My mother’s day. A day later. Putting together the pieces.
I got another nugget from her. See, I’m from a medical family, and even though my mother never went to medical school, she’s been working in the medical field for years, and she’s so proud of her knowledge – gleaned from her parents and her jobs.
Last night she was bragging to me in the form of telling me a story about impressing her new boss. She one-upped her new boss by knowing the technical term for the condition that makes your eyes squeak when you rub them. It reminded me of another story.
When I was growing up, every time I went outside, I’d start sneezing. It wasn’t allergies – I was tested. {EDIT: And it was just a transitional thing. Only lasted about five minutes at the most.} My mom used to make fun of me about it all the time. As I said in another post, I wanted to be a naturalist at one point in my life. She was embarrassed about it. She told friends she hoped it was a phase. When I sneezed, she said to me, and you want to be a naturalist. You can’t even be outside.
A few years ago, I was talking with a co-worker, and somehow I found out that not only did he sneeze when he went outside, but his kids did, too. Turns out it’s a reaction to the sun. And climate changes.
So, I ask Mom if she remembers how I used to sneeze and how she used to tease me about it. I tell her that I met a few other people who did the same thing. She said, oh yeah. That’s called blah blah blah (some technical terms). It’s a sinus condition. Makes you sneeze when exposed to climate conditions.
And elsewhere I posted that she knew I was in trouble (teachers, school counselors, a child psychiatrist all told her I was in trouble – deeply hurt, even) but she didn't help me or find help for me.
And when I begged her to take me home with her at the end of a field trip with my classmates to NYC – where my dad lived/lives…when I begged her to take me home because he was drinking too much already, and I couldn’t bear another week alone with him, she told me to stay because it would upset him. She left me there.
So…um…the theme of my life?
She knew. She knew that it wasn’t my fault. She knew I had a condition. She knew I was hurt. She knew my father drank too much. She knew he hurt me. She knew I was struggling to lift my head as a baby.
And she did nothing. Well, no. She beat me up anyway, that’s what she did. She sent me to my dad’s anyway. She made fun of my condition anyway. She beat me down for “misbehaving” anyway.
I don’t know how to deal with this. She wasn’t misunderstanding. She wasn’t blinded by her own abuse. She knew. And she was still cruel.
Wildflower
{EDIT: P.S. - Just had a big rage/cry/rage/cry about it. Feeling much better now. And hey...I was able to be incredibly angry with her without having a panic attack! That's progress, right?)
