Fifteen

          “Day four!”  Melissa said as she sat at her desk and opened the laptop.  While it booted up, she recalled the number of phone calls she’d received since morning.  She’d never been able to figure out why Mondays ended up being such phone a day.  One after another, six all together.  She’d debated whether to even attempt continuing her mother letter, but she’d sleep better if she at least tried. After she formatted a new page her fingers danced across the keyboard. 

I’m done mother! What a statement to feel I have to make. It saddens me. I’m willing but not able to shed tears over you. Am I finally come to a place of admitting you were a lousy mother rather than justify your actions with “that’s just the way you are?” 

      A common feeling of the eldest child, and I’m no exception, is that problems in the family are my fault. But our problems are not my fault, it’s your fault mom you weren’t there for me as a mother should be.  I tried to make up for your shortcomings in my siblings’ lives, mine as well.

      I choose not to have a “victim” mentality, despite your failings as a mother. For my benefit, not yours, here are a few of the less than motherly actions on your part.

      When I turned fourteen one of my birthdays presents was a bottle of wine! Who does that? You would send Deb and I to the laundromat in the car when neither of us was old enough for a license. So, you wouldn’t have to be bothered with laundry. I get that parents give chores to their kids, but to let us take the car! I mean really! Was that very smart!

       I also believe you turned a blind eye to the times we thought we were sneaking out the trailer. Then we’d come home drunk and you’d ignore us. If you had an audience, you’d put on your mom hat and perform the necessary indignation. For your benefit, of course, not ours.

       Although to your credit you always told us that as long as we told you the truth about what we were doing we wouldn’t get in trouble. But if you caught us in a lie than there’d be hell to pay. How convenient for you, taking the responsibility off you and once again placing it on us. 

       Another odd thing is after you cut your long hair off and had a short hair style, you carried on about how I needed to cut my hair. I didn’t want to. I liked my long hair. I sat at the kitchen table eating. My hair pulled back in a pony tail when you came up behind me with a pair of scissors. I didn’t see you but felt you grab hold of my pony tail and snip, you cut several inches off! You were so pleased with yourself and laughed when I got mad. What the heck mother!! You passed it off as a joke, but I think there was something much deeper going on. You were jealous of me, a common theme I recognized off and on in my life.

       You loved it when people thought I was your sister not your daughter. It made you feel like you didn’t look your age but more mine. I wanted a mother not a sister! My friends always liked you because you were the “cool” mom! 

       When we lived in Juneau and I was on the drill team, you never came and watched one of our half time performances. Probably because they were on the weekend and that interfered with your party time. But then again maybe that’s why we moved back into town so you wouldn’t have to schlep me to practices. You moved us into a house within walking distance of the high school.

       When we lived in Juneau, I don’t recall who you were dating, imagine that, you would go on long weekend out of town trips.  Leaving me and Debe to watch two-year-old Jennifer and eleven-year-old Sam. You’re lucky we never got in serious trouble. Fortunately, typical teen ager shenanigans were our mo. Other than the séance weekend, but that’s a whole other story.

        I dated eighteen-year-old Buddy. To this day I shake my head when I think that you let him stay the night and sleep with me, your fourteen-year-old daughter! Fortunately, I wouldn’t have sex with him, but regardless it wouldn’t have bothered you if I had. I don’t recall you telling me to make sure I didn’t get pregnant. What would you have done if I had? I have no idea!

       Debe would call you out on your BS. I remember the two of you in the kitchen and you kept telling Debe to shut up. She wouldn’t of course. You slapped her. She slapped you back. You slapped her again. She slapped you! The whole time you were yelling at one another! I hated such outbursts and escaped to my bedroom. 

       Shortly after that you decided to move to Anchorage. It would have been Debe’s senior year and she didn’t want to change schools, AGAIN! She said no to moving, got a job, stayed in Juneau and lived with a friend. Once again you shipped Sam off to Dad’s. Surprisingly you let me stay in Juneau with friends of yours and finish out the school year. As I recall I really had to beg you to let me!

       As soon as I was out of school I flew to Anchorage, because you needed a babysitter for Jennifer for the summer!  I desperately missed Debe. She was my confidant; we had each other’s back.  We would fight tooth and nail, but I felt safe with Debbie around.  After the incident with Dad I was always on guard. Especially with all the different men that passed through our door. 

       I was fifteen when we moved to Anchorage. I spent that first summer, with no friends because school hadn’t started yet. I babysat Jennifer, read books, and watched the guys who lived next door come and go. One of those guys was Ed.

You dated Chuck that summer. I probably wouldn’t remember him if it wasn’t for what happened after you broke up with him. You were out partying one weekend. I was in the bedroom I shared with Sam and Jennifer. Sam was still at dad’s; Jennifer was in her crib. It was late at night. I was sitting in bed reading when I heard someone come stumbling in. 

At first, I thought it was you coming home. Then I heard a very slurred voice call out your name, it was a drunk Chuck. I froze, my stomach immediately went into knots. The only light on was by my bed. He stumbled down the hall. Pushed the bedroom door open.

Moments like that are rather surreal! I recall he had on a tan trench coat and an umbrella in one hand. My voice quivered as I told him mom wasn’t home and be quiet, he’d wake Jennifer. I had my purple baby doll pj’s on. He stumbled over to the bed and sat on the edge of it. I was terrified, he reeked of booze. Fear gripped my heart and mind!

The umbrella fell to the floor as he grabbed both arms and pinned me back against my pillows. His whisky infused breath hissed; “What would your mother do if she came home and found her darling daughter had been raped?”

       The world began to spin as my mind went blank. I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t scream it would wake Jennifer! I whispered in terror; “You don’t want to do that!” He arrogantly challenged as he squeezed my arms tighter, “You asking me or telling me!”

       To this day I believe it was by the grace of God I softly replied as tears streamed down my cheeks; “I’m asking you.” That diffused and surprised him. Shocked him, that’s not what he expected. I think he expected me to act like you. After all everyone thought I look like you so I must act like you to. He looked confused as he sat back and hesitantly let go of my arms. He reached down for his umbrella, struggled to keep his balance as got up. He left and mumbled something about letting Betty know he’d stopped by.

       I was in shock! Unable to sleep until you came home! You saw my light on, stuck your head in and told me to turn that damn light off and quit reading. Again, I knew that I knew I couldn’t tell you what had happened. I don’t even remember if I told you Chuck stopped by. From then on whenever you were gone, I made sure doors were locked. That annoyed you because if you came home drunk you sometimes had a hard time unlocking the door.

        Some might say how can I blame you or hold something like that against you if I never told you about it. The point is I knew I couldn’t tell you about it. My analytical mind can understand the why’s. You didn't want to know because it reflected on the image you had of yourself as a mother. It’s another example of how far back I had to bury emotions. I knew I couldn’t trust you to take care of me and what I needed.

       Years later Chuck tracked you down to make amends. He’d been an alcoholic all his life and needed to apologize. He wasn’t specific about what; but to you it was just so nice to talk and catch up with him. What a feather in your gap that an old boyfriend would want to find you. You called me and were so giddy after talking with him. I wish I could say, if only you knew. But it wouldn’t have made a difference!

            She stopped!  It amazed her what memories flooded her soul. The emotions it awakened, but that was the point.  To honor and validate what she’d felt, not dismiss or dishonor them. It was oh so much easier to think and analyze than to feel.  She had to give her heart permission to grieve the loss of mom ever being a mom.  To acknowledge she’d went to mom and once again she wasn’t there as she should have been.

            It hurt to remember. She needed to find the words to describe the emotional pain.  To validate what she’d lost. Look at the memories from her perspective. Not constantly and consistently understand from her mother’s perspective. Enough was enough! She would unbury the pain, regardless the cost. Head in hands she prayed for strength to endure and complete what she’d begun.