“Please just say something,” I said. With every second my mother’s small frame became more defensive.

“You will always be my mom.” My croaked voice hung off the last word. As I awaited her response, the sound of the humming engine grew louder and filled the empty silence. I yearned for my mother’s voice but as always, she was distant, an unfamiliar presence.

She responded bitterly by saying, ¨I know,” as she exited the car and slammed the door.  I hoped for more of a response from a woman I´d spent 13 years of my childhood with.

My definition of a mother is a woman who cares for her child with infinite and unconditional love. I perceived this in the midst of school award assemblies, when every one of my peers found a familiar face in the ocean of parents. My heart was always submerged in a puddle of disappointment when I registered that my mother was never there. I observed the way my friends’ mothers would warmly embrace their children, beaming with pleased smiles. I had always hoped that maybe I had mistaken my mother’s attendance, and she was in fact, one of the many proud faces. As a child, I was familiar with her absence, not only for my school events, but throughout our relationship.

My mother never liked to cook. Once a week, we’d make a trip to the grocery store and I’d select the prepackaged frozen meals I wanted for dinner for the upcoming week. Every evening, I would microwave my dinner and eat while watching Nickelodeon. One night, she told to eat in my room until I was asked to come out. I didn’t understand the reason until, from my bedroom window, I saw a male figure with dark features stride down the driveway to our front door. With my ear pressed to the wall, I heard her invite the strange man in our home with a uncharacteristically cheerful tone. The sounds of wine glasses clinking, the occasional burst of laughter and faint chatter, were all indications that the evening was going well.

After the beginning of her new relationship, I found that the minimal time we spent together before, she now spent with him. I had become the last kid to be picked up from my afternoon daycare. During the drives home, she would tell me about all of the captivating things she loved about him, never taking the opportunity to ask about my day.

Eventually, her endearment toward him became loathing. This was a pattern I had seen before. The “obsession stage” of their relationship was soon over, leaving them to stay awake in the heat of the night, spitting hateful venom at each other. I still remember the night my trembling hands dialed 911 when their hateful screams became unbearable.

“ You’re the one who called? I thought you were like 16,” the strong demeanored officer said to me. He questioned me afterwards, evaluating what exactly happened before I dialed the police. What I didn’t tell him was that my mother yelled up to me in hopes that I was awake in the darkness, begging that I hear her pleads and call the police. She needed me.

That night was the most vulnerable my mother has ever been with me; we embraced each other and her warm tears dampened my shoulder. She whispered to me a promise that she would never put me in a situation like that ever again. I believed wholeheartedly in her promise, until the day she let him step foot into our house and the cycle of loving and loathing began again.

“You”ll always be my mother, I just think it would be better if I moved in with Dad.” During that unpleasant car ride, I found the courage to openly voice that I didn’t want to live with my mother anymore. When I told her how I felt, I hoped that she would finally realize how lonely I was, and she’d tell me she was sorry for how our relationship turned out. Instead, we sat there next to each other, so detached. She never said a word to me. It was as if she pretended I never said anything at all. After I moved, it seemed she erased my existence completely.

It’s taken me years to realize that she had always been distant from me. Because of my relationship with my mother I learned that I don’t have stay with a person or in a situation that makes me uncomfortable or feel dejected. The way my mother and I interacted with each other taught me what I need when building a relationship; I need to be able to communicate; I need to be open with my opinions and feelings without being belittled; I need to have an intimate bond with my loved ones.

Yes, she will always be my mother, but she will never be my example.