Together, we cried...

I share a reversed role with my mother.  She gestated me but it seems like I've mothered her for, uh, well, 29 years (give or take a year.)

Our relationship is unique in that my mother has never really 'found' her way, thus leaning on what she considers her source of strength, me.  The funny thing here is that I don't consider myself that firmly rooted.  I sway like every other palm tree in a hurricane.  I think she's attracted to my unrelenting WILL to do whatever it takes to keep moving forward.  I just hate excuses, that's all.    

She classifies her life with it being 'full of bad luck' but I call it being 'full of wrong decisions' because her choices have led her to where she is today.  She's been judged, criticized, scrutinized, vilified and rejected for most of her adult life.  I've watched her sink deeper and deeper into regret and consumed by her depression.

I get depressed too.  More than I'd like to.  She was seriously depressed while pregnant with me.  I think that the hormones that were released in-utero may have affected me to some degree.  I definitely have a low supply of 'happy genes.'  But what do I know anyway?  

My mother wrote me a card the other day.

{Mom's card.  To me.}

She asked me to read it.  Alone.

I did.

I was touched.  No, I was grateful.

Actually, I was moved.

She thanked me for loving her.  She thanked me for worrying about her.  She thanked me for caring and always asking if she's eaten or how she's feeling or what's the matter when I can tell by the look on her face that she's going through a phase or episode or moment of feeling completely beaten to the ground.  She told me that she knows how much I love her.  She told me that I was her special girl.

It moved me.

It gave me a piece of her.

I held it and imagined her writing it.  Alone.  Crying.  Sharing her heart.

I didn't cry.

Several days later I told my mother how much I enjoyed and loved her card to me.  I let her know that it was special and honest and sweet.  The strangest part for me here was that as moving and loving as this card was, there was still an unresolved void within me.  Perhaps my automatic 'emotional guard' took over.  I don't know?  It's a peculiar emotion and all too familiar.

There was a moment given to us and I shared my feelings with her.  Ones she's always known but I imagine, likes to hear every now and again.  I understand this need.  I was driving and she was sitting beside me.

Silence enveloped us.  For several minutes.

'I know how much you love me.'  She said.

I held her hand in response and together, we cried.

Renegade {mama}

Yesterday I wrote this on my Facebook page:


'Sometimes being a writer means that you'll piss off a slew of people. We write what 'we know.' We take our experiences and turn them into engaging, poignant, mesmerizing, heartbreaking, inspiring, beautiful, deeply moving accounts of how we lived, saw or heard something and sometimes we turn them into our very own masterpieces. Our life is filled with ' colorful characters' and if you make into a story, be thankful and learn something from it.' vj  


The first sentence of my statement got me thinking.  Thinking about a slew of things, a slew of people, a slew of moments, a slew of issues and dramas, and a slew fucked up people I know in general including family.  No no no, especially family.  It seems that everyone has some issue or another, myself included! 


My life is NOT picture fucking perfect, I don't have all my shit together, I don't remember the last time I changed my A/C filter (come to think of it, I better do it soon because of the hellacious HEAT in Miami!), we live pay check to pay check, my bank account overdrafts every week (screw you Wells Fargo for all of your $35 overdraft fees! I'd rather put my money under my comfy ass mattress anyway!), I worry about my husband's health EVERY DAY, yada, yada, yada...


And while I'm on this crazy rant, may I add that the traffic in Miami nauseates me but worse are the people that have migrated to Miami more than five years ago and STILL don't speak ENGLISH. WTF?!?!? Drives me insane.  Yet I speak fluent spanish but they still mistaken me for a 'gringa' (in other words, a non-hispanic white person. I don't care either way.)  I digress.  Off that soap box now.  


Going back to that 'family' thing.  So there are a few things that I have a difficult time wrapping my little head around when it relates to family and how they handle conflict, tension, issues or anything, really.  

• Failure to communicate
• What is it with people and their lack of communication?  I mean how hard is it to let someone know what the fuck is up with you?  I love it when I dangle a carrot out to someone and all I get back is stunned silence.  It is so reassuring and it further confirms how ignorant, immature and plain dense people can be when they act this way.  Most of the family members on my mother's side are notorious for this screwed up behavior.  They've either a) dismissed their issue by ignoring it or b) are in complete denial while holding a self righteous stance.  I've had to train my mom to share her emotions with me (no matter what) and thankfully, she's learned to be candid, open and honest with me.  I appreciate this.  I do the same with her.  
• Passive Aggressiveness 
• This seems to be the default button reaction.  Nothing drives me nuttier than fake greetings, half assed conversations and an overall sense of 'fuck you' seeping off of a persons skin.  I know the smell of that pheromone and I can tell you that I'm allergic to it, achooachooachooachooachooachoo!  Stop stinking up the room and come clean!  Now get the hell away from me! 
• Crude comments behind my back which I find out about ANYWAY
• The sad part here is that these people committing these idiotic acts haven't a clue who I am.  It never fails, when people talk smack about you, it somehow find it's way back to YOU.  I mean really, you want to claim ridiculously false statements about me and my life?  Don't waste your time, come to the source and tell ME directly.  What's the fun in hiding your true feelings? I'm a big girl, I can handle 'nah, nee, nah, nee, boo, boos!'  Otherwise, shut the front door when you walk out. 

In short, don't be surprised when I slap you on a page or two in one of the chapters of my book, you psychotic, arrogant and self righteous individuals.  Also the amusing, inspiring, beautiful, authentic and loved individuals.  Whether you make it in my story as a raging bitch or a flawed but likable character, remember this, while you may be forever miffed with my depiction of you, you might just learn something about yourself while you're at it.