Mother of All Storms
What I have not yet been able to establish for you, Dear Reader, is just how much I adored my mother before this epiphany hit me. I had rationalized all of her ugly behaviors, and anything she did to make amends was more than satisfactory to me.
So when I said those words, “I guess she wasn’t a very good mom,” it was like a fog cleared and exposed an alternate reality to me. I felt like the mother I’d always known and loved had died. Now I had to decide what kind of relationship I wanted to have with her – if I’d even be able to.
I was angry for a very long time. I went several months without calling or going to see her. Not easy to do in my family, because we’d get together at their house several times per year for holiday dinners. I tried talking to my sister about how I was feeling, but there are nearly seven years between us and she barely remembers a lot of the things that I could remember. She got defensive of my mom, and one day told me, “Ok, maybe mom wasn’t Carol Brady, but she was a lot better than some of our friends’ moms!”
“No, she wasn’t,” I snapped, “She was just bad in different ways!”
I needed someone to validate what I was feeling. I reached out to the older of my two brothers. Of all of my siblings, he was the one who caught the brunt of the physical and verbal abuse in our house. His 30th birthday was coming up and I asked him if I could take him to lunch.
One of the things that I had hated about being the oldest child was that I had always been left to watch my siblings while the parents went out for hours and hours and hours. Ed, my brother, always lost his bloody mind as soon as their car left the driveway. He’d get into everything. He’d bully the younger kids. He and I fought like mortal enemies. Knockdown, drag-out brawls. That’s how my parents parented. It’s the only technique I knew.
He was married, now, and had kids. He’d actually really looked up to Dave, so our relationship had gotten much more civil, but we’d never been particularly close. So for me to be asking him out to lunch was kind of a new thing for us. He asked if we could go to Korean BBQ, so we met at the restaurant and I teased him about the joys of turning 30.
I didn’t want to jump right into what I’d been wrestling lately. So we joked and got our food and sat down and ate for a bit. Finally, I said, “Ed, do you ever look back on our childhood and get really pissed off?”
He looked at me for a moment, swallowed hard, and said, “Every single day of my life.”
I nearly cried. I said, “I didn’t come here to bash on Mom, but I’ve been seeing things a lot differently, lately, and it’s hard for me to not be angry.” He shared his thoughts and feelings on the matter, which I won’t share here, because they’re not mine to share. But when we were finished eating, I knew that he and I were going to have a completely different relationship going forward. And we do.
I wrote a poem about what I was going through with my mom, and I’ve decided to share it here.
Mother of All Storms
An ocean of questions toss me recklessly
On waves of anger and sadness.
These waters were calm once, or so I thought,
Having grown accustomed to the squalls and hurricanes.
I learned to ride the chaos, hanging on for dear life,
For there was no shelter to run to, and I reveled in the beauty of the beast.
Those were the ways you taught me.
“She has a temper and you must respect her.”
So I brought her my gifts, every one of them, and rode each wave
Loving her for all her fury, despite the wounds I sustained.
Until I learned to fish from the shores.
No waves to ride. No fury to endure.
And here and there were little shelters on the sand
Only I did not enter them, my legs braced for swells that did not come.
I do not understand why you never told me about this place.
And when I asked the question, your spell was broken.
And I heard your siren’s song
For the Banshee cry it was.
Then you began to sink into those waters
As I realized there was no beauty in that rage
And I lost you there
Without meaning to.
So again I ride this fury
Realizing how deep the wounds are.
An ocean of questions toss me recklessly
On waves of anger and sadness.
The salt water stings against my skin
As I try to find you for the first time
Through this familiar tempest
That I never saw before.
— Jenna R. ~2004