Do you think you’re the only one?
Tags: Resilience, Inner Strength, Abandonment, Mothers, Dysfunctional Family

Do you think you’re the only one?

My young life burnt me alive. The poet came from the ashes, but the words came from the fire. -Atticus

I went to see her. I’ve seen her a few times a year for a long time now, but this time I was going to see her. Spend time with her. Talk to her. And listen. Tell her clearly what I had never spoken of. And listen to her. For years I never revealed what had transpired when I was young. In a lot of ways, I wanted to shield her. My mother. Protect her, for she seemed so fragile. She abandoned us for long stretches of my childhood and I always believed she had trouble dealing with us. With being a parent. Mentally or emotionally that it was something she just couldn’t handle. That she was in my life at all at this point felt important even if I carried this wound from her vivid absence years ago. Her words were always kind and loving, offering warmth of her presence and better times. Even if they were always just empty promises. So much so my heart no longer believed in any of them. And so I bottled up the struggles and the trauma from back then, the sense of loss, the pain and violence that I witnessed and felt.

I took her to lunch at this Italian restaurant. We sat at one of the outdoor tables filled with old people and a few families in the warm Florida sun. She was quiet. Asked about my kids. She said they reminded her of me. And she told me how good it was to see me. That i looked thin, thin but strong, like your father, running her fingers through my beard which chilled me. She said she wanted my son to visit her. She wanted to spend more time with him. Pressing me to drink with her. What, you don’t drink anymore? I don’t believe it. Even with me, your mother? Since when? And I told her I had something to tell her. She stopped speaking, the silence just visibly hanging there, almost jittery. Could see it rocking unnerved as her eyes drifted out far away into the blue sky that seemed to shake with hesitation. Go ahead, just say it, she said. And so I did. I told her. Told her what happened. What happened to me. What was done so many years ago. I just told her that which I never did or never could. When I stopped speaking, she said simply- do you think you’re the only one?

She knew. She knew and more so, she suffered the same. And I was flooded with feelings of pity and sympathy- for she had suffered. Hand in hand with that was such anger. For she failed me. Failed her primary responsibility to protect the utterly defenseless. Her child. While I suffered, she ran off. She left me. To take in all the rage my other parent, whom she defended still, would offer to me in her stead. And she knew it.

My mother. With the heart so pure and caring, as I’m often told. I find I love her and I loathe her, but can’t bring myself to offer her forgiveness which she doesn’t seek anyway. And she offers no apologies. But I see in her actions giving and volunteering with children in her community. Pouring out love that she couldn’t when I was young. Love for every child not her own. She’s there for them. Maybe that’s her redemption. I don’t know. Maybe I never will.

And I asked her about when my father returned, for he was rarely there either, although his absence was one I ultimately enthusiastically welcomed, for her 30th birthday. Following the party with their friends that went on into the night. I had woken up with a vision. This radiant image with wings beckoning me on that i followed and led me to you in the early morning with your long tan coat on tassels streaming down blue suitcase clutched tight by the door- hand on the handle. When your head turned, long brown hair flowing and your eyes saw me standing there imploring- take us with you. And you put the bag down and put your fingers on my cheeks like the beard you now touch, telling me back then I look so much like my father. I see your teared smile and hear your words, it will be ok. I’m going to make it better. This is the only way. He’ll take care of you. Listen to him. Do what he says and don’t upset him. You’re so strong. I’ll be back for you really soon. I’ll come for you.

I wouldn’t see her again for a year. But i saw him later that morning after watching the sun rise through the window next to the door you had left. When it dawned on him that you had gone. I saw him and I would feel him as his rage erupted onto me. Leaving me broken, legs sprawled and gasping for breath on the linoleum floor where he looked down at my distraught sight that would cause him to follow your departure with his own choice words that would linger as he slammed the door- this is all because of you.

My mother, still looking up at that blue sky glass in hand, just shook her head. You don’t understand she said. Repeating, do you think you were the only one? And I hear her words now and think, yes, then and for what followed, Mom- I was the only one.