My Mother

“He who is without sin can cast the first stone” perfectly frames why I have chosen to write about my mother’s emotional struggles throughout my childhood and adolescence. And while these issues were defining and impactful in her life and mine, she was much more than just those struggles. Many in her immediate family were hurtful and judgemental toward her. Frequently, they used her difficulties and poor choices as a way of masking and disguising their own failings. Simply put, they marginalized her in order to elevate themselves. The shame associated with mental illness in our society is wrong. When my mother was able to receive treatment and help, she experienced a peace and quality of life that had eluded her for most of her life. Yet despite a lifetime of pain associated with those struggles, she was never unemployed for very long. She LOVED working. The woman was working right up until the week before she passed away despite being on oxygen and in poor health. As I referenced in the book, she drew clear lines for me that I couldn’t breach while living in her home, specifically with drugs, and those firm limits proved to be a godsend when I made the choice to stop using. She had a quirkiness about her that I treasure today. When my father-in-law passed away, I was tasked with delivering his eulogy. My mother had joined my family at our home before the service, and I was very nervous. I wanted to honor the man who served as the only real model of what a husband and father should be to his family, and I didn’t want to fail in representing him as he deserved to be honored. As we were leaving for the service, I expressed out loud what I was feeling internally, “I don’t know if I can do this,” I said. My mother stopped me and looked me straight in the eyes. “You can do this. You are a wonderful man, and you have succeeded in every single thing you put your mind to.” I instantly felt empowered, but more importantly, I was impressed with how my mother recognized my own insecurity at that moment. I looked at her and said, “Thanks, Ma, I really appreciate that.” She looked at me and responded, “But that son of a bitch father of yours…” and with that, she went on a brief tirade about him and his failings. I remember saying to myself, “That’s my ma!” Imperfectly perfect – I do miss that woman!