Mother and Mom
Posted 06-13-2011 at 06:04 AM by LookinForMayberry
The story is that my mother and I parted ways (emotionally) before she delivered me, on May 9, 1956 at 5:30 AM. She'd arranged for my adoption through her doctor, and four days after my birth she walked into the court house in Hastings, Michigan and signed the documents. As far as I know, she never looked back.
The hospital was Catholic, as reportedly was my mother. Twenty, and single, engaged to be married, her fiance didn't want to support another man's child, a product of a "one night."
The nun's called me "Little Mary" and didn't want to let me go to the Protestant couple that had signed the court documents before I was born. Law won out.
My mom told me that they'd told me from birth that I was adopted, and my first word was "bop-ped." In a recent visit with my cousin I learned that this was another story of my mom's, because my cousin, two years older than I, told me when I was three.
Stories run rich in my mom's family. I never know what to believe. Maybe that's why I find myself looking so closely into things. I want to understand what the truth actually is in the situation.
Anyway, another story my mom tells me that when I was a toddler, I used to walk up to kids and say: "I'm Debbie and I am adopted, do you want to play with me, or not?" She thought it was cute. I cannot help thinking: "How could she think that was cute?"
It took me years to understand that both of us needed serious work, and her work wasn't my concern.
Mine is long overdue. I hope before mom dies that I can actually celebrate Mother's Day, and feel really connected to her -- mom, not mother. She's always telling me: "I'M YOUR MOTHER," but in my heart, she is not.
Maybe if I can feel some connection to mom, I can feel connected to others, too. Whatever, the work is mine and no one else's.
Lord, give me some sense of peace with this so I may just let it go and move on.
Amen.
The hospital was Catholic, as reportedly was my mother. Twenty, and single, engaged to be married, her fiance didn't want to support another man's child, a product of a "one night."
The nun's called me "Little Mary" and didn't want to let me go to the Protestant couple that had signed the court documents before I was born. Law won out.
My mom told me that they'd told me from birth that I was adopted, and my first word was "bop-ped." In a recent visit with my cousin I learned that this was another story of my mom's, because my cousin, two years older than I, told me when I was three.
Stories run rich in my mom's family. I never know what to believe. Maybe that's why I find myself looking so closely into things. I want to understand what the truth actually is in the situation.
Anyway, another story my mom tells me that when I was a toddler, I used to walk up to kids and say: "I'm Debbie and I am adopted, do you want to play with me, or not?" She thought it was cute. I cannot help thinking: "How could she think that was cute?"
It took me years to understand that both of us needed serious work, and her work wasn't my concern.
Mine is long overdue. I hope before mom dies that I can actually celebrate Mother's Day, and feel really connected to her -- mom, not mother. She's always telling me: "I'M YOUR MOTHER," but in my heart, she is not.
Maybe if I can feel some connection to mom, I can feel connected to others, too. Whatever, the work is mine and no one else's.
Lord, give me some sense of peace with this so I may just let it go and move on.
Amen.
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