They say a mother’s love is the most generous love of all. But what if the love she has for herself is so much more important that she forgets about everyone else? Is it possible that her actions may merely be the result of her regrets from a life she never had a chance to live? The only living result of which she can claim no credit for; her daughter. Strong, resilient, and determined. All qualities that may not have been taught to her by her mother, but surely hold themselves the result of her actions. A life-time filled with pain, deceit, and unanswered questions.
Trying to find oneself amongst a past that is scarcely dim with truth, yet sturdily iridescent with hope, oh where to begin! I do have fond memories of our time together, yet every time they begin to take me away I end up bumping into the grief of their vagrant existence. A little girl so filled with hope her eyes sparkle, only to be let down, by the one person she needed to lift her up. I have always felt somewhat less like a daughter and more like a convenient addition to my mother’s con-schemes; no one would suspect a mother or her sweet little girl.
Looking back I revel in the amazement of how oblivious one can be to the ridiculous behavior that is so obviously displayed in front of them. It is amazing what one can chose not to notice or find a way to justify from the need for normalcy. Sometimes the painful truth is just too much for a child to handle.
The more I begin to write, the more I begin to remember. The hardest part of trying to begin my story is coming to grips with the reality of its truth. Putting it into words, somehow makes it more real than it ever was while I was living it. At the time I was experiencing it, I was focused on getting through it. Now that I am reflecting on it, I am having to really understand the gravity of it all.
In the best description, I spent my early childhood as a fly on the wall of my mother’s crazy life.
Have you ever talked to a fly? I bet they would have a lot of interesting things to say!
I know I do….
My mother is so many different people and if anyone knows the real lady underneath all the baggage, it would be me. Keep in mind however this is a women who barely knows herself and therefore the ‘real’ deal is sometimes hard to find. But I was a fly on the wall of my mother’s life and although my time with her has been limited, I would never change a thing. I am who I am as a result of her actions. I like to think there is a little good in everyone and I hope this book can give insight and understanding to those whose lives she touched in some way; good or bad. I have been blessed with so many wonderful people in my life that I would never risk losing just one of them for the changing of a moment. Life is an adventure and she just made it so much more interesting than the ordinary turmoil’s of childhood. We had adventures and met a million friends along the way!
If my mother had been more straight edge and wholesome, I may have missed meeting the people I now hold dearest to me. My life might have been less chaotic, but I am not sure I would be the person I am had it been any different. Please enjoy the tale of our excursions and remember the phrase, “You can’t choose your family”. It has so much relevance.