She should never have been a mother—but she was—and she was my mother and I loved her—abuse and all. She died this past year on March first. She and I were estranged because—I think—because of her guilt over her abuse of us. She would not accept my “forgiveness” and in her later years she would not accept my help. I will not remember the physical pain anymore—the world has done worse to me since then—she just “set me up” as “victim” for the world at large.
But I WILL remember her smile—her stellar sense of humor, her incensed anger at the stupidity of government gone crazy, her love of animals, her ability to build ANYTHING out of ANYTHING.
I will remember how she once needed to build a dog house for a LARGE dog to protect it from the elements and all she had was fairly SMALL pieces of wood—two by fours, none more than two feet long—the next time I saw that pile of wood it was transformed into an octagonal dog house with its roof rising to a peak even to my elbows. And all she had was a regular hand saw, hammer and nails, and a measuring tape. It was amazing and she was an amazing person. I just wish she’d seen fit to teach me more of the very things she hated—she didn’t WANT to know how to build ANTHING—she just wanted to be a “Grand lady”—that never got dirty—or had to work with her hands.
Now she can be the “lady” that she wanted to be and never have to live in a “provincial” environment again. But wherever she is, I hope that she knows that I understand—and give her credit—far more than she might have thought. And I hope she knows I love her.
