Mom

Posted by Anonymous.

Dear Mom,

This is a letter that I should’ve written several years ago. I want to start off with saying that I love you even though you accuse me several times of the opposite. I am twenty-three years old, and I know you still see me as your little girl. Mom, I’m not a little girl anymore. I am almost done with graduate school. I have a lot of things left in life that I would like to experience in this world. I can’t deal with you trying to control every aspect of my life anymore. Prisoners have more leeway than I do.

I understand that you love me and worry about me, but you don’t act like this with the boys. You don’t make them tell you when they leave or when they arrive at their homes. You never have. I understand that you think things are different because I’m a girl. But, I am not a prisoner. I can’t let you control my feelings. Even though you think you don’t.

I am sooo sick of you constantly putting him down. He’s a good guy, a really good guy. Just because he’s black, not catholic, and doesn’t have an 8-5 job doesn’t make him worthless. He treats me well regardless of whether you want to believe that or not. He may not be what you have always wished for, but he works hard and loves me unconditionally. I don’t know what God has in store for our relationship; I just know that he brought him into my life for a reason. Maybe that reason was that our (yours and my) relationship can change into something different.

I have let you get away with a lot of things that I probably shouldn’t have. I can’t live the life you want for me. I need to live MY life. I understand you want the best for me, but like I’ve said on several occasions, you don’t get to decide. I am my own person. You raised me to be independent and to stand up for myself. When I stand up to you, you accuse me of raising your blood pressure and saying that I will give you a heart attack. You have absolutely no idea how much it hurts me for you to tell me things like that.

I know you are a good mom but you need to realize that I don’t do everything the exact way you do. I don’t think like you, and I view the world completely different. All you see are obstacles, and all I see are opportunities. I guess that is because we are almost 40 years apart. I refuse to argue with you every single day about the man in my life. I could understand you saying I deserve better if he treated me poorly, but he doesn’t. You know what it’s like to be treated poorly… I don’t. You think he controls me, but he doesn’t. He supports me. He is the one there every time you go off on one of your rampages about how much you dislike him and my lack of faith and blah blah blah. You’ve always known that I am not lacking in faith. I’m with you at church every Sunday on my own accord. I know I don’t have to prove my faith to you; it’s just irritating constantly being questioned.

I know I can’t control what you do, but I can control me. I do appreciate everything you’ve done for me; however, I can’t continue to have this relationship with you. I’ve told you on several occasions I wish we could have a mature mother-daughter relationship, but you refuse. You get jealous of the conversations I have with my friends because I don’t talk to you about certain things. The reason I don’t talk to you is because I can’t be open with you. You automatically judge me and disagree with anything you wouldn’t do or didn’t do. I AM NOT YOU.

I’ve prayed and prayed and prayed. I don’t know what to do about our relationship. The only thing I can think of is that I just need to stop giving in to you. I’m not sure if it’s best to just rip it off like a band-aid or not. I know you’ll go to my brothers and say how bad I am treating you and that it’s HIS fault. It’s not. Like I said at the beginning of this letter, I probably should’ve written this 5 years ago when I started college and the daily check-ins began when I wasn’t even in the same city. Now I’m back and have lived with you for a little bit, and I STILL had to check-in with you; otherwise, you blamed me for your lack of sleep. You aren’t the only one losing sleep. I just don’t tell you about it because I secretly think you’d enjoy that you get to me that much. I’m the one who has to go to work tomorrow, but I’m still up. I thought that writing this might help me to release some of my emotions. I’m debating on whether or not to send this to you.

I don’t know why you treat me so differently from the boys. I know you love them just as much, but you were able to let them go. I cry every day because I don’t know how to make this better. It’s killing me. I want to be able to have a GOOD relationship with you. Not one where you treat me like a five-year-old constantly. Mom, I’m going to make mistakes. I know that. But, it’s not like I’ve ever been in any serious trouble. The worst I did was talking in class when I was younger. For some reason, you think I am incapable of making decisions about my own life. You have to trust that God knows what he is doing in my life. I know eventually everything will work out, but I can’t wait to graduate and look for another job far away from here. I guess I think in my head that will help solve our problems even though secretly I know it won’t. I don’t know what to do. I love you, and I can’t take the arguments anymore.

My Lovely Mother

Posted by Anonymous.

My lovely mother.
My lovely mother that 'taught me all i know'
My lovely mother who today, after i told her that my best friend went to my work to get ice cream, told me that she was worried that my employer would like my best friend better and hire her instead.
My lovely mother that complains day and night about all the laundry i cause her to do (which is a small amount mind you) and when i offer to do it all "no! you'll blow up my washer! you're too stupid to do it!" is the response i get from the couch shes 'resting' on.
My lovely mother whom supports me in nothing i do.
My lovely mother who when a guy doesn't call back immediately she makes 'a HILARIOUS' joke that maybe hes with his other prettier girlfriend.
My lovely mother who claims that i treat her like shit, when all i do is listen to her complaints about friends, family, work, and especially me.
My lovely mother whom as i sit, minding my own, yells at me to 'stop doing ..blank...!!!" something i'm not remotely even near executing.
My lovely mother who says " i don't care if your husband and all your guests at your wedding eat meat! i am not paying for anything if there is meat any where near that wedding!'
My lovely mother who forces vegetarianism and her religion on me.
My lovely mother who says constantly "you're eating agaaaain?" when i am the perfect weight for my age and height.
My lovely mother who takes more pride, and spends more money on her kindergarten students, but complains about spending money on shampoo for her daughter.
My lovely mother who took a pair of chop sticks i painstakingly painted by hand and used them as a back scratcher.
My lovely mother who critiques my artwork claiming "she has ideas that would make it better!"
My lovely mother who has the power to make me feel like a million dollars, when all i would ask is for her to make me feel like 10 dollars, makes me feel like an expired coupon.
My mother... my LOVELY mother.

Waiting On My Thirty Pieces Of Silver

Posted by Leslie, Daniel's Mom.

Ante-script: My mother has early onset dementia. She is not yet 70 years old and her deterioration is fast, quiet, harsh, and ceaseless. Suicide is very rare among patients with this type of dementia (mostly because they haven’t the ability to plan and process the act) but we have a strong family history—her own father, in fact. Today my father took a gun out of her hand but I can't speak to how or why it was there. I am not there. I can’t be there. I am far away with three children—one is Daniel, my little piece of God. My sister is there, but for reasons never given, she wants nothing from me—I “breeze in” for visits. (Anybody else “breeze” anywhere with a special needs kid? Did I miss that workshop?) Anyway, this piece is almost a year old (2/09)—she visited us back then with the fully disclosed understanding that I would submit my observations to her doctor. Truly, as much as mothers watch our babies change in a year, so has this daughter watched her mother change, only in a backwards dying way. I will need to write on this again, so background information seemed only fair enough to offer.

I submitted my super (and completely un-) secret documentation of mom's visit to her doctor as directed. Or, rather, I emailed it to my dad and he submitted it because I just couldn't send all that crap directly to a stranger.

You see, I told on my mother. Laid out her secrets, one by one, day by day. I kissed her on both cheeks and now they will surely come for her.

It would appear that my mother is only able to function as a result of my father's constant vigilance and well-honed sense of I-Know-What's-Rightiness. It would appear that way because without my father, she is just simply un-able. Unable to what? Well, it's all right there in the document, and frankly, you should probably be on the lookout for a copy because my father is forwarding it around like one of those 'This is Cute' emails. And this, this horrid thing that is scraping my mother away from the inside out, is not cute at all.
She's been gone a week today and my anger is becoming soft and grief-y. Well, you would be angry too (maybe) if you had to hide food and tape containers shut and guard your kids' snacks and wonder why the autistic kid keeps bringing his empty snack bowl back for more crackers(vocab: perseverity/eating disorder--elderly onset) and double check the doors and gates left open and listen to endless lies (vocab: confabulation) and accusations that your Daniel stole her watch. And you would especially maybe be mad if you, somewhere in the back of your head, thought that When Mama Comes It Will Get Better. It was not better. It was her making kids cry at the twins’ birthday party because she wanted to Huuuuuuuug them. Like a very scary Grandma Clown. It was her ignoring her beautiful grandchildren unless they were packing graham crackers (vocab: apathy). It was her describing her father's death (suicide by gunshot, btw) to your children in lurid detail while you did everything but gag her to stop it (vocab: comportment and insight, executive skills). God save me, it was her wanting to pray over Daniel so that he might be healed. Healed. (See prev. entries regarding how he's glorious and I am a mess) I could not bear for Daniel to hear what she might say during this over-praying thing(No vocab for that, but boy, it pissed me off something fierce). It was her no longer able call a light a light or a bowl a bowl (vocab: agnosia).

It was her no long able to be her. I know that. I do

And here's the thing: For all that I did what was asked of me, for all that I checked and double checked and worded and reworded to drain every last drop of drama from it, for all that I swear up and down before you and God that yes, it sounds crazy, but yes, it did all happen, and finally for all that I only did it so that she might be treated and thus be Grandma, for all that, I ratted her out. Betrayed her. She is livid and bewildered (when she’s not talking about what a great visit we had). Her doctor is, as my dad says, "pretty shaken." Great. Just Great. I would like to speak to a manager please. Surely, there is someone in charge.

And also, can I get directions to the nearest Potter's Field on Mapquest?

But you must understand, I knew her when she was. When she was giving me her wedding dress as my own. When she was giving my biggest boy his first bath because I was bloody terrified of that red wailing wiggler. When she assured me that "twins are a good thing" and "we'll get through it." When she called me at the NICU when Fuzzy was intubated (5 years ago today). When she cooked and cleaned and ironed and yelled at me to "keep nursing and they'll be okay." All of these years before the first shadow and pall of autism—The mother of all “I want my mommy” screams. All this before that. And these, you see, are just the tip of the was's. Just the ones out in front in this one tiny bit of scribble. There are so many--God, how I do wish that had been my task, handling the was's and not the is's. Because then you would laugh and nod and think to yourself, "Oh, Daniel’s Mama’s mama, she was something else, that is for sure."

And she was.

Dear Married Moms: Be Nice To Me

Posted by Anonymous.

I've had these words buried in me for years. After a recent postcard was posted on the Post secret website I have found myself choking to spit them out like a cat hacking on a hairball. If you have ever been a single mom you will get this. If not, take this as a plea from one woman to another.

I'm a suburban single mom. The choice to stay in our home after the divorce was easy. I felt it would be best for my kids. The schools are better here; the kids had been through enough. In other words while he moved on with a clean slate I remained at the scene of the crime. My neighbor actually asked pre-divorce who was getting the house. They wanted to know who their neighbor would be. I became the only single parent in my neighborhood and to my own detriment I carried on with a stiff upper lip. I might have as well developed the plague. I was not talked to but talked about. It will blow over, I thought. Ten years have passed it hasn't.

Here's where my plea comes in: married moms, be kind to me. I am just a mom like you. I am trying to juggle all the things your family does with half of the resources. I come home from work cook and try to help with homework, clean and do laundry. If I have a bad day I'm not able to tag team and get a break. It's just me. Just me to guide, feed and love these precious people I have been entrusted with. It's scary and hard as hell. If my child ends up on Dr. Phil someday it surely must be my fault. I am the custodial parent. I don't choose to be the only mom at the Cub Scout camp-outs; I just don't want my son to miss out on these things because his dad can't be bothered with them. I've yet to figure out if you find me a threat, or just a reminder that your dreams of happily ever after could fall apart in the blink of an eye just like mine did. Either way your cold shoulders hurt and they work. My son senses it and no longer wants to be in the cub scouts. It probably would have been easier to just sell my house and start over in the city where single parent homes are the majority. I wouldn't have had to hear from my mailman that it is confusing having “so many names” on our box since I chose to take my maiden name back. I wouldn't sit through an entire little league game with only a couple of the grandmas talking to me. We are all women, trying to navigate the rocks and holes life has scattered in our paths. Why not help each other along the way? In the end we will probably outlive our mates. In the nursing homes we are all single moms - some of us just got there sooner than others.

Dear Mother

Posted by Anonymous.

Dear Mother,

I am furious at you, and at the same time, have the urge to hold you until it's all better. Our relationship is over because of you and your mental illness. You need help. But I can't help you. None of us can anymore. It is time to help yourself. For the sake of our family, and most of all, for yourself.

I am slowly realizing that I will never be your child. Never be held close, never be comforted, never be allowed to be the weak one. Because you believe it is your right to have these things, even though you are my mother. You should have mothered me and asked for nothing in return. I am so angry that you would choose to adopt a child when you couldn't manage to care for my brother who had already been given to you by grace. To say that you feel your own son is a disappointment to you is shameful, because you created him that way. You raised him that way. And he still loves you. How? I don't know. Why adopt a child you can't care for? I would never say it to you, or perhaps to anyone face-to-face, but there are many times I have wished another family had the chance to adopt me, and not you. The lies you must have created, and the people you must have manipulated, so that you could adopt me, is a shameful part of you I just can't understand. One day you may be able to face the truth about yourself: that some things are entirely your fault, you caused them, and you deserve the outcome of your behaviour.

I am sad that now you will miss the birth of my second child. But what choice is there? You have tortured our family over the past 12 months with your pathetic attempts at seeking justice for your abusive childhood, and taking it out on your family who has, up until now, stood by you. You wonder why people have left you now? Because the truth is my father was holding it all together for you. He spent 30 years making excuses for you, covering up for you, and lying to protect you. And now that you have pushed him away, and are on your own, you can't cope. Surprise!

I have thought many times over the past few months that it would be easier if you had died than become estranged to us. It would be easier to grieve for you, and all that you never were to me, than it is to know you are just a short drive away, and dreading the next contact you might make with me.

I wanted a mother who was wise, tolerant, strong, educated, patient and could teach me how to be a great mother to my own children. But you can't do it. I have to teach myself, and learn from other strong, wonderful women in my life, how to go about it. I am determined to give my children all of myself, but unlike you, I plan to also protect them from the problems of adults around them, because they are CHILDREN. And not my counsellors, social workers, doctors or friends.

Please, please get the help you need. Even if we never see you again- just for yourself and to be healed from the pain you are suffering. I hope the people in your life who have hurt you so badly will one day say sorry to you. And mean it. But for now, please stay away from me, and contact me when you are ready to admit responsibility for what you have done. Yes, much of this is your fault. And it is time to take control.

I wish I had the courage to tell you this myself, and I wish that you were able to respond in the way that is needed. But we can't.

All my love.

Anonymous

Even Shady Pasts Can Lead to Bright Futures

Posted by Erin W.

This post has been a long time in the making. The story is hard for me to look back on and harder to tell, so please bare with me and be gentle in judgment.

In a lot of ways I'm like a first time mom with Kairi. There are a lot of very public ways, like that I breastfeed Kairi and I didn't with Gracie, I babywear, I co-sleep... There are a lot of very different mothering techniques (I guess) that I am using this time round. But there is also one very big, very private way that I am a first time mom...

When I was in high school I liked to party. I skipped school to go smoke pot until the principal threatened to suspend me for skipping one more time. Even then I still left campus to get high at lunch. Just after I got out of school Jason and I got together. I was 17 at the time and still smoking. He smoked then too. It wasn't a huge part of our relationship, but it was there. We moved in together after 8 months with no savings and crap jobs.

After a few months of living together, things were getting rough financially. The job Jason had been working for the past 6 years (on and off, mostly on though) refused to give him a raise. When the state raised the minimum wage from $5.15 to $5.85 his boss told him to consider that his raise. One day, Jason found an easy fix to our money situation. He had bought an ounce of pot off a friend for $80 and had another friend who wanted to buy half of it from him for $50. This friend had another friend who wanted to buy the other half for $50 as well. Jason made $20 out of the deal and went back for another. And that's how it started.

At first Jason and I both kept our jobs. Over time I traded up jobs and was making more money, and over time he was making bigger deals - eventually quitting his job and becoming a full time pot dealer. For a time it was fun. We constantly had friends coming over, we always had money, and we were always partying. But over time I began to develop an allergy to THC, so smoking was no longer fun for me. And the constant flow of people coming over was no longer close friends, but distant strangers who didn't want to visit and have fun - they wanted what they came for and then wanted to leave. Not only that, but they had no respect for any kind of house rules. Looking back, I don't know how I expected them to, but at the time I was pretty worked up over it. But we still always had money and I still enjoyed spending it. After a while Jason was making enough selling that I was able to quit my job and never look back. This went on for 3 years.

When I was 20 I got pregnant with Gracie. During my pregnancy I tried to talk Jason into quitting and getting a job. He kept saying that he was trying to save up enough money that we could make due on it for a while before having to go back to work, but the money kept getting stolen, or a deal would go bad and we'd be out $500 for it. It was always 1 step forward and 2 back where the saving was concerned.

Gracie was born in the end of January '05. While I was in the hospital my family asked me how we were going to make due. They didn't come right out and say it, but the urged me to try to get Jason to find a job, and for me to do the same once I was able to. I talked to Jason until I was blue in the face about it, but he had just lost a big chunk of the savings in a bad deal and thought he could for sure get it back within a couple of months.

I know what everyone must be thinking. I know what I am thinking in hindsight: Why didn't I just leave? Take Gracie and flee? It's not that I didn't love her enough - I just kept believing that Jason would quit after "this next deal." Finally one night in April I made a decision: if he doesn't get a job within 2 weeks, I'm gone. That's it.

10:00 am, April 12, 2005 - The next morning....

BANG BANG BANG BANG!

The loud, hard knocks at the door shot my out of my bed like a bullet from a gun. I had had it up to here with all these inconsiderate druggies waking me up! I didn't even put on my glasses. I looked out the window in the door and saw several people standing on the porch. As I went to unlock the deadbolt the banging on the door started again, this time shaking the house. I stepped back just in time to see the door fly open sending splinters from the door frame across my living room, one slicing my hand open as it flew through the air.

"Get on the ground! Get on the ground NOW!," screamed the 6'5" 300 lb policeman in the front. Immediately I was on my stomach with his knee hard in my back as he was putting handcuffs on me. I had just barely missed the swing where Gracie, then 2 months, was sleeping when I hurled myself to the ground. Within seconds there were 8 men in black in my house rummaging through my things. One policeman went to the bedroom and gently and politely asked Jason to roll over onto his belly on the bed so he could cuff him.

Almost right off the bat they took Jason to the police station. I stayed behind to stay with Gracie until a Child Protection agent could come get her. I begged the officer in charge to remove my cuffs so I could feed her and change her diaper. He said he was already doing more than he should by letting me do those things in cuffs, so it was definitely a no-go on taking them off.

You know those movies where there is an explosion and everything goes in slow motion? The ones where you see everything slightly blurred, debris flying everywhere, blinding light bending your perception on things? That's what those moments felt like to me. The only completely clear thing I remember from that whole morning was sitting in my rocking chair, holding my daughter who through the whole thing did nothing but smile at me. She had the biggest smile on her face the whole time, even as I handed her off to the social worker. The memory of that beautiful, bright, toothless grin will always be tainted by the hazy memories of that morning.

Immediately my mother made arrangements to move back to town so that she could become the guardian of her granddaughter. I thank my lucky stars every single day that my mother dropped everything in her life and spent her entire retirement to get here so Gracie wouldn't have to be in a foster home with strangers.

Gracie lived with my mom, her Mimi, for 10 months while Jason and I worked hard to complete the treatment plan laid out by the social worker assigned to our case. Jason had to go to rehab for a month, we both had to go to group counseling for drug addicts and abusers, I had to go to counseling to work through my enabling issues, we went to parenting classes and additionally attended Narcotics Anonymous meetings every night we were able. We worked hard to turn our lives around.

But our social worker was new - we were her first case. Prior to becoming a social worker she was a foster parent. She got the kids who were in the worst conditions and as such was out for blood on her first run. She needed to make an example out of someone, and we were that someone. Now, I'm not trying to play the victim here. We wouldn't have had to deal with her like we did had we not gotten ourselves in the position in the first place, and I will be the first one to admit that. That being said, the woman really was out for blood. She kept our case open for 2 years. After the initial 10 months of work we had to do to get Gracie back home with us, we were subjected to another 14 months of hoop jumping. She even removed Gracie from our house for a month again because we had it sprayed for bugs.

One night we were at a friend's house eating dinner when I got a call on my cell phone. It was Carol, our worker. She called to tell me that a woman within CPS, but not in her department had audited her cases and told her that our case was to be closed effective the following week. When we went to court to close the case Carol was not there, but her supervisor was there in her place. She apologized on behalf of CPS for keeping our case open so long (it is customary to keep cases open once the child returns home for 6 months. Some have to stay open longer, but only those who aren't cooperating.)

Since then we've been working hard to keep turning our lives in the right direction. We got a foot up in the process of getting Gracie back, but that was only the beginning. Since then Jason has stayed at the same job for 4 years, a job that gives him raises as deserved (for the most part). I got the first job I could get my hands on while we were trying to get Gracie back. I worked for over a year and a half at McDonald's, working to become a manager. Then I went to work at Chili's where I stayed for 2 years until I started school and found out I was pregnant with Kairi.

It's been a long, hard road and we missed a lot of the parenting experience with Gracie as a baby. She lived with my mom from the time she was 2 months old until the week after her first birthday and then for a month the following summer. A friend of mine is constantly laughing at me on Facebook because I'm always making comments about what new things Kairi is doing. "You sound like such a new mom!" she tells me.

And in a lot of ways I am. But I am loving the experiences I am going through with my kids. I have learned from my mistakes and because of them I know that I will never take my children for granted like so many parents do. I am cherishing every single moment I have with them because I know what it's like to go without. A friend of mine told me throughout the whole ordeal, "I don't know how you do it. If that happened to me, if I was separated from my daughter, I'd go crazy. I'd either be in a mental facility or I'd kill myself." At the time all I could tell her was that I knew I had to be strong for my daughter so I could get her back. Recently someone sent me an email with a picture in it. The picture said, "You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have."

In my life I have few regrets. In a way I don't regret what happened because the change made us better parents and better partners to one another. I think that we are amazing now. (Not to be cocky or anything, but I really do.) But the most heartbreaking regret I have is how the change came about.

I realize that my story will turn some people away. Some people just can't get past what we did to get where we are or how we've lived our lives. I would love to say that it's fine with me, that I don't care. But I do. In a lot of ways it makes it feel like all the work we've done to better ourselves for our family has been in vain, that we're still nothing but a couple of pot-peddling druggies. But in the same respect I can understand. A lot of people have not walked in the same neighborhood as what I've gone through, let alone the same path or shoes and it is hard for them to see what motivated me at the time. I'm in no way defending my actions at the time or trying to say that I had the right motivations, but I have always ALWAYS loved my daughters and so has Jason. We have lived through one of the most heartbreaking, life-altering experiences we will probably ever go through (fingers crossed) and we are better parents for it.

I appreciate you taking the time to read my story. I've tried writing this out time and time again and just have never found the right words. Even now I'm hesitant. But I over the past few years I have met families that have been in the same type of situation and sharing my story has seemed to help, to give hope or if nothing else to give a sense that they're not alone in the battle. I hope that maybe someone in need of help will see this and see that it can be done, it's not a never ending battle (even when your social worker has a personal vendetta against you) and in the end there is hope for change and strength.

What She Said

Posted by Anonymous.

“That’s great, but you are going to have to pay for cheerleading camp on your own” was her response when I told her I made the cheerleading team.

“Why can’t you be like your sister?” was what she said when she came home from a parent teacher conference and was told that I was a “social butterfly”.

“You deserve all of the pain you are going through” was what she said when I cried after giving my daughter up for adoption when I was 16 years old.

“I guess you can't go to church tonight” was her response when I had my stomach pumped.

“Are you on drugs? What is wrong with you” was what she said to me when my ex-husband and I went through a devastating divorce.

“Your children will never experience true blessings unless you have them baptized” was how she replied when I told her my son was being bullied at school.

Why can’t I ever find the words? Why can’t I say… “Isn’t a mom supposed to love her child unconditionally? Aren’t Mom’s here to celebrate with us when we have a moment of joy, and cry with us in times of sorrow?”

How do I move on from this? How do I forgive and let go when it continues? How do I fill the awkward silences, after her words have hurt me and I can’t find the strength to respond?

I would give anything to feel her arms around me and her voice telling me that I am good enough, to hear her say that I am a good mom and a good wife.

And that she is sorry.