I’ve been waiting years for this moment, the moment my mom will come back our hometown, Where I was able to hold her, And tell her how much I missed her. As a little girl, I loved my mom. My mom was everything, I don’t remember much but her friends constantly reminded me that she did love me before her Mental Health snapper. She was ill, seeing things, demons, went manic and chased the Edmonton Oilers even having phones numbers. It’s 17 years of a build up of many questions, sleepless nights, tearful memories as one runs through ones mind. Trying to deal with my own hormones, growth and development and own struggles to who I was and why I was here on earth. Being a big believer on “Purpose” What purpose do I have? I couldn’t wait to sit down with my mom and ask her some serious questions. My opportunity was about it arrive. Why did she try and take her life earlier, did she not love us? Explanations were mandatory, getting to the bottom of it was a mission set forth months earlier.
After a string of nowhere jobs I was hired at the local Robins Donuts serving coffee to the locals, my best friend Amy was their most reliable employee, giving me an opportunity to get a real job. Not some crummy pizza dive, or telemarketing selling crappy siding from a company that pulls into towns and rips people off faster than you can blink. It was my time to show a little maturity, being a small town people talk, rumours fly and judgement grows in almost everyone’s garden. You can’t hide in a place like that. I stood out like a sore thumb, ironically enough: a resemblance that was not only terrifying close, so real to someone else I knew well,my own mother.
She was alive, not thriving by all means. I was sad to see the state of affairs my mother was in. How does a successful nurse at the local hospital who would take the shirt off her back married with children, switch on a dime and end up lost in Transit she called it. What was she doing all that time and was she safe? Is my mom doing drugs? Was she sleeping with strange men selling her body? I wanted to find out what happened with my parents marriage.
The alcoholism, yelling and abusive episodes? He was now married to another woman, which happened quickly. I really didn’t care for her as Did prove that she didn’t give a shit about me or my brother. All she cared about was having a little family of four and my brother and I were nothing but obstacles. Without the support kids deserve, we had no chance in hell of winning that war; So we both became more independent and leaned on each other if we had to.
We both went into a series of denial, as we were living such an abnormal childhood forced to grow up, quicker than any child should ever be expected too. Fathers Days are hard, I can’t celebrate someone who spent their lifetime putting me last. Selfishness can hurt a soul, you can loose everything because of selfishness. All those questions were about to be laid out on my mother, hoping she could give me the answers I seeked.
In the one bedroom apartment on Church street, I sat waiting for my Mom to make it back from British Columbia, planning to meet me when the bus pulls in. I was nervous my hands were clammy, I can remember feeling excited but feeling as though I could be sick I didn’t want to be disappointed. What is she don’t love me back? What if the delusional idea of mom and daughter living happily ever after , with some many confusing day, hours and minutes between us, doesn’t happen? I mustered enough positive thoughts in hopes the outcome will be rewarding.
The phone rang and it was the taxi company letting me know the bus had arrived, not knowing what to expect I felt anxiety for the first time.True anxiety, could this be finally happening. On her way to the apartment felt like ours, the doorbell rang and I ran up to get the door.
It felt like ages since I was able to hold my mother, her 5 foot five short frame is finally here with me, for how long I don’t know. As we reminisced about my brother, I tried to talk to her about my foster care experiences and it wasn’t something she wanted to talk about. Talking about the past was a trigger, as if it was a switch. It wasn’t the time to talk, she needed to get cigarettes and she had no money she went to the hospital and picked up most of the cigarette butts from the coffee cans near the staff entrance. Coming back in rolling cigarettes, I told her that I had planned on shaping up my life and going to college to be a correctional officer. She laughed at me as she said “ That’s a new one” I told her I wanted to help out after the police helped me and talk to me about maturity and good kids versus bad kids. I think it upset my mom knowing that a dark path was upon her daughter and she wasn’t healthy herself. How could she now be a Mom ? Those conversations were tense, as she stayed with me I continue drinking out with the girls, We always found somewhere to go and something to do. Whether we were at the trailer park, some pit party or down at the Nodens Causeway smoking pinners, we bought at the local drug dealers house. A place that is dear to me now for so many reasons, impacting me after someone i love will be killed in a car crash 2 years later.
I never went in to the “dealers” house, waiting in the car and as safe for anxious me, watching many times as a lookout. Something that would land me back in court as a key witness , After witnessing grade 12 students steal property from my house party weeks later. Feeling down about my real auto shop status, they enticed me to attend a party with a group of people I didn’t chum with, feeling uncomfortable I left to sit in the car . Looking out the window, hoping my friends would come soon and relieve me from being alone, the guys started removing stereo equipment and stuff from the front basement window . Later that week learning they robbed the place , I had to speak up. My mom was back and I had to prove I was worthy of her love. I was now improving for her and ready for a new start.
She moved out the following week, to stay at her “friends” place. A man who ran an embalming business/funeral parlour. It was a weird thing, never understanding this new friend or what her fascination was of the dead. She was going to be his assistant, or something like that she told me. This clearly had me concerned, to the point where blocking the anger, resentment and unstable emotions was my survival embedded by constant disappointment. Embarrassed by her weird, bald shaved head, red barrett hat with her wearing bizarre tattered clothing it burst like a firework. Since she couldn’t stand seeing me partying so much, couldn’t you blame her? Here now she couldn’t answer my demanding questions, regardless of my “ Where have you been to raise me “ kinda attitude. It was time to rebel yet again, now what?
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Cannabis Enthusiast : Craft Edible Creator : Recreation and Leisure Professional : Blogger
A Craft Edible Experience