Role Models- Making/breaking moulds

Mom/Mother/Ma



That last part said with a heavy boston Aaa. So it’s a “Maa” and sounds a bit trashy- to me at least. I guess I am judging myself. Eh. So anyway, the topic today for discussion kids is my Mom. This lesson could pour into lots of things and is a bit spicy as they say- lots of kick to it. So I have been thinking about my mother because a) I am in the process of mourning her b) I am in the process of coming to terms with her as a person and her as my mother and how that shaped me 3) I am coming to terms with my own sense in the world and we meaning society tend to compare to our parents. What interesting role models I have then, no wonder I am such an interesting person.

The role model my mother instilled in me- cleaniness is manditoriness and if the recipe says water substitute with cream, preferably heavy whipping cream or some other tarring arteries variety, talk about the grandiose things that you are capable and do NONE of them- particularly from a vantage point of a sofa watching tv and a coffee table with a Budweiser tucked into the corner- easily assessable and yet somehow discreet (and guilty?) ah mom. Not to mention a list of illnesses and misfortunes that would have JOB spinning in his woe is me cronhicles and shaking in his boots for lack of ingenuity. See my mother was clever and before she used her body something fierce she was also quite pretty.

I think I failed her- or was taught that I failed her- through my uninspired career as a dater. A woman’s worth being that of the men she can wrangle to provide for her and be her ‘honey do’. And yet, be so disempowered. So afraid- I don’t care to know the true depths to the self hatred I am sure my mother possessed. She continuously made some pretty bad decisions and dug herself into a pretty dark hole. I see her release from physical reality a totally blessing for her and for me and my sisters and maybe anyone who was touched by her. Sad to say so much growth was through pain.

Perhaps I am remembering it wrong- perhaps there were more moments of pure (or semi) family bliss where we did resemble a real family with love and affection but that was the sham of it. I was told to believe that not everyone is like the brady bunch. Like families, real families have disfunction. Oh ok. But do you think it is normal disfunction to have a mother wake up her children out of the bed on a school night and tell them they are moving away and to pack everything they want- while she is screaming at mark who she forced /manipulated me into calling him dad- I think to further hurt my father- that she was leaving. Oh my mother wanted to run away from her life so bad. She dreamt of new Hampshire and Alaska and other intensely cold climates. But wanted her ashes scattered on a beach. Contrary woman.

Mom. I feel perhaps the hardest thing to come to terms with is that- nope that would have been some huge generalization and that’s just not necessary with this. My mom- a case study as Nicole said. Who knows really? In the excessive emotional damage wraught by my mother’s war on herself and the rest of the family- I am not sure anyone would agree and remember anything the same. Ive encountered it frequently with my older sister Shannon- when I moved to new Orleans her and her life long best friend kara told me one night that I moved out when I was 12. and that I had basically missed being abused in the rest of the household. My sister has also stated, ‘you have no idea what I endured to protect you guys’. Sigh.

None of us have any idea what the others suffered. That’s the point of war, no one ever wins. Everyone is left tending to their wounds and attempting to collect themselves into some semblence of working societally functioning individual. Or at least that seems to be the programming ive experienced. And how we look around and think, what the fuck man- if you knew what I had endured you would never look at me that way- say that to me- think that about me- you would be amazed I am standing in front of you and able to smile. So yes I am a leo and I can exxagerate but if anything- I think I have understated my past because ive spent so much time processing it and I don’t want to harp on it. Because according to the law of attraction that would be completely not helpful as a strategy. Sooo, where is the line I ask you universe between telling a story, coming to peaceful resolution about something as painful and interesting (PAINTING) as my childhood. Wouldn’t that be funny- I keep seeing all these art academy of san fran buses- they go by my work all the time.. and I think right? I wanted a sign and I even said how much of a fan I am of the universe talking to me through bus logos and writing. Ta daQ!

Go back to school. But I am resistant. Eh, figure that out later…. LATER MAN LATER. Wtf. Anyway, so my current super duper coffee life has had me pondering hey what is that about, that cant be an accident. And in my last job in new Orleans as a barrista I came to some very powerful realizations and forgiveness for my mother-

To backtrack- my mother passed away sept 2007 from initially what I thought was coughing (miscommunication with my sister- later april 2009 to find out it was drug overdose)and we as a way of inheritance all received manilla envelopes with unsent letters from my mother. My sister still hasn’t read hers. Ive burned mine.

I read them that night. But that’s a whole other story

I found out when I went up to mass for the not funeral that my mom had actually managed to get a real job- funnily enough inject memory of my mom making fun of the dunkin’ donuts commercials from the 80s growing up… time to make the donuts. Well, the universe has a wicked sense of humor. The steady job my mom did eventually get fired from but held down for a while, was dunkin donuts. When I had thought she had coughed to death I was so struck by the near tragic proportions of her song. To finally have semblence of sobriety after some dark and even street living body selling times- have a steady job- and then die coughing. But she didn’t- she died the most logical way ever. For her at least.

So the coffee shop- I went into work last summer blazed (beyond wits end with my life in general, tried something I usually prohibit- mixing work and smoking) and I was so overcome with guilt and fear and self rejection and then in that moment of a near panic attack I stopped and had the total realization and awareness that if that was how I felt; it was like having a small window into my mother’s reality. And I bet it was sad. So I went from saying I can be compassionate for my mother to truly forgiving her (on whatever levels ) and having compassion.

So do I need to keep working in coffee to have MORE compassion for her or can I move onto something more exciting, which ties into the initial statements of role models. My role models for success have been lackluster at best. My mother was an incredible student and then went on to have a series of marriages, have children and develop a serious health and drug problem- among other things. And my father is from a wealthy and successful family and he was the accidental late in life baby to emotional vacant parents and his true passion- music- he was discouraged and even put off by the practicalities of being a businessman… where in my humble opinion he has punished himself for siding with them pretty much my whole life by working in sales and all music playing related fields and its like sitting across the room with your beloved for 30 years and never doing more than looking at it. Never actually touching it, tasting it. What a shame. Especially if you came here on this earth plane to unite and create with your beloved. And your beloved does not have to be a person- for my dad it is music. Music and skiing. Let the man ski!

But while my dad excelled at overworking and giving himself few vacations and lots of debt- he never really has been successful enough to not have to ‘worry’. Worry about money, worry about his safety, worry about money. That first and third one I think is a big issue. So yeah, I also got my mother who treated me like a paycheck (child support, it pays to marry muiltiple times and have children) and stole birthday money- you know the usual. And property. The amount of times I heard as a small child and young adult. YOU ARE MINE. Really? I thought I kind of belonged to no one- or at least myself right? But my mother asserted I belonged to her because she had fought over me and won- an expensive court battle between my parents.

I truly thought that my parents didn’t have other things they could even say to each other besides’ ‘i’ll see you in court’. It was like most people say hello and goodbye. They would say I’ll see you in court after a brief shouting match when ever my dad came to pick me up or drop me off. Basically my parents loathed each other. Really interesting to come from people who loath each other and treat you like property goods. Part of me feels that the reason my mother never recovered from me moving away wasn’t because I never came back like Shannon did- but because it somehow meant my dad won- their long fucked up battle for me and custody. Hello! I was 16 and you told me I couldn’t go to school anymore. Fucking crazy.
Ugh. Crazy and pretty and brilliant. I know, totally frightening. Don’t worry, she only had four daughters. Who so far have borne three beautiful children. I do take pride in the fact that the offspring of our family- regardless of the family history (eeks) well, we look attractive. And isn’t that what mom taught us? If nothing else, look attractive. Looks are really what matter. Thanks mom.