None. You had to walk on it. So, you walked. Needless to say, I was a pretty tense kid.

I am just now realizing how many lies my mother told me. Lies that I am not even sure she, completely, knew she was telling. Lies that I think she believed about the world, the people in it, and me. Thankfully, I was able to see some of the lies, while I was a kid, for what they were - lies. Unfortunately, I am finding, a lot of those lies snuck in and engraved themselves into my heart. They have been there so long, that I don't even think about not believing them. Though, if someone else were to voice these lies about themselves, I would correct them in an instant.

My mother had her own heartaches and problems. I know of a few of them. And I understand how they could make her bitter and distrusting of many things. However, I find it very hard to understand how she could do and say the things she did to her children. I don't understand how making your children feel that they themselves are not trustworthy and good enough helped anything. It seems to me that having children could have been her salvation, if she would have let it. Instead, she saw us as a burden and another of her failures.

I have to admit. I feel robbed. I see other people and their relationship with their parents and I feel robbed. I can't help it. I know that I chose to keep distance between myself and my mother. But, I still feel robbed. Whenever I try to remember good times about my mother and I have to dig so hard to just remember her laughing, I feel robbed. And I feel sorry for her. She missed out on seeing her grandchildren grow into amazing people. My mother, the woman that should have loved me like no other, missed out.

But, you know what is wonderful? Something that God reminds me of when I get melancholy about all this? He placed people in my life to take up the slack. From the time I was just an infant, He was placing stakes in my life. I find that pretty amazing. I don't think I would have a relationship with Christ if it wasn't for my 'Granny' Gideon. Nor would I know the joy of making things with my hands, from baking to crocheting. I don't think I would be as self sufficient without my Grandma Faye. Whose philosophy was "If you can put a worm on a hook, clean and gut a fish, YOU can do Anything." I wouldn't be able to see myself as the least bit lovable without my Grandma and Grandpa Caddell. Then, there are teachers who told me I was smart and could learn a thing or two. Others that encouraged my 'crafty' side. Gema who taught me to parent and became my first real friend and confidant. All the kids in a crazy house, who taught me the joy of life and being a family. My children who taught me to be unselfish and open and so many other things. My husband who taught me it is safe to love someone other than family. My Fister who taught me that friendships don't have to dry up and go away. And many, many other people who have touched my life and my heart with little words of wisdom or just a smile.

So, I am going to thank my mother. For, if she hadn't given birth to me some ** odd years ago, I wouldn't have had the joy and privilege of being here today. And you wouldn't be here, reading this silly blog, wondering (once again) why you keep reading it.