My Life

 It happens in a moment, you take it or you don't. If I over think it, anxiety will build and I can't move forward. My car knows where to lead, as it always has. The music plays, as I watch the leaves in the trees all around me, like a symphony. I know it is time.  The movie of life begins for me..... Everything slows down, even and especially when it is the last thing I want. I have always been one with my car. Music and my car have been my safe place. Since I bought my first ride at sixteen, my trusty steed, the blue pinto. I would take endless drives and turn on a cassette, heaven on earth. I still  take my drives, it  is who I am. I trust my car to guide me where I need to be. Sunday would be no exception as it steered  me towards my destination, I just wasn't so willing to listen at first.
 My resistance, willingness,  are you sure? The intuition in my soul was saying, it is time.
 As I drove the familiar road gripping tightly on the steering wheel, without thinking I dialed  my sisters
number. Why was I doing this? No answer. Then my brothers, again no answer. Ok, not meant to be, keep driving.  Closer to my destination, I see a car parked in the driveway  seeming vaguely familiar,  keep driving. I roll into my old grade school down the street and dial her phone number. "Hi mom, how's it going?" "Clare- is that you?" Casual nothing conversation goes on until I 'fess up I am nearby. Would she like some company? I roll into a nearby 7-11, for a much needed cup o' joe. I have not seen her since last July. I ring the door bell- when do I ever ring the door bell? How formal I have become. I go to the back, into the sliding door in family room. Trying to act very casual, be natural Clare. All is well, I repeat in my head. Handing her a muffin, while tightly gripping my coffee, I  breathe as the Olympics blare in the background.Pleasantries exchanged from mother to daughter, really?  As I write this, as far as I have gotten into this- what do I want to say? Part 2 That blares in my head, acceptance of what is. Finally getting it....  deep sorrow for what is. I walked away Sunday so fully intact as ME, yet seeing the shell of a person, my mother as I write this- it is difficult to put into words.She had been the most terrifying person in my world for so long. What kept me stuck, the personality I kept repeating- Frances, my mother. Punishing..... negating, belittling, constantly having me prove why indeed I had the right to breathe on this Earth. Sunday it ended. I knew it- I stood in my own power, yet as I write  this, it never feels as what you think it would. You wait a lifetime for this transformation, but all I want to do is cry now. I am so proud of me for standing up to her.... this very rough woman, but my opponent, an 85 year old woman. That is where the grief comes. Why? The true sadness is where the acceptance comes. What I agreed to accept, our pact. That she is shallow ( all her words) and chooses not to love, it is too much work. I weep as her daughter as I write these words, because my whole life is based on love, getting to truth, peeling away, being your best. As I sat Sunday and listened, really listened to my mother, saying" How she is just too lazy," as she gazed at the Olympics, moment to  moment.
In that moment something changed in me. I recognized, I finally realized.... this is not about me. All those years of begging, pleading for this woman's love. Being told how she prayed for us all because we were going to burn in hell. Enough, I had enough of the burning in hell. The shift changed when I let it lift from me and finally say this was her damage, I didn't do anything wrong. All the years she let me believe I was wrong, bad, different. All the other siblings seeing me from her eyes, her rage, how she saw me. Less. All her disappointment into me, I was the worse pregnancy she ever had,  spilling boiling hot water on her stomach when  pregnant with me, dad didn't talk to her for three months, he dropped me like a hot potato, hurry up and get married before I get pregnant, the teachers think I am not very smart, I hope Ray doesn't leave em. Billy's the writer, not me. The best part- she didn't remember one thing she said. Sunday was the first time in my life- I ever heard my mother call me "Lovely". She said, "You look lovely." I typically have no expression when complimented, par for the course.These are the ghosts we carry with us- when rarely hearing a positive from a parent- the only positive I heard as an adult was  about my service so - I became service oriented. I served the world, I served her. I volunteered everywhere and served her. I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned. My mother was a hoarder.  I cleaned her room,  her closet, her home endlessly, time and time again, to be commented on, as she sat and judged how I did it. How red my face would get while cleaning. Ray could no longer bear watching me in the past year. He would say she would get sheer joy watching me run around. Nothing satisfied her- I ran faster. If you think that isn't shameful and demeaning, my hidden life..... but it was what it was, I wanted her love, she knew it. I simply don't care anymore- freedom is what I want. Not repeating these patterns, and hopefully having others see patterns they have been trapped in. It was painful. Freedom, awareness comes when it comes. Damage is damage. I am free- I feel it. I feel the transfer of power. How we ended the conversation, I  agreed not to talk about hugging,  love, etc. and she would not talk about burning in hell.I think God has a very good sense of humor.  I am the daughter of a woman who doesn't believe in love, intimacy, hugging, kindness-- it's about the rules, and regulations- that's your ticket to heaven.
This is my story- the story of me really coming into MY life.