I was young when my mother left me; she was swallowed up by a world of addiction that she couldn’t escape from.
Though she was there in a physical sense, she was lost. She spent years wasting away in the background, as I grew up. By the end of elementary school she had a rehab record longer than my arm and a police record that loomed over my barely-there family. I was 12 when I was ripped from her arms and sent to live somewhere else. As I got into the car—the car that would take me to my new home—she promised she would fix things.
Its seven years and counting and I’m still waiting for her to “fix” things.
High school flew by in the blink of an eye and now I’m halfway through my college career, standing motherless at the finish line. Losing a parent is an unbelievable heartache that never goes away. It’s a constant weight that pulls at the very heart of your being. It’s there in the happiest of moments. It’s there when you graduate and find her no where in sight. It’s there when you leave for college and Grandma is standing in her place.
Why didn't you stay mom?
Why didn't you fight harder for me?
Why don't you love me enough?
I've come to accept that these questions will always remain unanswered and though life is hard, losing my mother changed me—for the better.
It gave me a powerful amount of strength.
A mother is the closest person to a child. In the way that she is a part of you, you are a part of her. To no longer have that bond prepared me for anything. If I could make it through this, what couldn't I handle? I know that if I just keep going, keep fighting, I will make it through.
It gave me drive.
The absence of my mother was replaced with a drive and motivation in me to be better; better than what she was. People expected me to fail. I would get pitied looks at school, cause everybody knew something was wrong with my mom; on Christmas Morning my own family would look down upon me with disapproving looks. Nobody expected me to be anything more than a junkie's daughter; to follow in her footsteps. So I grit my teeth and strived to be somebody different.
And though my mom is no longer in my life, I strive to make her proud, from afar.
It gave me independence.
I didn't get motherly advice or the security of knowing she would bail me out when times got tough. I had to learn to stand by myself. Of course I had Granny, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't be the mother I needed. I learned how to do things alone, how to be alone, how to thrive without the help of others.
It gave me gratitude.
This one took me some time, but I learned to be grateful for the people that I did have in my life. I couldn't continue to dwell in a bubble of self pity. I was continuously loved and comforted by the people surrounding me and I was grateful; grateful for what I was given.
It gave me understanding.
I've come to understand that an addiction is like a demon. You can't shake it that easily. It continues to bring you down, till you hit rock bottom and even then you continue to sink. My mother has demons. I've come to understand that she is who she is.
I’ve come to understand that there was nothing I could do to change the way things happened.
With understanding, comes forgiveness.
It gave me an undying hope.
I act as if I'm okay with the way things are, but deep down I have an undying hope that my mother will be saved. For as many NA meetings I've gone to, as many welcome weekends at rehab and as many success stories that I've heard, I picture a future with her in it.
My wedding day with her in the front row.
The birth of my own daughter with her by my side.
It gave me an undying hope in the hopeless.
Lastly, to my mother - if by some miracle you are reading this - I just want you to know;
I love you.
