A true accomplishment.
There are things in life that you always believe will stay the same. Who your best friend(s) are, what you want to do for the rest of your life, what your wedding is going to be like, how many children you want, the names of your children, your parents actually being there for you through it all, and then, reality hits you or maybe you just grow up and realize that fairy tales really and truly don't exist...
At the young age of 15, the summer after my 8th grade graduation and the summer going into my freshman year of John Muir High School in Pasadena, everything changed drastically. While using the restroom in our old house in Northern Pasadena, I heard something come out of my fathers mouth that no one would ever expect hearing. I learned that my mother had decided she was a lesbian and was going to leave my father. After I flushed the toilet, washed and dried my hands and left the bathroom, my father came rushing to me like a kidnapper in a horror movie . He quietly asked me if I had heard any of the conversation he was having with his mother and I assured him I heard nothing. To this day, I think he's still in the dark.
At first, I was in denial, big time. But reality started to sink in when my mother started sleeping in my brothers room apposed to the room she and my father had shared for twenty-three years. Being devastated was a complete understatement. I recall being in my brothers room, which was at that time, was considered my mothers new room. It had to have been the night before she was to leave to live to a family friend’s house. I believe she moved so she could wait for her 'girl friend' to leave her own old house and her old relationship with her girlfriend of at least a decade. Looking back on that night, my memory comes back to me, almost too vivid.
I, as always, was trying to be the hero. I was trying to be the one who stopped my mother from leaving her children and, unfortunately, my attempt didn't stand a chance. She had already made up her mind. She was choosing herself in this situation, and in every situation exceeding it. I recall her telling me that I would, one day, understand why she had to do this. I quickly figured out that this had nothing to do with me although it had everything to do with me. It was a double edged sward to lose the only thing you knew for the fifteen years of the life you've been breathing, I am speaking to you as if she were dead, well the mother I knew and loved died that night. It didn't matter what I said, my suggestions and possibility of making my soon to be life altering change failed time and time again.
I was never mad at the fact that she was leaving my father, I mean I felt for him but although he was loosing someone he was married to for twenty-three years I was loosing the woman that practically raised me herself. Now before you start judging and asking why we all three stayed with my father, its not that my father was a deadbeat or anything, he just worked long days but he managed to make time for us, he just didn’t spend as much time as my mother did with us. And although we knew the backstabbing women she was going to be living with, we would not dare leave everything we have ever known because our mother was having some midlife crisis. All I knew back then was I could not bare to leave my friends. That’s all I and those of my age cared about.
The things I said to try and convince her to stay only led me to the same conclusion, it was starting to get old. Never was it in my intentions to get my parent's back together all that mattered is that they both loved my siblings and I. But it was never about the divorce, having two birthdays or even two Christmas's, it was the fact that she was not only leaving the house, street, block, city but the state. I eventually broke down completely and all those tears and all that strength I had built up finally came crashing down and I began to cry hysterically. Hysterical to the point of my eyes filling with water and me choking on air.And yet, she still packed her bags and left.
Alright, maybe I'm being a little too dramatic. I have forgotten that my mother was the victim in this situation, not her three children and husband. So please, disregard anything that was written that might make you think that my mother was the bad one because thats not what she intended it to be.
I am certainly not writing this because I hate my mother and I am not writing this for pity, I just wanted to express myself and, seven years later, seems to be the best time to do so.
This charade had more than a short term hold on myself and my two siblings. My mother only attended one out of three high school graduations, mine. Through out the seven years, I have been the only one who has spoken to my mother continuously, whether it was to cuss her out tell her how much I missed her. And with every conversations I had with her, it always ended with "I love you mom" and sometimes "I hate you" would slip in but I would always correct it and say "No, I don't hate you, I hate what you've done."
I guess you can say that, over the days, weeks, months and years, I got used to the fact of living without a mother. I guess I only got used to it because I had to. I am now twenty-two and still have no fucking clue as to why or how someone could be so damn selfish but somewhere, somehow, she's been able to justify her actions and continue to live a life away from the children who she once, meant the world to. I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason and although I am not even close to accepting what she did as justified but doing all this without her makes my accomplishments more rewarding.
At the young age of 15, the summer after my 8th grade graduation and the summer going into my freshman year of John Muir High School in Pasadena, everything changed drastically. While using the restroom in our old house in Northern Pasadena, I heard something come out of my fathers mouth that no one would ever expect hearing. I learned that my mother had decided she was a lesbian and was going to leave my father. After I flushed the toilet, washed and dried my hands and left the bathroom, my father came rushing to me like a kidnapper in a horror movie . He quietly asked me if I had heard any of the conversation he was having with his mother and I assured him I heard nothing. To this day, I think he's still in the dark.
At first, I was in denial, big time. But reality started to sink in when my mother started sleeping in my brothers room apposed to the room she and my father had shared for twenty-three years. Being devastated was a complete understatement. I recall being in my brothers room, which was at that time, was considered my mothers new room. It had to have been the night before she was to leave to live to a family friend’s house. I believe she moved so she could wait for her 'girl friend' to leave her own old house and her old relationship with her girlfriend of at least a decade. Looking back on that night, my memory comes back to me, almost too vivid.
I, as always, was trying to be the hero. I was trying to be the one who stopped my mother from leaving her children and, unfortunately, my attempt didn't stand a chance. She had already made up her mind. She was choosing herself in this situation, and in every situation exceeding it. I recall her telling me that I would, one day, understand why she had to do this. I quickly figured out that this had nothing to do with me although it had everything to do with me. It was a double edged sward to lose the only thing you knew for the fifteen years of the life you've been breathing, I am speaking to you as if she were dead, well the mother I knew and loved died that night. It didn't matter what I said, my suggestions and possibility of making my soon to be life altering change failed time and time again.
I was never mad at the fact that she was leaving my father, I mean I felt for him but although he was loosing someone he was married to for twenty-three years I was loosing the woman that practically raised me herself. Now before you start judging and asking why we all three stayed with my father, its not that my father was a deadbeat or anything, he just worked long days but he managed to make time for us, he just didn’t spend as much time as my mother did with us. And although we knew the backstabbing women she was going to be living with, we would not dare leave everything we have ever known because our mother was having some midlife crisis. All I knew back then was I could not bare to leave my friends. That’s all I and those of my age cared about.
The things I said to try and convince her to stay only led me to the same conclusion, it was starting to get old. Never was it in my intentions to get my parent's back together all that mattered is that they both loved my siblings and I. But it was never about the divorce, having two birthdays or even two Christmas's, it was the fact that she was not only leaving the house, street, block, city but the state. I eventually broke down completely and all those tears and all that strength I had built up finally came crashing down and I began to cry hysterically. Hysterical to the point of my eyes filling with water and me choking on air.And yet, she still packed her bags and left.
Alright, maybe I'm being a little too dramatic. I have forgotten that my mother was the victim in this situation, not her three children and husband. So please, disregard anything that was written that might make you think that my mother was the bad one because thats not what she intended it to be.
I am certainly not writing this because I hate my mother and I am not writing this for pity, I just wanted to express myself and, seven years later, seems to be the best time to do so.
This charade had more than a short term hold on myself and my two siblings. My mother only attended one out of three high school graduations, mine. Through out the seven years, I have been the only one who has spoken to my mother continuously, whether it was to cuss her out tell her how much I missed her. And with every conversations I had with her, it always ended with "I love you mom" and sometimes "I hate you" would slip in but I would always correct it and say "No, I don't hate you, I hate what you've done."
I guess you can say that, over the days, weeks, months and years, I got used to the fact of living without a mother. I guess I only got used to it because I had to. I am now twenty-two and still have no fucking clue as to why or how someone could be so damn selfish but somewhere, somehow, she's been able to justify her actions and continue to live a life away from the children who she once, meant the world to. I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason and although I am not even close to accepting what she did as justified but doing all this without her makes my accomplishments more rewarding.