My Mother

My Mother

My mother’s birthday was just the other day. She’s 77. I don't have a relationship with her, haven't in years. The reality is, it is too late. She has spent the last 6 or 7 years in a nursing home, and doesn't know anyone. I have thought about how she has gotten to where she is. My mother was addicted to prescription drugs. Believe me; it's easier than people think. All her prescriptions where legal, from a doctor, filled by pharmacies. She has overdosed a few times, as a family we tried to get ER's and doctors to intercede. As far as they knew, they were accidental and it is not against the law to take "too much" of a prescription.

I have been given a lot of thought on her drug use. It wasn't all the time. She would go years without abusing drugs. So what were her triggers? Why did she take that route? My mother was a beautiful woman, her looks compare to Elizabeth Taylor. What in her life pushed her over the edge? Why would she choose to numb herself into oblivion?

I was in my teens when I first noticed that my mother had prescription use, but even than I didn't see it as a problem. I noticed that she would spend a large amount of time in bed. Always had something wrong, her back, a headache, and her legs. I never really question it. However with hindsight, her issues seemed to appear when she and my father were not getting along. Not to say they were ever walking on rainbows, they had better times and bad times. The older, we kids got, either there were more bad times or we just noticed it more. I'm not sure. They seemed to co-exist. She had her prescriptions and he drank. I do believe their reasons where drastically different. It seems that they spent the better part of that marriage hanging by a thread. I also believe my mother clung tighter than my father. I never really saw any true real affection between them. I did see the fights.

When we look at our mothers, we want to see what we think they should be. We don’t see their fears, their pasts, their struggles, the why’s, how they got to this place in time.
When I was 12- I vividly remember- The day of the Moon Landing. My mother was in the basement. They were called club rooms back then. She had curlers in her hair, a blue scarf wrapped around her head, standing over an ironing board with a pile of clothes beside her. I sat on the steps watching her. I remember her watching the TV. She saw me. She just looked at me with a blank stare. I can’t remember what she said exactly- But she looked down and said something like,” this is it” I was never sure if she meant her life, my life, or the moon landing. I just remember feeling sad. My biggest fear, one day, I would be at an ironing board with curlers in my hair, just as sad.

Thinking back on her life, she didn’t have much growing up. She was raised by a single mom, being the second of seven kids. My grandmother worked hard. My mother was married in the 50's at 17; she had me at 18, and then 3 more kids. She was married, just as the times dictated. And she fought to be and stay married. That’s what you do. At all costs? My mother’s identity had become wrapped or intertwined with marriage, my father. I don't think she ever in her life thought she could make it without a man. My mother was no angel, but over the years I saw my father’s total disregard of her feelings, wants, and needs. His arrogant dismissals. I don’t recall a time she was ever right. Although many people think she was in control, it was a front. She had a mouth, but in our home it went on deaf ears. He controlled the money, he hid his pay stubs, and tax returns. I remember fights. I also think this was the times she would get fed up and get her jobs. Some joy came from making some pocket change. Periodically my mother would get a job, things would be better for her; in turn it made it better for us. She worked for a florist for a while; I think that was her favorite job. She seemed to enjoy it. And she seemed happier during that time. She had other jobs over the years, but the flowers made her happy. But for reasons unknown to me, the jobs would end and the drugs would begin. In the "early years" they were manageable. (I think, or wishful thinking.) It was an on again and off again dependency. But each time she went back, it got progressively worse. One thing I always knew my mother never wanted a divorce; my father couldn't wait to get out. There were bitter confrontations, which would ultimately end up with my mother in an ER. Accidental overdose? I never thought they were accidents, but carefully calculated attempts for my father’s attention. It didn't work. It didn't faze him. He’d just pop open another beer.

Eventually in my twenties they divorced. My mother stretched it out for over 2 years. During this time she worked odd jobs, waitressing, and bartending - she was a non-skilled woman of the 50's. She did date some; she was looking for Mr. Right. Sometimes I wondered about her choices, some seemed beneath her? Was it how she saw herself? She tired quickly of the dating scene but I don't think she could ever envision herself not married. I do believe there is a fine line between love and hate and my parents stayed on it. I think it should turn to ambivalence in time. They never got there. There was a true bitterness between my parents; once they split they could never be in the same place, invited to the same functions, and at times I wondered the same palnet. 25 years after they split- it remained true.

My mother eventually remarried, and within 15 years, it wasn't working, it was falling apart and he was cheating. He was caught, but she stayed. She even said the problems were hers? She needed to be better. Her drug use at this time was out of control, still by prescription. She took being numb to another dimension. She went back to bed, with many illnesses. She overdosed a few times, again I believe all for attention, but didn't get. Her beauty had faded with age, she was with another man who was emotionally abusive. Hanging on another string. Trying to stay married at any costs. That included her children, grandchildren, great grandchildren. With time we were all systematically pushed out of her life. Our help was refused. We were out to get her house? I many times blamed my mother for her life. At times I felt contempt. I never looked pass the immediate situation or understood her fears, until now.

Many people, I think saw my mother as strong, self-reliant, powerful woman, I think she spent most of her life fearing being poor, alone, and homeless and felt only a man, a partner could give her that kind of security. I think she craved to be wanted, important, and first. Her fears, being alone, broke, and unlovable in her 60's combined with drugs took over. It was worth staying for. She is still legally married to him. He took control of every aspect of her life. He took her processions, her house, and her life. He played on her fears, He quietly sat back and watched, he let her slowly put herself in a drug induced stupor, he helped her, and now she resides in nursing home, she is penniless and alone; oblivious to the world around her, her greatest fears.