The Mother Diaries


Actual messaging between a brother and a sister.

Sister:  You know, I’m fucking 30 years old and I still feel messed up and dysfunctional because of mom, and there’s no way to actually explain everything or get across to anyone just how severely she fucked us up, do you ever just get pissed about it?

Brother:  From time to time my love.  The key is to NOT let it affect you.  You have control of whether her actions can be looked back fondly as a crazy mother friend or negatively as what it really was lol.  I love you baby doll if you ever want to chat just say the word.

I did want to chat.  And I wanted to start from the present and wade my way through the bullshit.  Maybe I felt so fucked up because I had previously thought I was over this shit.  Guess I was wrong.  I’ll start from the end.

My mother was living in our house.  The house I share with my husband, and a friend of ours who is a little down on her luck at the moment.  It’s a big house.  My mother would commute between my house and my sisters place, three hours apart, but for the most part she was at our house.

I don’t remember living with my mother before this.  She’s always telling me stories like, do you remember that house with the pool when we lived in Chino?

No.  I don’t.

So her moving in many months ago was a completely new experience for me.  It was amazing at times, frustrating, funny as hell, and painful.  But mostly I would push any lingering pain out of the way so I could enjoy the fact that I was getting all this time with my mom.

My mom is a stoner.  She’s lived a hard thorough life and marijuana has been the most consistent thing in her life.  Besides that, she is only consistent about her inconsistencies and lying.

She would wake up, light a joint, and drink her coffee.  Telling stories that she had told a million times before, she would often emphasize with hand gestures and trail off down unforeseen tangents.  She would then go to the kitchen and eat something to do with toast, butter, eggs, or chocolate.

Mostly, we laughed so hard we cried.  Yes, we were usually high, but that’s only because it made it easier for me to ignore my pain that was trying to force itself up into the conversations.

While she was here I was reminded of the way she was whenever I was able to see her growing up.  But because I was older I saw things I’d never seen before.  The most obvious thing about her was how afraid she was, of so many things, and how hard she’s trying to act like she’s not.

Mostly, she’s afraid of anyone getting to know who she really is, because she doesn’t think anyone will love her once they do.  She’s afraid of being thrown away.  Which is fucking ironic to me, but I digress.

I learned a lot from her time at the house, but mainly I learned that my mom has a restless spirit, and I’m not sure if she’ll ever find peace.

For now she’s back where she started, in the same city she grew up in, in the same city where her father recently passed away.  I was always worried about her before, like she was going to die and I wouldn’t even know.  I’m not worried anymore, at least I learned that about her.



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