Yesterday, I was rooting around through a bagful of old photos when I found this old gem of me, my brother Ryan and our mom at Kennywood in probably 1986 or so.
I don’t know what happened to the lady in that photo, but I haven’t seen her in a long time.
I guess because it was so soon after Mother’s Day, but it really hit me hard. How did I go from having some semblance of a relationship with my mom to literally nothing at all? I mean, we have no contact. None. I even asked my brother Corey if she ever asks him about me or Chooch and he said no.
She literally doesn’t even ask.
I don’t really know what I’m getting at here. I’m not exactly pining for her, if we’re going to be frank about it. I know that I’m better off without her, and Chooch is DEFINITELY better off without her. (This is the lady whose response to my question of, “Why don’t you ever tell me that you love me?” was “Because you didn’t tell me first!”) But that doesn’t eradicate the confusion I feel about the whole situation and how shitty it feels when you realize that you are literally worthless and disposable to the very woman who brought you into this world. I guess I just want to know why. What changed? What happened to her? I mostly do OK with living my life and not dwelling on this, but holidays—and the accidental nostalgia binge—always trigger my neurotic obsessing and rehashing.
And while I was having a wonderful Mother’s Day with my kid and Henry and his mom, I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of a day my own mom was having — did she sit around and pity herself because she got one less card celebrating her as a “mom”? Does she understand that other women throughout the years have taken it upon themselves to step up and fill that void in my life?
Does she even notice that I’m not around?
And what if this is a glimpse into my future? What if this is the kind of mom Chooch is going to grow up to have? What if I can’t stop it?! During dinner on Mother’s Day, Chooch randomly broke down into tears and wailed (and I mean WAILED), “You didn’t even like the Christmas present I got you!!” which is complete bullshit, and maybe this was spurned by the fact that he was so fucking tired, but you know what? I realized that I couldn’t even remember what he got me for Christmas. Am I just as horrible as my own mom? Because I sure as fuck felt like it at that particular moment.
Maybe I’m not some little kid who needs a mom, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be kind of nice to have one. I guess my point is, if you have a mom who gives you the time of day, give her a fucking hug every now and again. And an extra one for me, too.
(You think this was whiny? You should have heard me crying about my pinched nerve at work all day!)