Mother, May I?

I have a confession to make. I haven't been entirely truthful in my writing. I have on more than one occasion sang my mother's praises on my blog. I painted a picture of a beautiful and strong woman who loved her family fiercely, but I was painting a picture of the mother I wanted, not the one I had. It's safe to say that my mother didn't like me. I honestly think she didn't like me because of how much I reminded her of my father, whom she stayed married to for 28 years. When I told her I was gay in my 20's, it just gave her dislike for me a reason and a name.

My entire life I bragged about what a great woman she was. The truth is, she was a beautiful woman but she was also a selfish woman who always put herself first. She hated being married to my dad, she hated living in Parker Arizona and helping him run his A&W, and she resented the fact that we spent all of our time with his side of the family and absolutely none with hers. They both came from very large families and since we lived so far away, it was impossible to find time to spend with both sides. Since her best friend was married to my dad's brother, his side of the family won by default. I'm grateful for that though because my father's family has often been my rock.

I came out to my mother in a letter. For a few years she would torment me by leaving these long drunken messages on my answering machine. She would accuse me of making it up to upset her or she'd want to know who corrupted me. These messages would usually take up all the tape in my answering machine. She even offered to send me to a psychologist who could "cure me." I eventually changed my phone number and didn't call her for months. When I did call her, I told that I'd only give her my number if she promised to never leave me a drunken message again. This was before caller ID mind you. Since then, she has never talked to me about me being gay and would change the subject every time I brought it up. Ironically though, one of those times she shushed me when I brought it up, she did so because her favorite show was on. Her favorite TV show was "Will & Grace." So she loved the show with two gay men as central characters, but she couldn't even talk to her own son about him being gay.

Here's an example of how she treated me. I cancelled a vacation to go spend a week with my mother when she first started chemotherapy. Upon my arrival, she told me that since I was in Illinois, I needed to go visit a few of my father's relatives. So I did. In the week I was there, I was gone less than a total of 48 hours making the rounds. And keep in mind, I didn't plan to see them, my mother insisted I go see them. It was completely her idea. However, when people asked about my visit she would say, "Oh he didn't come to see me, he just used me as an excuse to come see his aunts and uncles."Also while I was there, she talked on the phone for probably 4 hours a day and not once did she ever tell anyone that I was there. After she died, a few of her sisters gave me a hard time about that trip. Telling me that it hurt her feelings that I blew her off the entire time I was there. She blatantly lied to them. And once again the lie she told cast me in a very bad light. I didn't argue with them, I simply replied, "I'm sorry to say that what she told you isn't what happened. So do not judge me based on one side of this story." And I left it at that

If you follow my blog, you know that my mother died from cancer two years ago. The experience was a very odd one for me. Earlier that year, after she recovered from her first bout of cancer, I realized that she probably wasn't going to be around much longer. So, with a lot of prayer and determination, I put it all behind me. Every bad thing she had said and done to me, I just put it behind me. I knew that if I didn't, I'd spend the rest of my life trying to deal with it. 39 years was enough for me. When she passed, she took all of my pain with her. Never again would she be able to belittle me, tell me I wasn't good enough, question my intentions or make me feel bad about myself. It took me two years to realize it, but once I did, it was the single most freeing moment of my life.

We tend to saint people in death. When they pass we forgive all their mistakes and short comings. We sit around telling the good stories and trying to forget the bad. We make people in into caricatures of their former selves. We exaggerate their good traits. They become funnier, nicer, more talented. We bury the truth in the ground with the corpse.

In the last few days of my mother's life she lay dying in her hospital bed surrounded by her family. She had 14 living brothers and sisters and each of them claimed she was their favorite sibling. Strangely enough her favorite sibling died many years ago in a car accident. My step father considered her an angel and the best thing that ever happened to him. My younger brother lost the most important person in his life. My older brother lost the one person his wife wouldn't stand up to and his only connection to our family. Everyone sat around the room telling stories about her. Often remarking on how pretty she was, how funny she was and what a great mother-sister-friend-etc she was. I never spoke up about my true feelings for her, as they would have fallen on angry deaf ears. Even now, I have a feeling that I am in danger of being disowned by some family members if they stumble upon this. I'm okay with that. I'm close to the people in my family who matter the most and anyone who would disown me over the truth has no place in my life.

In those last four days she slept the entire time. She was completely unrecognizable in her frail state. She looked many years older than she was. Often I would stare at her. I wondered if she was dreaming or if she could hear us. She would react when we'd put the phone up to her ear so the grandkids could say good bye. Every now and then she'd lift her arms up in the air as if she was reaching for something. Once when I was alone with her I said, "You should be ashamed of yourself for all the bad things you did and said to me over the years. I don't know how you could even live with yourself. And now you're dying, you lay here in a coma and I didn't even get so much as an 'I'm sorry'. Thanks for nothing."

Last week I was talking to one of my cousins on the phone. She asked me if I missed my mother and I answered with a matter-of-fact "no." I went on to tell her much of what is in this blog and she let me know that she was well aware of how badly my mother treated me and many people saw her for who she really was. She said they kept quiet about it because they were afraid she'd cut us off from the rest of the extended family. The amount of relief I felt from that was unprecedented. It released so much crap I've kept inside for all these years. It was better than any apology my mother could have given me. Now I can really move on without the pain. The memories will always be there, but now I know the way she treated me is a reflection of her and not of me. For that I am eternally grateful.

Over the years, my mother was very honest with me about her feelings for me. Actually, it would be more fitting to use the word "blunt." Of course I have no proof of these conversations, but they happened. As much as I tried to pretend they didn't, they did. If you knew her, you know that she didn't mince words. She said exactly what she meant. So I happen to know for a fact that she didn't like me and she considered me an embarrassment. She even went as far to tell me that she was happy that I lived 3000 miles away because there was no way she could live in the same town as me. She also told me that if I ever considered moving back to Prescott she would move away.

I'm not going to use this blog to air all of my dirty laundry or all of hers. I'm just facing the truth once and for all. My mother was not a good mother. The Mother's Day blog I posted a few years ago was a complete and utter lie. I spent years trying to be the son I thought she wanted and painting a picture of the mother I wanted, but the truth is I never was and she never was. From this point forward, I am moving on with my life with the knowledge that despite what she thought of me, I am a good person. It's her loss for never getting to know the man I became. I hope that she found peace in the afterlife. I am grateful for the peace her passing has brought to my life.