Call Your Mom
I met my stepmom when I was 5. A hard, unnecessary slap to my face rocked my world, and, of course, our relationship.
By twelve, I was no longer physically afraid of her, and by seventeen I had joined the Air Force, in large part to sever her influence into my world.
I remained close to my dad, which necessitated interaction with her. I was civil, but maintained an emotional distance. We got along.
It wasn't until thirty that I began to understand the relationship.
"Jeff, why are you here?"
"Well, I keep wanting THIS in relationships, and I keep getting something else. I've tried everything I know. And I keep getting that something else."
"Tell me about your parents, Jeff."
"Oh, I'm close to my dad, but never got along with my mom. But it's water under the bridge. It was long ago. I'm over it."
"Well, why don't you write about it. And we'll talk next week."
"Sure."
"Luann, when I was writing about my parents, I got really mad."
"See, there's stuff there. Unresolved stuff."
Over the next year or so, I came to understand, and I came to forgive her. But I still didn't necessarily like her much, and I certainly didn't trust her - there was no way I would allow myself to be vulnerable to her. We can forgive, but it's hard and perhaps unwise to forget.
The Long Route to Thankfulness
It's June. June 2020. That year. That time.
CoronaVirus, shattered economy, Another Black Man nakedly executed by the system on video.
Tough times for all. Plenty of time to reflect.
A schoolmate Dash knew from grade school took his own life.
Macro and micro.
Growing Pains. Parenting Pains.
Both our jobs are safe; most everyone we know is healthy.
We're okay. But a fragile time.
The Longest Route to Connection
I haven't always felt disconnected.
But before that first remembered disconnect, I was disconnected. At birth I was given up for adoption, and my dad's first wife left when I was two.
A lesser disconnection, but the first remembered: Aunt Alice, my nanny - the earliest mother figure I still remember...
The first time my new stepmom hit me - at five-years old - I remember a disconnect, a violent shattering.
At eight, I remember huddling outside in the dark, hiding, scared. Trying to figure out where I could go, how I would eat. Stepmom had yelled at me "Tonight there is only going to be one of us in this house." She hadn't left. I was alone in the dark. The world was huge. I was facing how helpless I was in it. I was scared.
Fear
April, 2021
I never feared for my mother.
Through the death of my father.
Through the advanced breast cancer diagnosis a week later. Through the chemo.
Through the falls and snapped bones.
Through the inevitable continual decline in stature and health.
Until yesterday.
Why did I not worry? Part of it was that our relationship was complicated. More of it was a not-conscious recognition that her legendary stubbornness and general bullheadedness were manifestations of a tough defiant strength. Mom might be the on the lower end of the spectrum when it comes to self-starting, nimble, make-it-happen, going-places, etc. But, like a rock, she is strong, tough, immoveable, unbreakable. Fired from Wal-Mart because at 72 years old, she wouldn't stop confronting the 20-year old male shoplifters. Fearless.
Right?
Dad's Legacy?
Reconnoitering the SeaWorld shop where my son would in a few days start his first job, I lock eyes with a gentleman in his sixties standing a couple feet from me. He grins a big grin, I grin back. He says hi. I say hi back. He's a little different. More eager, more friendly than typical. Looking closer, he's dressed a little haphazardly. We small talk enthusiastically. I walk forward, chatting, to follow Dash who is a couple steps ahead.
Ahh, he's - I don't know the most appropriate term now - "differently-abled"? Needing guardianship? That explains the very friendly. I talk next to his friend by his side. Ask how he's doing. They are a group of six or seven. They are enjoying their stay.