Mother's Mistake

November 7, 2008
By
Divorce? Didn't even faze me. No sir, I didn't confess my feelings through broken sobs in some therapist's office, nor did I fight for my freedom to be with one parent over another. No, I plopped down in the corner and repressed every tear that would've hinted to my desolation. I watched this stranger, cocky and oblivious to my existence, take over my mom. My mom, who I conversed with daily, building this bond that I believed to be unbreakable. 3 other siblings still shared the household, and my mom, but only I had that link, from one soul to the other, never allowing me to feel alone. Well, nothing can last forever.

I'll call him Fred for the sake of what little privacy he's allowed. Well, Fred knew my mother in their college years. Yes, we'd heard his stories over and over. He was the boyfriend who never really cared enough to run after her when she scampered off. Well, a fork in the road appeared sooner rather then later, and you can only imagine how my funny, intelligent, hard core Capricorn of a mother felt when Fred went left as she turned right. 20 years later and my delusional and recently divorced mother took us on a little detour to her home town. One night at a sleazy bar and the next 2 years are set in place. They re-met and she told him of everything in her newfound life as he told her about the nothing he'd accomplished. Of course, Fred still did the same things, with his dorky mustache and quiet disposition. But may I add that he wasn't, nor is he, a bad person. Just not a father. Just not a fiancé. Just not family.


Little ol' mother was so overwhelmed by this drooling mountain man that nothing seemed to matter. I couldn't grasp that'because quite frankly, it mattered to me. When someone you are so connected with changes and you stay the same, things' occur. My stomach tied into unruly knots every time she left with him and decided not to come back until 5:00 a.m. My little brother became my little responsibility. Did he brush his teeth? Was his room clean? Should I put his rash cream on? Can I rip my hair out and scream at the top of my lungs now?

Well, days turned into months and months formed a year in which my mother felt was long enough. Boxes were packed though the excitement of moving never did find me. Moving into his house was nor ordeal, though I began to notice changes in my mother. Cleanliness didn't describe it, nor did hygienic. A spill soon equaled a temper tantrum, and when the dogs scratched on the door (as we had taught them on her request) to get in she'd yell as if they were defiling something amazing.

My stomach didn't churn after awhile. My thoughts didn't taunt me and the burning hatred for what had become diminished slowly. Now, there is simply nothing. I know what I yearn for at the end of the day, whether it is my father in a house thousands of miles away, or my mother in the form of her former self. Regardless of my wants and needs, I hope for nothing and anticipate the worst. I am desolate now, without feelings or expectations.

I may not have accepted this just yet, but who knows what is to come.





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