Dad on Duty #69 – My Mom Died Today (Caution – R Rated)

My Mom died today.

Few statements are more powerful and unnerving than that.

I know many of you, maybe most, have lost one or both parents.  It’s what happens when you pass 40.

My Mom was nuts. Really crazy. Certifiable, most likely. But it wasn’t her fault.  She was the product of a horrifying uneducated shit-pit of human wreckage in West Virginia in the mid-40’s.

She was in and out of foster care, and abused, for her entire childhood.

Anyone who glamorizes the culture of the US in the 40s and 50s….you are an IDIOT. It was an ignorant, abusive and dysfunctional time.  Awful.  Very bad stuff happened, and no one did anything about it.

And from that horrible cauldron emerged my Mom.   And her sisters.  Her brother didn’t make it out; he walked in front of a train at age 16 to escape.  Ah, the good old days.

My Mom and Dad separated when I was 5.  From age 5 to 7 I lived with my Mom.  Just us. We were nearly destitute, and she frequently had to choose whether to feed me or herself.  She always chose me.

But her mental illness sometimes prevailed, despite her genuine and deep love for me.  I saw it.  And recognized that this was not ok.  I was with my Dad on Wednesdays and every other weekend, so I had a “normal” parent and life experience against which to compare.  And the difference was stark and obvious.  Even to a 6 year old.

I was a latchkey kid.  We lived in subsidized apartments.  A little rough.  One time, I came home from school….mind you, in second grade….and let myself in as always.  My Mom usually got home from work at about 6.   6 came and went, no Mom.  I was getting hungry. 6:30; still no Mom.  By about 7, I figured out something was amiss.  I went door to door in our apartment building asking neighbors; any idea when my Mom is?  On the 4th or 5th try, I found somebody that did. The ambulance came and got her earlier today, they told me, she was sick.

Well, now what the hell do I do?

I scratched up something to eat and went to bed.  In the morning, I got up and went to school. Still no Mom.  I didn’t say a word about it at school.  Second grade, age 7.

When I got home that afternoon, she was there. She told me she had gotten “hysterical blindness” which happens when “you’re too stressed out”.

Ok.  What does that mean to me?

I made my decision.  I quietly steeled myself.

Several weeks later, I was hauled in front of a judge.  Mom and Dad’s actual divorce proceeding.  I stood dead center in front of the bench, which looked 50 feet high.  My Mom was on my right shoulder, my Dad on my left.

The judge asked me very directly; who do you want to live with?  Mom or Dad?

After a few seconds, I said “Dad”.  The judge said “please repeat that, louder”.

That’s a terrible idea, you asshole.

I feel real anger.  My first, but not last, moment of deep and genuine disrespect for an adult authority figure.  Fuck you.

But I did it.  Louder: “Dad”.

My Mom shrieks and descends into hysterical wails.  She shouts ugly things at me.  Her lawyer grabs her as the bailiff hustles me out.

I wait in the hallway.

After the hearing, both Mom and Dad exit the courtroom. My Mom starts berating me, saying really hateful stuff. She is being dragged away by her lawyer and a bailiff.  My Dad scoops me up and heads the other way, me in his arms.

I. Am. Seven.

She quickly marries my brother’s dad, Ron.  Ron is a good guy. He has a very stable and decent paying job. He is exactly what she needs to petition to get me back.

I live with my Dad.  It’s a great experience, at least compared to the last couple years. Darron is conceived and born during this time.  He is named for me (first) and Ron (second).  It is telling of her priorities.

My mom fights hard to get custody of me away from my Dad.  There are actual physical confrontations.  In one, my Dad tells me to call the cops while he and Mom wrestle at the door: she is attempting to steal me.  I call, and they haul Mom off.

Literally for the rest of my life, she never gets over the courtroom day nor this incident. In our darkest moments, which are fairly often, she brings those up as examples of how I have hurt and wronged her.

My Dad suddenly gets sick.  His parents move in with us.  I don’t understand.  Suddenly, at age 39, when I am 10 years old, he dies.

My Mom and Ron come to collect me.  I construct what I hope is a bullet proof wall around myself.

But I do love being with Darron.  For about a year, we have a very normal, healthy life.

Then this marriage, too, implodes.

Mom loads me, Darron and our dog up in a Pinto and heads to West Virginia, where her sisters are.  I care for Darron as much, or more, than Mom does as she attempts to work and provide for us in this cold place.  She made a ton of mistakes, and finally failed completely.  We head to Texas to live with her ex-in laws (my Dads parents).

Fast forward the next 20 years.   We have moved dozens of times.  A lot…a lot…of shit happened.  Mom had brief, terribly unhealthy relationships (that affected Darron more than me).  Her relationship with me has faded and weakened, and her connection with Darron has become much more important.  We evolve very different interactions; I am impatient and intolerant, Darron is unfazed and amiable.

It remained that way, with slight variations from time to time, for the rest of her life.  Darron was, always, closer to Mom.  And they had a better relationship, to the end.

After I established myself as an adult, Mom lived with or near me four different times. Once when Darron was still in school, the rest after he left home.  Each time, it ended badly and she moved away. Twice, I pulled the plug unilaterally and literally put her and all her shit in a Uhaul and drove her back to Florida, where Darron was.  I would call Darron and tell him “that’s it; she’s headed your way” and he’d sigh and say “ok, bro”.

But there was also fun and good in our time as kids in Mom’s house.  We went to beach houses.  I hung out with astronauts and got to ride in supersonic jets (she worked at NASA as the astronaut personal assistant).

And she truly loved Darron and I.  And she did her best.  And she provided for Darron and I surprisingly well.

As adults, our relationship was difficult and largely unhealthy.  We went years at a time without speaking.  Then years of being very close.

But through it all, she was always important to me.

So very important.  And irreplaceable.

****

Today, my Mom died.

And I am heartbroken.