Mom has power

I just got off the phone with mom. The same mom who said, “you’re selfish. You have no ambition. You’ll never amount to anything.”

The same mom who got married at 20 because she was pregnant. 

The same mom that was married for 20 years and then found out her husband was leaving her.

Same mom that supported the dad that didn’t understand why she wasn’t happy with the nice house, two kids, and wondered daily what was wrong with her.

The same mom that couldn’t deal with my cancer before she got her own cancer. 

The same mom that told me when my brother beat me unconscious, “you must have done something to provoke him.”

The same mom that gave both my brother and I (we were the only two) Valentine’s Day cards that had 5 bucks in them with an “I love you, love mom”. Or the, card. Signed, “mom.”

The same mom who is the oldest of four. The same mom that lost her only brother. The same mom that sent me a card in the damn mail after being such a horrible mom that said, “you will not drop that class! You will stay there and show that male chauvinist pig who you are.”

The same mom that stood beside me at the dishwasher when I was 12-years old and said, “you’re having a tough time, aren’t you kid?” I broke down and she hugged me. 

The same mom that I finally told about being molested at 5 the day before my wedding day. 

The same mom who asked, “where was I?” That I told her i thought kids were kids. I don’t blame her. She sent me to a neighbor’s to play. That play turned into abuse that would shape my life. She told me about an uncle that did the same to her when she was nine. But she didn’t talk about it to keep peace in her family. When she once told her mother, she was told, “it’s the way it works. Keep your mouth shut and it’ll be ok.” 

My mom doesn’t realize I understand her. She’s almost 70. She doesn’t see her own power with her own stories. She prefers living in a warm climate and enjoying her last few years on earth. 

My mom was exceptionally hard on me. She doesn’t remember a lot of the hurtful things she said and did.

But no matter what I say about her; no matter how I describe my home life with her as my female role model? That woman, my mother; made me who I am. She doesn’t remember a lot of what she did. But she remembers hoping I would be this strong, tough, ass-kicking woman I am today. 

I love my mom. 

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