“My Teenager Mother: ...the bad, the ugly...” (Part 2&3 of 4)

I had planned on writing 4 pieces; however, I don't want to delve or dwell too far down any negative rabbit holes.  Frankly, everyone despite age, circumstance or life choices hits the bad and the ugly.  The point of this part of my series isn't the focus of the bad and the ugly, simmering in the 'if only this had been different', but to focus on the overcoming of such hardships.  As I said, it hits us all; none of us are immune from the "if only's".  I could share my mother's "Mommy Dearest" moment, but I have learned that has little to do with age and more to do with all of us falling prey to our weakened flesh and having our "Mommy Dearest" moments.  I have had them and I can see how they so easily overwhelm us.  So it isn't that the bad or the ugly happened, instead it is the experience of change, renewal and dedicated love that grew from such painful memories and left us with such beautiful lives.

I intermix the bad stuff with the ugly stuff.  I take hard memories of my mother's angry moments and discipline and muddle them in with her tremulous life at times overcoming alcohol and the men she loved.  Everything felt like an addictive need to find satisfaction. Trying to navigate life in an adult world with two small children in tow with a teenage mentality, may drive most of us to have our moments of weakness.  Searching out the escape in bottles or in men, and trying desperately to keep her daughters' shielded from the choices she made. I'm not sure if my mother remembers a night nearly 13 years ago, she was so overcome with her grief and regret at the life she provided us- she just wept and apologized for hours.  It was during a relapse time for her, when she had started to drink again.  I think she was in anguish because she knew better than to pick up that bottle; yet, she did.  I sat there heart broken for her, and I could only offer her my assurance of forgiveness and forgotten- but it didn't seem enough to quench the guilt.  So, I just sat and listen to her 'I'm sorry's' for hours.  We went to sleep, the night was over and we have never spoken of it since. Honestly, I assumed she had no real memory of it.

It's the only period of time my mom really relapsed.  She had sobered up when I was fairly young and had maintained her sobriety for well over a decade.  The struggles she went through in my late teens and early twenties, again, was a short lived relapse.  Truly, with my sister's first child and my mother's first grandchild, well over ten years ago, I have no memory of my mother ever picking up a drink again.  She has conquered that demon. I have fond memories of AA dances and sitting next to her when she'd pick up a chip for accomplishments of sobriety.  I know that addiction is always lingering at the back steps, it's a nasty snare full of lies of faded memories of fun or abandonment or even of joy; but its all superficial.  As soon as the pseudo-joy fades, the evil invades and does plenty of planting of destruction.  The word disease still irks me. I hate the invasion of that word into the world of addiction. Addiction is hard, it is a battle and it can grip you and take your life LIKE a disease- but it is no true disease.  Disease implies lack of accountability or responsibility; it implies the age old mantra each justifier seeks, "its not my fault!"  And simply put, it is- regardless of what got you there.  You can choose different. You can overcome. You do have a choice. My mother is living, walking proof of it.

She was hard on us. She was very hard on me. She was hard because she loved me, and she had no other method of recourse or discipline for me.  I was the first child being brought up by a 16 year old that didn't rationalize or have the maturity for handling impatience, sound judgement or temperament.  What 16 year old does possess these things?  Add on growing yourself up, with true lack of coping skills and a toddler as your teacher.  The hardness on me was a natural response, she was trying hard to parent effectively.  Every spank, every harsh word was meant out of pure instinctual love for me not to be her.   Maybe sometimes it was just pure exhaustion and lack of self-control, but that is long since forgiven. I can forgive an angry 20 year old girl that didn't know what to do with a toddler because I myself have been an angry 30-something year old woman that didn't know what to do with a toddler and anger ensued.  Mom taught me one vitally important lesson in this- big people can ask little people for forgiveness.  Little people need to see big people humbled.  My mother's love and apology always came with honest, humble words.  Once she even sent me a dozen red roses to my 3rd grade class, just to say sorry.  Those flowers have lived an eternity in the depth of my heart.  I carry them everywhere with me. They are a brave reminder to me- I can be wrong as a mother, and I can ask my child, no matter the age, for his forgiveness- and I have.

The men. The bad and the ugly.  She has loved some bad man, but they were bad for her. They were never bad to us.  She was careful as to who had access to us and who she allowed to love us.  She may not have made stellar choices for herself and it may have been hard at times to have these relationships come and go, but she fiercely protected her daughters. They were never in danger.  If the hint of danger existed, I'm quite sure the "problem" would be still missing currently at the bottom of the Penobscot River.  It was hard to attach to men. I saw them for much of my life as temporary and not useful.  It took me a long time to view a man as something stable, permanent or even useful to me. As I grew, I tended to be unkind towards men as I saw such little purpose of them in my life. I used them and threw them away.  I was always a "nice girl", I was never abusive or hateful, I just didn't grasp the longevity or necessity of partnership with a man.  I was selfish and immature with them and why Marc hung in there as I overcame this ego of mine, is nothing short of the goodness of God.  Mom's lack of permanency with a boyfriend or her dramatic relationships were like watching a movie.  I was there, but at times I didn't even feel as if I had a supporting role.  I don't know how else to describe it.  I was an extra, mostly that was fine by me.

I'll be honest, I've added in this section in after processing it with my sister. When she initially read this, she was shocked I left out a particular man that was pretty much a consumption of our childhood. His name was Neil and he was with my mother through much of our formative years. I think I left him out because I didn't actually know what to say. I'm trying to address the bad and the ugly with reflection of understanding of mom's age and struggles, and embrace it with the good that came from it. When I look back on our life with Neil, its hard not to dwell and delve into nothing but the bad and the ugly, and I embrace little good.   He was a man that was a heavy part of our life for nearly a decade and yet he is a the prime example of being the extra in a movie that was not my life.  Mom's battle with this man was, I believe, a combination of the the addictions she so struggled to overcome. He was bad for her, their relationship no matter the ups and good memories was terrible and reckless.  It was hard to attach to him, as it was such a contradiction and played constantly on our loyalty and sense of stability.  He was good to Nicole and I, I believe he tried to be a father figure to us; although, his bi-polar tendency, his substance abuse, and inability to be a stable man constantly drove Nicole and I to, at times, hate him, while in the same time love him.  We hated to see the way he ripped mom's heart up and yet she returned to him over and over again. He would try to love us and love mom, but at the core he was a troubled man and had no true way of loving beyond his own desires of addictions or impulsiveness.  Mom seemed addicted to the version of Neil that was good, addicted to the version of Neil that she could "fix him" and addicted to chaos that life with him guaranteed.  It didn't seem relevant that Nicole and I were part of their equation, we were simply the remainder and dragged from scene to scene.  When the credits rolled we were a the bottom of the cast role as Girl 1 and Girl 2.  This probably breaks mom's heart, and I hate that. She has long since left this man and ended the path of emptiness he brought.  He did have goodness in him, but his battles he needed to go off and conquer himself. We all needed out of that picture- desperately.  I hate sharing it, but how can I not. It was a 3rd of my life. I love Neil now and I hate what he did, but I forgive him.  If I ever see him again, I hope I can tell him.  And mom- as you read this- its long over and this is all that ever needs to be said of it.  The past is nothing but dead space, let's leave it there.

Most of the men mom dated were nothing but movie trailers.  I'd watched to see if it was worth the cost of admission or just move on to the next viewing; however, besides Neil, there are two other men in my mother's life (besides my father) that I allowed myself to attach too.    The first was eons ago, when mom first sober up.  His name was John, a very good man. He was kind, gentle, engaging and reached out for Nicole and I to be apart of his life too.  We allowed ourselves to become close to him, and then he was gone. And I was sad.  And that was that- life marches on.  Nearly fourteen years ago, my mother met a wonderful man named Garth, who is now her husband, our step father and the children's Papa. We have all matured and fought past our selfishness and temporariness of thinking men aren't around. There are plenty of good men in this world, We (my mother, my sister and myself) just needed to realize the problem wasn't always the men, much of the time it was us and our skewed understanding of how to fit them into our lives. God has blessed each of us with a good man.

Closing up this, I pray I did a good job in not insulting or hurting my mother, but simply revisiting the trials and showing that through hardship lessons, experience and forgiveness can produce such love and hope for a good future.  Because that is what it produced. It's not without its regrets or grimaced memories, but that is the past.  So many want to hold on to it, I have struggled with that myself.  We don't need to say trite things like 'have no regrets', its ok to have regrets.  You lying to yourself, if you say you have none- so don't bother. The past is nothing but the mixture of regret, lessons and joy.  You can't pretend one doesn't exist without the other.  You have to acknowledge it, seek forgiveness in it and cherish what needs to be cherished.  The past is long over, the future is a fraction in front of us- and nothing but the beautiful remains.