Part 3 of a 3 part series.
After interviewing my mother, reading through the archives of my memoirs, taking note of the dark memories that quietly play in the back of my mind like an old French noir film, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve hit a plateau, with trying to understand my relationship with my mother.
I’ve also come to the conclusion that this may be the peak of my happiness in life and it may not get any better than this, so I need to move on from trying to understand her. I can’t waste any more of my time trying to fight this. And I’m honestly okay with not understanding.
I accept my life.
I accept my mother.
I accept the pain.
I accept myself.
I accept the addiction.
I accept the drinking, the pills.
I accept all of our flaws, my mother’s and my own.
I don’t blame her anymore, Maureen, my mother. I sympathize with her and only wish that things could have been different.
Her life is a beautiful struggle, one which proves that a happy life, if not a mildly content one, is possible as long as you are willing to put forth the effort. She has put forth the effort; I’ve just been too much of a bastard son to recognize it.
I can only laugh when I look back. There’s no point of staying mad this far into the future. Why do I care anymore? It’s over. I just don’t have the energy to fight something that I have no control over. And even if I did have the energy, it wouldn’t serve me good anyhow.
She is like every other mother out there, she has made both good choices and terrible mistakes, but the difference between her and other mothers is that she would be the first one to admit it. She has nothing to hide.
She doesn’t throw stones in her glass house of horrors. So why do I continue to judge her?
When I was a kid, I used to want to go back in time and stop my parents from meeting.
If I could go back and stop her from walking into that bar, that one afternoon where she met my father, I wouldn’t stop her from walking in. I would just simply place my left hand on her right shoulder as she started to open up the door, whisper into her ear and say:
“Hey, don’t mind me, but I need to tell you something. Your life is going to forever change as soon as you set your purse down on the countertop of that bar and order your drink.
You won’t believe me now, especially when you’re fixated and lost in his mysterious green eyes, but everything is going to change.
The first few months will seem like a fairytale, but it’s going to get really dark. You will experience pain like you never felt before. The loss will be great, and you will undoubtedly regret coming here this afternoon.
There will be good days, and bad days and you are going to have to hold on to the memories of the good days to tolerate the bad days. The good memories will keep you alive.
Soon you will have two kids, two boys, I’m one of them. We are going to love you so much in the beginning, but as time goes on, we will start to hate you more than you could ever imagine, and this is mostly part of my father’s antics to turn us against you.
No surprise here, but you two get divorced, and it will take four years of bitter courtroom battles until it is settled.
My brother and I will put you through hell, mostly in spite of the mistakes that you will make. So, on behalf of the two of us kids, I apologize now, especially for stealing your rent money from your purse when I was fifteen.
In a few years from now, the pain will get so bad that you will try to take your life. Don’t worry; you fail, multiple times. After the third time, you should stop trying; your life will get better, trust me.
You will have good jobs, and bad jobs and you will lose most of them. You will spend most of your adult years working as a waitress. Eventually, you will hurt your back and permanently placed out of work. Because of your minor psychical disability, you will fall into a deep depression, but you will maintain your sobriety; oh yeah, you’ve been sober for over ten years.
When my brother is fifteen, he will survive a knife attack, and he will come very close to death, but he survives; just prepare yourself for that moment.
He and I will also survive a couple of car crashes involving alcohol. The two of us will both battle addictions; it takes a few years, but we make it out okay.
God will continue to test you until your life at one point just feels like a hamster wheel, but just stay strong.
Don’t leave this bar!
Just sit down, talk to him and start the new journey in your life. Your testament of love for your children will not go unnoticed; it will constantly be questioned. Just keep fighting.
Good luck Maureen and God speed. I’m sorry for being an asshole; I really did love you for all those years, I just had a hard time showing it. Now go inside. And hey, mom, when in doubt, punt!”