When you think of a mother, the image in your head is typically a warm person who is just there for you anytime you need them. My image has always been different from other people I know. There was a distinct lack of warmth in the image I would conjure within my head, and I had a gap in my memories with her. To me, it was just normal.

It didn’t take me long to realize the childhood I was having wasn’t the average one kids experienced. You always start out reading stories about the classic family of mom and dad with their children. I was never able to connect with the stories we read. They didn’t feel right to me. The closest experience I had was my grandparents, but the difference was still prevalent. I grew up with an enigma for a single parent who I only saw on weekends and occasionally during the week. A child couldn’t understand why living in a different house was a good decision.

The first images of my mother I remember are sitting on the step waiting for her. I would wait in anticipation on those weekends so I could sleep at home. What excited me was never the prospect of sleeping in a different bed. That kid only wanted to spend more time with the mother I hadn’t gotten to know. She would often forget things in order to get an extra few minutes driving back to retrieve the missing items. The schedule I had with her was random, and I never knew when I would get my next chance to see her besides the weekend. It was her decision to do this.

She felt that continuing to work and leaving me with her parents would be the best parental decision. For ten years, I lived with grandma and poppop, but before I knew it, she retired, and I got to live with her full time. I got to know the enigma I had lived alongside for those ten years, and I understood why. I understood that ten years of seeing her on a random basis made sense. She needed to work for longer in order to get a pension. She needed to work to provide for me.

Knowing the mostly full image I see now, it was obvious why she chose that career. It fit like a perfect puzzle piece. Meant to be from the start. She isn’t the most comforting or warm person. She wasn’t there as much as a typical mother for the majority of my life so far. Her police label didn’t matter. She was and still continues to be my mother.