Someone else's child

I have a mother.  I love my mother.  I am a mother.  My kid loves me.  It's different.

The word "mother" is full of mixed emotions for me.  I don't have the words, or the memories to my childhood. I have little blips.  Little 10 second movies here and there. I truly don't remember much but, I remember something that stuck to me when we applied for foster care, and it may be hard to understand if you didn't live it -  kids, even abused kids, love their parents, no matter what has happened, been endured or seen or done - kids love their parents.

I have one mother.  Faults and perfections, she is mine.  My one and only.  I love her.  I can't have a healthy relationship with her. She is still my mother.  She has taught me freedom, independence and how to be kind.  She taught me how to listen to my conscience and to hold my head high even when I'm feeling terribly low.  She showed me stubborn, she taught me pride.

She showed me the faces and families of domestic violence and what those poor people tolerate at the hands of another.  I met a woman and her children who were abused by her husband, their father.  I sat with this woman and her purple face with the swollen eyes, split lip and her broken heart, and listened to her tell me her mistakes, how it started, where she went wrong, how it escalated, how she left and I promised her to be stronger than she was, to always stand up for my kids, for myself.  I've kept that promise.  I will never forget her.  I'll never forget her broken face.

Maybe my mother didn't do a lot of things right, maybe she didn't do everything wrong.  I don't know.  I know where I'm hurt but, she showed me to be strong, to do the things you don't want to do.  To take care of the rest.  And to keep on keeping on.  I'm keeping on.

As I get older, I remember more of the things she'd say.  For instance, "I bet he's as nervous to meet you as you are to meet him." or "No point tripping over your tongue, he puts his pants on one leg at a time, just like you do." I always took those little quips to heart.  Holding on to some hope that she was trying.

I have a mother.  Maybe she wasn't the best mother.  She didn't bake cakes or carry cookies.  She missed basketball games, PTA meetings and threw awful birthday parties.  She didn't do a lot of the things that I do now, and maybe I do them because she didn't but, at the end of every day, she's still my mom.

She can't be replaced.

I can't call another woman mother, be accepted as a part of someone's family or think of another woman as my mother for the terms "mother" and "family" to me are bittersweet.  It's too hard to let go of the past hurt yet, I can't give someone else that title.  I have my brother and my sisters and we're learning to make that work too.  They're mine and as angry as they may make me sometimes, I'll defend everyone of them should you say one thing against them well, Hell hath no fury.

You see, I'm already someone else's child. I have been for a very long time.  You can't bring me in and treat me as yours. I don't want to attach the old negatives to a new relationship. I'm not a stray dog.  I don't know what you'll do to me if I pee on your floor and I can't risk finding out.  I'm not yours to claim.  You can't bring me in and treat me like I've always been a part of your family.  I'm new. I'm not used to your family.  I may not even like it.  I'm my family, it's mistakes and correctness - all of it.  You either accept me as such, or you don't. You can love me but, I can't be yours.  I have a family.  I'm someone else's child.


* I do have to mention here that I do have an extra family that I am so thankful for.  You see, they took me in when I first moved here.  They gave me the family I needed at that time.  Mom & Pops left the door open for me and let me come in one step at a time.  They let me find my way to them, what ever path I needed to take to get there.  They just left the door open.  Eventually, I came in, took my coat off and stayed for while.  And even when I did, I was part of the family but, I wasn't theirs, I wasn't treated as theirs.  I will always cherish that family for loving me when I wasn't even sure I loved myself.