Mother's Day 2015

Yesterday was Mother’s Day. I spent days debating with myself whether or not I should call my mom. Each time I call or stop by, I always hope that maybe that time will be different, maybe something will have changed, maybe she’ll have some sort of break-through. It usually ends up the same way and even if all goes really well, it is as though the countdown to disaster has begun. It is only a matter of time before the good transforms into something unhealthy, volatile and toxic.

The few weeks leading up to Easter and a couple after that, she seemed at least a little happy. She was actually kind. I tried to see the situation as positive, yet history has shown me countless times, that it is only a matter of when, not if, the bombs would start going off and once again, there would be piles of emotional debris to sort through.

That day was yesterday. I phoned to wish her a happy Mother’s Day. Honestly, it wasn't that I really wanted to, I just thought I should do it to keep the good trend going and not provide her with any more ammunition. I decided before I dialed her number that I would cut the conversation short if it took a negative turn. I can’t control or even influence her emotional swings, but I can control my actions and reactions and I decided that I would end the call before getting caught up in something I didn't want to be involved in or saying things I knew I would feel guilty about or regret.

It started about two minutes into the conversation and rapidly plunged off the cliff. As usual, my part of the conversation was mostly limited to “uh-huh, uh-huh, ok, uh-huh” as she rambles from topic to topic. I won’t go into the details of the conversation and they just aren’t worth reliving or distributing. I stayed true to my commitment to end the call by simply saying that I needed to go, which was met with her yelling “Happy Mother’s Day to you too!” to me in a very angry tone before she hung up.

I have been struggling with this relationship for decades and each time, I feel smashed each time it comes to this point. I was going to tell her that I am going to be a dad soon, and then decided not to. This is one of the most exciting adventures I have been on and I don’t want that experience tarnished.

Once again, I am debating whether or not it is worth continuing. Part of me wants to shut the door and seal it off. Part of me wonders if I am giving up too easy. Everyone who has experienced my relationship with my mom first-hand has told me I need to end it. Everyone who has heard the stories is always surprised when they meet her. Surprised that while they thought I was exaggerating, the quickly learn I was downplaying it all.

I haven’t made the decision yet. I want to. I don’t want to. Why I keep feeling torn between these extremes is something that has confused me for a very long time. Now, because of the fostering classes I am taking, I understand it a bit more. If I cut all ties from her, then I am letting go of hope. Letting go of that “maybe” I have been chasing for so long. I am letting go of the idea I have of my mom, the one where she is the person I would like her to be. The person I believe she will never be.

I don’t know what kind of father I will be. I like to think I will be a cool parent, like Ken or Christina. I know there will be arguments and tough times. I also know I will never make them feel the way my mom has made me feel. They will never wonder if they are loved. I will never give them reason to doubt that they are anything less than perfectly enough, just as they are.