Forgiveness

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

So in therapy we are trying to work past my issues with my mom. This may make some family members mad for shining my mom in such a negative light. He told me that I need to figure out a way to forgive her. This is my way. I have written a letter to her that I am hesitant to share because it’s very personal. Here goes nothing.

Dear Mom,

                  I wish I had this conversation with you when you were still alive. I need to get some things off my chest. Mostly about how I was raised and the grudge that I’ve had against you once I was old enough to realize that you neglected me. I was always afraid to talk to you (as I know you were afraid to talk to me) because like you, I am highly emotional. I inherited a lot of your negative traits, and I can feel it inside me. I can feel my rationality trying to suppress those feelings; however, your biological trait usually wins.

                  I am not sure how this letter is going to be structured, so I am going to just go chronologically as best I can and see if any of this makes sense. I don’t think I have many memories earlier than age 3 or 4. I do know that parenting in the 70’s and 80’s was like the wild fucking west. You tried your best, and then at a certain point you gave up. At least that’s my perspective.

                  Things started off rough in utero from what you told me. You openly admitted that you smoked cigarettes (probably weed too) and drank alcohol when you were pregnant with me. That right there was the beginning of the neglect. I know it was socially acceptable to do those things in the 70’s. I’m sure you were the exact stereotype I imagine of a pregnant smoking/drinking mom in those days. I am quite sure that damaged me somehow that still affects me to this very day. You could say I had some mental development issues as a kid, and I am positive that your negligence of your own body while you were pregnant was a large contribution to that. You always smoked way too much. We lost touch towards the end, but I have a sneaking suspicion that you smoked until you were on your literal deathbed.

                  I do remember you trying to parent when I was very young. I think you did an ok job then, but really fell off after the divorce. We lived with dad, and I had 4 ½ acres to run around and be a kid. I remember the first day of pre-school. You had signed me up and when the first day came you asked, “Are you ready to go to school?” and I responded with an enthusiastic “Yes!” because I was an only child and it meant that I would get to play with some other kids. The only reason I remember that is because by the time I started hating school in the 2nd grade I thought to myself “If only I had said no when she asked me if I was ready to go to school”. I was angry about that for years until I realized I didn’t have a choice, and all kids had to go to school. To my little distraught brain, I thought that since you asked in the form of a question, I had a choice. I’m sure we would chuckle over that now, but I didn’t understand.

                  I loved playing in our back yard. I remember the giant weeping willow that would hang all the way down to the ground and have those tiny black beetles all over it. Dad got up on a ladder and tied a rope around the tree branch with a little loop for my foot and I would swing on it for hours. I know you were nervous about me wandering back too far in the yard where you couldn’t see me from the house. I still can hear the whistle in my head that you would do to get me back into your sight. You always could whistle so fucking loud using your thumb and your forefinger up to your lips. A trick that I could never master. From what I can put together you couldn’t be bothered by coming outside to play with me. That would take away from smoking cigarettes and watching TV all day. One day when I was maybe 5 you told me that I could no longer play in the backyard where you couldn’t see me because “There are bad guys on motorcycles back there” and they would take me. This was at the height of “Stranger Danger”, and I fucking believed you. I know it was an easy way to keep me in your sight, but that was severely traumatizing. Why would my mom lie to me? I remember telling my older cousin (who was more like a brother) that we couldn’t play back there anymore because of the alleged motorcycle gang that was dominating my backyard and he laughed so hard. You see, he was 3 years older than me and knew that was a load of bullshit. I still believed it, though. Why would my mom lie to me?

                  Then in the 2nd grade where I had the meanest teacher, you told her to take me aside and have a conversation with me. That was terrifying. Why didn’t you talk to her in person? Also, around that time is when you and dad started having marital problems. I know the problems had been going on for a while, but I was too young to realize. I remember one day seeing dad alone in the darkened laundry room crying. I asked him what was wrong, but I don’t remember the answer. That was the first time I ever saw dad cry and it gave me such a horrible feeling. I knew something bad was coming.

                  Things had gotten so bad by the time 3rd grade started that I completely mentally checked out of school. I had a nice teacher that year, but it didn’t matter. Life was so bad at home that I didn’t even care about school. We would get our worksheets and instead of doing the work I would just flip it over and draw pictures. That was my escape/coping mechanism, I think. That year of 3rd grade you and dad divorced, and I failed every subject. You made the executive decision of holding me back and repeating the 3rd grade. I felt so stupid, and embarrassed. My peers moved on, and I had to make all new friends again.

                  We moved to a really shitty 2-bedroom apartment on Pine St. I remember our first night there in my bedroom we slept together on a mattress on the floor. You said something like “This is our new life” and that terrified me. I was not at home, I missed my dog (more on that later), and I was afraid. We were living off the child support from dad. You were planning on finding a job so we could have a little more stability. You and dad worked out an agreement that he would provide me with new clothes and things like that, and you would feed me and take care of me. I went to dad’s every weekend after that for years and I always looked forward to it.

                  I recall doing much better during my 2nd go-round of 3rd grade. It was due to not being in such an intense home life and dealing with a dissolving marriage. However, in my mind I was still miserable. One weekend I was looking forward to going to dads and seeing my dog, Max. When I got there, he did not run up to greet me and lick me as usual. After I asked dad where Max was his reply was “I gave him away”. I know this was not your fault, but that was devastating. A heads-up would’ve been nice. I probably cried that entire weekend.

                  We lived in that apartment for maybe 2 years. I know we had a neighbor across the hall that you were concerned about. You never really explained why you were concerned. For you of all people to be concerned, there must have been something really fucked up going on over there. So, we moved again to an even shittier apartment about half a mile away in the same neighborhood. We lived there into my teenage years, and I remember being mortified once I got to middle school and kids were not so kind. Getting made fun of for living in an apartment is something I hope my kids will never have to go through. Every summer you gave me the same bullshit line of “This is our last summer together. I’m going to get a job.” Well, you didn’t. In fact, you were never employed in your entire life. Food was scarce, but there was always beer and smokes. I was always looking forward to going to dad’s house because I knew I would get fed. It wasn’t until years later that I realized I was being fully neglected.

                  I know you were lonely and scared. However, I desperately needed a mom. You were completely checked out on me and were too busy not getting a job and looking for a possible suitor. So, by the time that suitor came around I was 12 or 13. I knew you would marry the first guy to come around. I specifically remember having that logic at that young age. By the time you two married I was a fully angsty 13-year-old who locked myself in my room, listened to music, and played guitar. I remember thinking “Who the fuck is this dude?” “He is not my dad”. Maybe I unfairly told him that to his face on more than one occasion. In hindsight, he was a nice enough guy and did not deserve all the shit I said to him. He just came around at the worst possible time. Angsty teen years.

                  I was stuck in a pretty strange spot. We were poor for sure. However, dad was not, and I would always have nice clothes and new shoes. It was like I was living this double life where I was poor but not really. Also, during this time, I started wanting to hang out with friends on the weekend and not go to dads anymore. I always wonder if I was a bother to my dad on the weekends. He was younger than I am now and I’m sure he would’ve liked to go out and party on the weekends. However, he did have his friends and brothers come over and play music every weekend. He had converted the dining room into a jam room. The single layer of bricks that were on the floor for the old-fashioned stove became a drum riser when the stove was discarded of. I cut my musical teeth playing Neil Young, and Bob Dylan songs with them.

                  Back at the apartment since I stopped going to dad’s house that also meant I didn’t get to bring my dirty clothes over in a black garbage bag every weekend and have them cleaned. There were washing machines in the basement of the apartment that you had to load with quarters, and you couldn’t be bothered to do that. So, all through middle school I wore dirty clothes. I would recycle/rotate all my clothes throughout the week. Now that I’m thinking of it, I’m not sure you even had clean clothes. I do remember a couple of times you taking your clothes to my aunt’s house to do laundry, but you sure as hell didn’t do mine. When I think about this, I get very angry. I didn’t get to eat much, and I always wore dirty clothes.

                  My freshman year of high school we still lived in that lousy apartment. I didn’t want anyone to know where I lived. Sometimes to this very day I go to Google Street View and go to that apartment and just stare at it. I can see the front door I used to walk out of to walk to Middle School every morning. I see my old bedroom window where I had posters of metal bands hanging up. The room where I learned how to play the guitar. I can stare at that street view for a long time and feel all sorts of different feelings. Mostly I just feel bad for the kid who lived there and dreamed about getting out.

                  Stepdad ended up getting a better job so between Freshman and Sophomore year with his new income, and you guys borrowing money from friends and family we were able to buy a brand-new house. It was just a basic ranch, smaller than the ranch I live in now, but an actual house. It was like moving into a mansion. I had a bit more confidence going into the 10th grade. Also, we had a washer and dryer! However, my grades still did not reflect that.

By this point in my life, I was obsessed with 2 things. Music, and girls. That was all I could concentrate on throughout high school. I wish you had intervened. I was skipping school all the time, sleeping in class, basically doing everything wrong. When I was at my therapist last week we were talking about this moment in my life. I said I was lovesick. He said that was a good word for it. I was not getting love at home. I was desperate to have a girlfriend. There was a series of dating girls and them dumping me after about 2 weeks or so. Because of this, grades got worse. Also, I thought I would someday be able to make a living off music. That was a stupid thought.

Dad was concerned and called the guidance counselor. I was pulled out of class one day and taken to his office. All I remember from that meeting was “Your dad is concerned about your grades…” and I just tuned out after that. I didn’t give a fuck about grades. I just wanted to play in bands and hang out with my friends. My priorities were all out of whack. I wish you had delegated some tough love on me and made me go to summer school. However, I know I was extremely stubborn and a hard kid to control.

During this time in high school, you started to become a hoarder. I don’t think it was as well-known of an illness at that time, but after watching shows about it, I immediately recognized that’s what you were doing. First you filled up the basement with crap, then it slowly started creeping upstairs and you never cleaned. Once again, I was back in a place where I was ashamed to have people come over. Messy house, with you smoking and drunk on the couch…not an ideal time for company. So once again I just stayed in my room all the time. I recall you telling me that since your dad was such a drunk when you were younger, you were always too embarrassed to have friends over. It’s funny how history repeated itself.

I wanted to drop out of high school bad. I knew that even if I went all the way through, I still wouldn’t have enough credits to graduate. You were adamant that I stay in school. You had barely graduated high school. Now here I was. Surely not going to graduate. I stayed in school for you. I wanted to make you proud. I remember going to one of the last days of school when it was finals, walking up to the school, thinking to myself “Why am I even here?”, and walking home. That summer everyone had open houses and graduation parties and I questioned why I was so defective. It’s something that bothers me to this very day. I don’t blame you, but you certainly didn’t help. After being held back in 3rd grade I always felt stupid. I don’t think I would’ve done better if I had been pushed through to the next grade, but I do wonder sometimes. So, after not achieving that milestone of life I sank into a pretty deep depression. Did I do the sensible thing and try to finish school, or get my GED? Nope. I was dumb and that was that.

I know that you took care of Grandpa and Nana ever since I was young. You told me several times that was your “job” and to a certain extent it was a lot of work. They had both been sickly during my entire life. Nana had horrible arthritis that rendered her immobile, and Grandpa developed lung cancer after a lifetime of smoking and had 1 lung and a portion of the other removed back in the 80’s. He would get winded walking across the room. Losing most of his lungs wasn’t a hard enough lesson for him, as he continued smoking. I remember lots of doctor’s appointments and hospital stays that you took them to. They were pretty much your life. So that December of 1997 when they both died the week of Christmas, I think that was the beginning of the end for you.

The week of Christmas Grandpa had been in the hospital for a couple of months if I’m remembering correctly. Your sister and brother-in-law were coming up from Tennessee to visit for the holidays. We all knew Grandpa didn’t have long. Nana was at the house with Aunt and Uncle. I’m so glad they were there. Nana had a stroke or a seizure or something bad that I can’t exactly remember. She died before the ambulance came. It was a shock considering we had all eyes on Grandpa waiting for the end, and then Nana died first. I remember nobody wanting to tell him at the hospital that she had died because they knew he would just let go. That’s exactly what happened. Nana died on December 23 and Grandpa on the 27th. You stood in the doorway of my bedroom and sobbed in a way that I never wish to hear again. I ended New Years Eve at Grandpa’s funeral. 1997 was not my best year.

When you and your siblings were divvying up all their belongings (everyone should make a will) you thought since you took care of them for the better part of 20 years that you were entitled to everything. I remember being so embarrassed that you were behaving in such a selfish way. Even though you took care of them, your siblings were also your blood. You got a car out of the deal, and you still wanted more. I imagine the hoarding mentality exacerbated this greed.

For the next couple of years, the hoarding and drinking only became worse. Remember the time you told me that the reason you drank so much was because I didn’t love you? You probably don’t remember saying that, but I do. I never told you this but once when I came back for a visit when I was living in northern Virginia in the summer, I hopped on my bike that I left at your house and rode it all the way to the cemetery where they were buried, sat there and talked to them, cried, and apologized for being such a terrible grandchild. It was always hard to see them suffering and I just couldn’t put myself through it when I was a teenager and they barely saw me. Not proud of my selfishness of those years. The was the first and last time I ever visited their graves. They had been gone for 10 years at that point.

I lived with you until I was 26. An adult still living like a teenager. I finally was able to scrape together enough money to get out. After that we really did not stay in touch. I always felt horrible about it as I’m sure you did too. I was afraid to contact you, and you of me. I remember hoping after Erin was pregnant that maybe you becoming a grandma would make you want to see me and your grandson. I have no doubt that you really wanted to, but things didn’t change. You came over a few times, but I always had to invite you. I said, “Whenever you want to see him, just give me a call.” That call never came.

When we lost our daughter in utero, I thought maybe you would start coming to see your grandson. Nope. He would ask about you sometimes, but he only got to know his grandpa. Dad really came up to bat to being a grandpa. It really looks good on him, as I think it would’ve looked good on you as well.

When we had our second son I didn’t even try. I knew you wouldn’t come around. Your grandkids couldn’t pick you out of a lineup of grandma’s. They have no idea what you look like, and I really have no pictures. I try not to share too much about my youth with them. I will tell them when they are older. I wish you had come around.

I remember our last conversation. August 2020 during the height of the pandemic. I made a decision before the call. I decided that if I had to initiate all the conversation that I would never try to call you again. That sentence is hard for me to read back. I can’t believe I thought that and actually followed through with it. The conversation was exactly as I knew it would be. I did all the talking between long gaps of silence. That was our last “proper” conversation.

I’m really upset that I had to find out through a cousin that you were literally on your deathbed. You had many health setbacks in the years prior. You developed Lupus, you had a heart attack, you really didn’t do anything to better yourself. I know that you wanted to die. You had a lifetime of struggle. A tough childhood with alcoholic parents. However, I also had a tough childhood with alcoholic parents, and I am ending that story. Be happy that your grandkids will never have to go through the struggles we went through. I am closing the chapter on that narrative.

What I am really doing mom, is I am here to forgive you. You made a lot of bad choices that impacted me, but I am letting it go. I don’t need to have this dark cloud cast over my head following me around anymore. We both grew apart, and it’s both of our faults. I can’t blame you for my life not turning out the way I wanted it. It has been a crutch for me to lean on for years when things aren’t going right. Blaming it on you. I am trying to turn my life around and I think you would be proud of me. I’m in the process of getting my GED at the age of almost 46. I just have math left which I have failed twice. As you know, you and I were never good at math, and I still am not good. However, I have a good family support system. Both boys excel at math. They both get all A’s. No offense but you taught me what not to do when it comes to raising kids. I’m sorry that I’m airing all our dirty laundry because I am going to share this with whoever wants to read it. I know you would be horribly embarrassed, but I need to get this out there. I too am embarrassed to let so many people know my story. I am trying to heal from childhood trauma, and I think sharing will help and maybe I can get some advice or help others going through the same struggle. I am trying to turn all this negative into a positive.

Just like I apologized to Grandpa and Nana at their gravesite, I am apologizing to you for not trying to initiate a discussion to help mend our relationship. I don’t believe in god, or heaven, or ghosts, or guardian angels like you did. Sometimes I think it would be comforting if I did. Just know that through all of this, I have always loved you.

Love and miss you,

Vince