Mothers and Daughters

So a couple of my followers (I chuckle, but that also sounds really creepy) have been bugging me to write. "Write about anything." they say, but as cliche as it sounds, I'm an artist and blah, blah, blah. And on top of all that today was a pretty bad day, so you all (or you 2) get re-used writing but I know you haven't read it. And since we all live in Eugene I am going to re-use. Cause you asked for it.

A few years ago I was blessed with having the experience of taking a writing class with Shelby. We had two instructors, Bill and Margaret, and they were fabulous. What a class. I learned a lot about how Shelby felt about things. It was amazing! I think Maddie and I took at least three classes together after that. What wonderful memories. Anyhow, here is a paper I wrote for that class with Shelby in May of 2004.

A Conversation in the Trooper

Since Shelby has moved out of the house I seem to find great joy in simple outings with her. I cherish our times together and will find all kinds of reasons to get her to come over. I try to be sly about it and if she sees through me she never lets it be known.

Being the “to the bone” mom that I am, one of my favorite things to do is to take Shelby grocery shopping. Not only does this sooth my worrying mother soul it’s also a great bonding time for us. I am forever trying to buy her everything she might need and she is forever scolding my spending habits. Clearly, she did not get her frugality from me.

On our way home from Costco a song began to play on the stereo that took me back to a terrible thing that happened to me. Something I still held great shame over. We began talking about abuse, domestic and sexual, date rape. We discussed women being vulnerable and making bad choices. I admitted I was one of those women. Shelby told me she knew many girls her age that were like this. We talked about the roll that alcohol played. We talked of our lack of understanding as to how people could treat other people so bad.

It was emotional in so many ways, shame, pain, anger, loneliness, love and forgiveness. Tears were shed. And then there was this overwhelming feeling of pride. What an amazing woman my daughter is becoming. She is so real and compassionate. Shelby has helped me to a different level of understanding about certain things that have happened. Since she started college she seems to have a new excitedness about learning. I find it contagious and it makes me feel happy. We pull into the driveway and Shelby turns to me and says, “I miss you really easy. I can’t go a week without seeing you. I’ve decided I need to see you every few days.” Our outing ended with a hug and the fact that I will forever cherish that trip to Costco on that beautiful October evening in 2002.

Terrified Anguish

It was the summer of 1976. I was about a month away from turning sixteen. The day had been beautiful. I spent most of it on Lanning’s Rocks up behind our house, trying desperately to understand the happenings I had become aware of. A few cumulus clouds sat above the hills. As the sun began to glide below the horizon the clouds began to color. Shades of blue and pink painted the sky. Like a dry sponge the clouds soaked up the colors. I began to make my descent toward home. Walking, I inhaled the beauty of dusk. I was trying to ingest the power of nature. I felt the air warm against my skin. Holding me. Protecting me. Comforting me.

Mom was in the kitchen as I entered through the back door. The open window brought the gift of the honeysuckle’s sweet smell. “Where have you been?” she snapped.

“Up on the rocks.” was my answer. I so hoped that would be the end.

“What’s the matter with you?” she stabbed.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit!” Oh God, here it comes. I knew it wouldn’t stop now. “I suppose you don’t think I deserve to be happy. That it’s wrong of me to want to be with a man who thinks I’m special. Is that right? Is that what you think?” her voice growing louder, frantic.

“No Mom, that’s not what I think.” I pleaded

“Then what is it?” she spat. She stepped closer.

I looked her in the eye and wondered if I should say it. “I don’t like him.” was out before I could stop it. Before I realized what was happening she slapped me across the face. I ran out the door crying.

It was completely dark now. I walked around the garage. Disoriented by confusion my head was spinning. What did I do wrong? Why did she hit me? She asked me what was wrong. I told her. What does she want? What was I supposed to say? He was my sister’s boyfriend. I didn’t like him any more. What about Dee? What about Dee? Why was my mom sleeping with him? Did mom forget about Dee, her daughter? Did she think Dee wouldn’t care? My lip feels fat. My nose is bleeding. I better not get it on my shirt. I feel dizzy. I sit down on the step. I let it drip. Maybe it won’t stop. Did I wish that?

The door opens. Fear grabs me tight. I catch my breath. Her voice has changed. She has calmed. “Honey, I’m so sorry. You need to understand how hard it is for me. Your dad is a drunk. Every time he touches me he’s drunk. It’s so different with Tom. He makes me feel special. You have to understand,” she pleads.

Do my friend’s mothers tell them these things? I don’t want to hear this. It’s gross. It’s wrong. She’s my mother, still married to my father, sleeping with a kid who is my sister’s boyfriend. Sick. “It’s okay mom. I understand. You deserve to be happy more than anyone else I know.” I need to stop my nosebleed. If she sees it she’ll feel bad. How can I clean it off before we go in? Maybe she won’t see it. “I love you Mom.”

“I love you too honey. Let’s go in and watch some TV.”

I let her go first so she can’t see but she turns around. “Oh my God! Did I do that? Oh honey, I’m so sorry.” She begins to cry. She sobs, “What have I done? My God what have I done?”

“Mom, it’s okay. You know I get bloody noses all the time. You barely even touched me. Now stop crying. Come on, lay down on the couch.” I lead her to her favorite spot when the day is done. I lay her down. Get her a pillow. Offer her a blanket. “Can I get you some water?”

“Yes please. That would be nice.” She says.

I bring her water. “Do you need anything else?” She looks at me. Her head motions no. I can see shame in her eyes. I look away. I don’t want her to see what’s in my eyes. “I think I’ll go to bed then. I love you mom.” I say as I hug her goodnight.

“I love you too honey.” Her voice is tired.

I crawl into my bed. I am safe here on my mattress in the closet. I pull my blanket up close to my nose. The smell is comforting. I feel the tears begin to sting my eyes. I don’t know why I’m crying. Warm tears slide down the sides of my head. At first it’s quiet, soft crying. And then I break. I can’t control the spasms of my body. No thought is in my head, just pure sadness. It hurts. I let it come. Eyes closed, I let it come.

“What’s the matter with you?”

Sudden, terrifying fear shocks me to silence. I say nothing.

“I said, what’s the matter with you?” Her angry words paralyze me. She comes closer. “Answer me, what’s the matter with you?” She starts to hit me. She sits on my bed because it’s low. Her hands have turned to fists. Over and over she hits me. Pounding and screaming, “What’s the matter with you? You’re crazy. You need to see a psychiatrist. What’s the matter with you? You’re crazy. You need to see a psychiatrist.” She keeps hitting and screaming. She has gone crazy.

I say nothing. I lay there with my arms in front of my face. My confused dizziness returns. I don’t know when it ends. I don’t remember after that. I wake up the next morning. It’s over. The night is never talked about. Did it really happen or am I crazy? Do I need a psychiatrist?

A Trip to the Shot Doctor

Many years ago I used to get immuno-therapy shots (allergy shots). I would have to go three times a week and I did this for about three years. It was routine. In the early summer months of 1989 our routine had changed a little. Now, instead of just the girls and I, we had Trevor, born just two months earlier. Normally when we would arrive, the waiting room would be packed but on this particular day it was completely empty. It was quiet. It was nice.

Shelby, being the more mature big sister at the ripe old age of five, began to look through the selection of kid magazines and soon found one interesting. She brought it over and sat beside me and began to read. And then there was Maddie, my outspoken three year old. Who was very much into creative dress. Maddie was flitting around the room like an impatient bug that can’t seem to find the right spot to land.

I was called to get my shot right away and then handed a timer. The way it worked was you got your shot and then had to wait ten minutes to make sure there were no reactions. I sat down and got ready to nurse Trevor. Maddie was by my side in an instant. “Are you gonna let him suck your boob, Mom, huh Mom are you?”

“Yes Maddie, it’s time for Trevor to eat.” I answered. Maddie held Trevor’s hand, kissed it and rubbed it on her cheek, dropped it and picked up his little foot, twisted it back and fourth, moved it up and down, made his leg bend and straighten three or four times, she dropped his foot and began to pet his head, gently at first but firmer with each stroke. As I watched her continuous motion, I thought to myself…if only I had a portion of her energy.

From the corner of my eye I saw a figure entering the waiting room. I glanced in that direction, made eye contact with the woman, and smiled. Maddie turned to see what I had seen. By now the woman had made it to the chairs. As I watched her try to sit I thought they should have chairs with no arms. She was not a small lady.

Maddie made a beeline dash for this woman’s side. What was this child of mine up to now. Mind you, Maddie had never seen this lady before but she walked right up to her and leaned her little toe-headed self on the chair next to this woman and asked, “Why you so fat huh? Why you so fat?” Oh, my, God. I hoped that maybe this lady wouldn’t know she was mine. But the waiting room was empty. I pretended she wasn’t mine. I was just nursing my son sitting next to my quietly reading daughter. Again I heard Maddie, “Why you so fat huh?” My face felt so hot. Such a grand degree of embarrassment I was in. I was a dead giveaway that she was my child.

This sweet woman looked at me and with a kind and understanding voice said, “You know, it doesn’t bother me when children say things about my weight. Really, it doesn’t. Kids are kids.”

And what, from my dumb-ass mouth should appear, “I know, kids are so honest.” Immediately I felt the glowing warmth of an embarrassed face begin to rise. How could I be so stupid? At this point I was telling myself, just keep your mouth shut, don’t say another word, just keep your mouth shut.

Maybe she didn’t notice my unthoughtful comment. She kept talking to me in the same kind voice. I haven’t a clue as to what she was saying for as I sat there smodding, all I could hear was myself saying, keep your mouth shut, don’t say another word, just keep your mouth shut.