Mother May I

Some of my earliest memories seem to be fading. This worries me. Instead of having that picture perfect, almost as though being watched on the TV from a video recording kind of memory, they seem distant, as if they are farther away and harder to reach. And although most of these memories have this ugly truth attached to them, there is always that happy memory that stands before it. If only I had had more time with my mom, life may have been a whole hell of a lot different and those ugly memories might not have had such a prominent role in my life. Having my mom in my life would have changed how things turned out drastically. I don't know where I would be today, but somehow I don't think that that would have mattered to me as much as the fact that the memories I would have now would be fonder, more happy, and more fresh in my mind. I know my mom is out there today still, but finding her scares me to death. What will her reaction be? Will she think I have become everything she wanted me to be? Or will she think of me as some stranger that randomly walked into her life?

Off the top of my head, I don’t think I can honestly say that I have a favorite memory of my mom. Even the most beautiful, happiest times that I can recall are filled with regret, sadness and hurt. The pain is not from her, which taints the memories on a larger scale than should be allowed, especially when they were only able to spend a short time with their birth parent. One of my most hated memories of when I was growing up was when I hurt her on Thanksgiving Day, our favorite holiday to spend together. Mom made me my favorite soup as our turkey dinner. She didn't have money to get an actual turkey and only had a limited amount of time with me, due to joint custody. My dad and stepmom told me earlier that morning as they dropped me off, if I promised not to eat anything that day, when I got home, they would have a big turkey dinner waiting for me. Well, who would turn down that offer? At four or five years old, I had never had a real turkey dinner and couldn't wait to see what all the fuss was about. So all day, my mom tried to get me to have soup, cookies and other of our favorites to share on that blessed day. And all day I refused. Until my best friend at the time came over and my mom started to look really depressed about the fact that I wouldn't eat anything with her. I couldn't believe myself for doing this to her. I had limited time with her and I was just making her sad. What a spoiled child I was. I hated myself but I couldn't help that I wanted a real turkey dinner.

Well, my friend convinced me to eat about half a macadamia nut cookie with her and my mom. I felt guilty eating it. I felt guilty not eating. I didn't know what to do. If I had known at the time that that was the last Thanksgiving I was going to be able to spend with my mom, I would have eaten everything she had offered me, although, that probably would have worried her too. She probably would have asked, "Doesn't your dad and his wife feed you?"

"Of course they do," I would have said. "I just want to have a wonderful Thanksgiving with my new mom." I probably would have made her cry. Not on purpose. She just would have been ecstatic that I would want to spend that cherished day with her, making her as happy as any four or five year old can make their parent. Thinking back, I find it strange that even as a young child I was more concerned with making the people around me happy before I could be happy.

Later that evening, already starving from turning down all the delicious food my mom had made for me; I waited for my dad to come pick me up. I told my mom sorry for hurting her feelings; I just wanted a turkey dinner and had been promised a big plateful of food if I made sure not to eat anything for the whole day. (Thinking back, I realize this was just something my stepmom did to hurt my mom more than she already had. I mean, she had me most of the time and she had my dad to herself. She didn't have to share him because he wouldn't talk to my mom unless necessary and she barely had to share me.) My mom was furious but promised not to say anything. When my dad finally got there, as always, she stayed true to her word. At the time I didn’t know this memory would be tainted with an ugly hatred that continuously bit into me as I got older because of who had been lurking in the shadows, hiding from me, and pretending to be my friend. But because I can block the hatred and hurt, this is still one of the most thought about memories I have with my mom.

On the way home, my stepmom asked me if I had eaten anything. I couldn't lie. That would make me feel worse, so I told her that I had eaten half of a cookie, but that was it. I didn't touch anything else, even though I wanted to so bad. She was furious. I didn't understand. Why was half a cookie so bad? I was starving! I would still be able to eat a whole plateful and then probably another. None of that mattered to her. I was in the wrong and that meant that I would have to be punished.

When we got home, my Uncle Jim and Aunt Patty (not biological relatives, but pretty close) were seated at the table talking, laughing, and enjoying a beer together. I was told to go straight to my room and get ready for bed. That evening I sat in bed, while my family sat around the dinner table eating and enjoying themselves. Meanwhile, my stomach voiced its anger at me and proceeded to eat itself as I lay there listening to their joy and laughter. At that time, I hated myself for being so selfish and hurting my mom, just to make my stepmom happy when all she did was hurt me for making a mistake. I couldn't stand myself. I hoped that something bad would happen to me because I deserved to be punished for hurting my mom the way I had.

To this day, I still don't understand why my stepmom had been so mean to me. I always wonder if she was just hoping that I would hurt my mom so that she wouldn't have to because when I had defied her, even though I had barely done wrong, she became so enraged. I know she doesn't look back to that day and hate herself for hurting me because she doesn't care, but I wish she did. I wish that she could have felt my pain from making one of my favorite people in the world hurt as much I did. Although, she could have been a great mom to me, I will never see her as my mom because of all the pain she put me through. Over my entire life living with her, all she ever did was continuously punish me because I was my father's child and not hers. Pretty fucked up, huh?