Writer's Block: A Mother's Memory
What's your favorite memory of your mother?
Honestly, I don’t have one. It’s a horrible thing to say, but over the years all my memories of my mother have become bittersweet. It hurts to think about her, all the memories I have of her are rather painful. That doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about her or that I never think about her. I don’t often face my past, but when I do she’s always one of the first things that comes to mind.
I loved my mother fiercely, the way a child does. The only thing I can equate it to is how much I love my daughter. It was a blind devote and absolute love. My dad worked so it wasn’t like he was around for me to bond with. My mom was a stay at home mom, with me every moment of the day and caring for me with incredible patience. I remember that a lot. My mother was as patient as a Saint. Although, I guess she couldn’t be too patience since she left me and my dad. Maybe that’s where her passion comes in.
My mom was one passionate lady, a pistol. When she fought with my father, it was always loud and angry, but she also loved passionately. She was always very affectionate with me. I never went without a hug or a kiss on the cheek. And she laughed with everything she had, every time. My mom had a weakness for bad jokes and puns, she was always telling them and they always made her laugh, no matter how many times she told them. I still remember a few of them. I don’t tell them.
Looked at objectively and without the bias of an abandoned daughter, my mother was a good woman. What drove her to leave me and my dad, I don’t know. He was never abusive, just absent and blind. I don’t think my dad knew how bad things were for my mother. I know I didn’t, but then again I was only a kid. I didn’t know how to read people back then. I believe my dad loved her, but I guess my mom didn’t see it that way. Actually, all I can do is guess about what caused my mom to leave. She’s never sought me out to explain things.
I’ve worked hard to give my daughter good memories of me even with the divorce. My greatest fear is her looking back at our time together and feeling the same way I do about my mother. That idea kills me. I’m lucky though, my daughter loves me. She’s told me so with words and gifts and actions. My daughter is very affectionate, very bubbly. One of the best feelings for me as a mother is when that girl hugs me. My memories of my own mother aren’t good, but my memories of being a mother are some of the proudest moments of my life.
So today I don’t think about my mother, I think about being a mother and what that means to me.
Honestly, I don’t have one. It’s a horrible thing to say, but over the years all my memories of my mother have become bittersweet. It hurts to think about her, all the memories I have of her are rather painful. That doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about her or that I never think about her. I don’t often face my past, but when I do she’s always one of the first things that comes to mind.
I loved my mother fiercely, the way a child does. The only thing I can equate it to is how much I love my daughter. It was a blind devote and absolute love. My dad worked so it wasn’t like he was around for me to bond with. My mom was a stay at home mom, with me every moment of the day and caring for me with incredible patience. I remember that a lot. My mother was as patient as a Saint. Although, I guess she couldn’t be too patience since she left me and my dad. Maybe that’s where her passion comes in.
My mom was one passionate lady, a pistol. When she fought with my father, it was always loud and angry, but she also loved passionately. She was always very affectionate with me. I never went without a hug or a kiss on the cheek. And she laughed with everything she had, every time. My mom had a weakness for bad jokes and puns, she was always telling them and they always made her laugh, no matter how many times she told them. I still remember a few of them. I don’t tell them.
Looked at objectively and without the bias of an abandoned daughter, my mother was a good woman. What drove her to leave me and my dad, I don’t know. He was never abusive, just absent and blind. I don’t think my dad knew how bad things were for my mother. I know I didn’t, but then again I was only a kid. I didn’t know how to read people back then. I believe my dad loved her, but I guess my mom didn’t see it that way. Actually, all I can do is guess about what caused my mom to leave. She’s never sought me out to explain things.
I’ve worked hard to give my daughter good memories of me even with the divorce. My greatest fear is her looking back at our time together and feeling the same way I do about my mother. That idea kills me. I’m lucky though, my daughter loves me. She’s told me so with words and gifts and actions. My daughter is very affectionate, very bubbly. One of the best feelings for me as a mother is when that girl hugs me. My memories of my own mother aren’t good, but my memories of being a mother are some of the proudest moments of my life.
So today I don’t think about my mother, I think about being a mother and what that means to me.