Posted by: bourbonmama | 22/08/2008

My Mother

I thought it might take a little longer to get to this, but here it is. My mother is a drunk. She’s a “dry drunk” but a drunk none the less. For most of my childhood, and all of my adolescence and adulthood, she was drunk. She has been sober for about 2 months. We (my 6 siblings, my father, and I) have been through this before. She’ll go to rehab (this was her 4th stay), be sober for a while, and go back to what she’s always been. But this time is different. This time, she has something that she values to lose, my son, her grandson, Nate. So, she’s actually working the steps, you know, the 12 steps. She’s not quite to the 8th and 9th steps (where you write down all your wrongs and then go and seek amends for them), but she’s trying. I am waiting on the edge of my seat for those steps. I love my mother. She worked very hard to raise us the best that she could. Ohh, who am I kidding, it’s not as if she’s reading this. She did not work hard, she sat up all night drinking herself into oblivion, and then spent all day sleeping on the couch until we got home from school, only to cook us dinner. She was not a good mother.

Today she told me that I’d hurt her feelings by telling her that a) she’s a bad driver, and b) that she tells the same joke over and over. If you know me, and I’m sure you do if you’re reading this, then you know that I am very………….BLUNT. I do not mince words. Some find this endearing, some find it obnoxious. Those of you who are my true friends, find it both, at the same time.

I told her I was sorry, that I did not mean to hurt her feelings. In the back of my head I’m thinking, FUCK you, I don’t care if I hurt your feelings. You hurt my feelings when you called me a whore for making out with my boyfriend at the age of 15, you hurt my feelings when you chose alcohol over your children, and more recently, you hurt my feeling when I told you I wanted you in the delivery room for my induced labor and you say, “I don’t know, 7:00 is kinda early for me. You know, I’m not a morning person.”

I have 3 pictures on my piano, one is my grandmother, age 17, another is my mother, age 17, and the last is me, age 17. We look exactly alike, mirror images. So much so, that people ask me why I have 3 pictures of myself framed and displayed. We are alike in so many ways. I hate it when people tell me I’m just like her. Probably because so much of my life has been spent trying to not be her. Trying to not become what she has become.

When do I get to say these things, and so much more, to her? I know from countless alanon meetings that this time right now is very fragile. Her sobriety is so new that I could fuck it up by saying the wrong thing. I don’t want to fuck it up. I don’t want to tell her that she can’t see Nate anymore. But when do my feelings come into play? When is it her turn to say “I’m sorry”?

I promise, not all of my post will be like this, Just needed to blow off some steam.

On a lighter note, Nate crawled, kinda, for the first time today. He’s been up on his hands and knees, just rocking back and forth, for a few weeks now. Today was the first time he moved while in that position. He moved one knee, then the other, then moved the first one, again, and fell down. This was all in an attempt to reach Philip’s rolled up construction documents, not one of the toys that we’ve spent good money on, no, he wanted building plans. He’s definitely Philip’s son!


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