Planet Mom

I guess it was appropriate that Forrest Gump was on television again tonight.  Sure, it's become the cable movie of the week these days since every week, it's bound to be on some channel.  I'd like to think that the programmers at ABC Family intentionally showed this movie tonight with a specific purpose in mind. 

Maybe, some suit and tie executive was sitting behind his solid oak desk with the sole responsibility of penciling in Saturday night's time slots holding back the tears because he took a quick glance at his calender and noticed what day tomorrow is...  Maybe, that stuffed shirt loosened his collar, released a deep sigh and thought of his mother.

I have a lot of faith in humanity and I like to think that nothing is accidental like; that every course of action, every decision we make is due to some well thought out reasoning and even when things are done impulsively, it's simply because our instinct is on cruise control.

I told my mom I hated her once.  It broke my heart.  She stoically stood there; withstood my cruelty and sighed.  Moments later with her bedroom closed, I heard what could only be her crying.  A few years later, I told her I loved her.

Grandma Esther was a kind woman.  She had an angelic face and soft hands.  She used to play these old Patti Page records while mom helped her with the dishes.  1953 was a good year.

1954 Grandma Ester died of cancer. 

1954 was the year mom stopped learning what it was like to be loved. 

Grandpa remarried.  Step-grandma Doreen made Cinderella's step mother seem like Mother Theresa.  That's all I will say about that.

In the beginning of Forrest Gump, young Forrest is sitting in the principal's office.  Mrs. Gump comforts him and says, "Don't let anyone ever tell you that you are different than the others, Forrest.  Do you hear me?  You are the same."  The principal interrupts her and says, "He is not the same.  His IQ is 75."  Mrs Gump looks at Forrest with that unyielding look in her eyes and says, "Of course, he is different.  We are all different".

I love that scene.  There is nothing funny about it.  That scene epitomizes a mother's love. 

I used to make my mom drop me off a half mile from school so I could walk the rest of the way.  Attending a rich kid's private school while your mom drives a banana colored muffler-less piece of shit car is rough on a child.  Lost in my vanity was the irony that she drove a piece of shit car because she was sacrificing her own vanity and her own comfort so I could attend this rich kid's private school. 

I imagine being a mother is tough and being a single mother is worse.  I imagine being a single mother with no loving family to speak of is insufferable.

I met Step-grandma Doreen once.  I knocked over an ashtray that sat on the arm of her tacky plaid couch and she screamed, "Are you fucking stupid?"  Those are the only four words I have ever heard from her.

She died in 2011 from old age.  2011 was a good year.

Eighth grade, mom picked me up from school in her piece of shit car.  There was barely enough room for me to get inside.  All of our belongings were tightly packed into every inch of that car.  Earlier that day, mom was evicted from our home.  We had nowhere to go.  I had no idea we were even behind in rent.  Mom had the best poker face.

I probably should have felt guilty that she was picking me up from a rich kid's private school since my tuition probably deterred her from making rent.  Lost in my worry was the irony of that moment.

I like to think that there are two heavens:  One for us and one for mothers.  And maybe, once a month, both heavens get together for a barbeque but the mothers don't cook. 

Everything you need to know about one's mother will always be found in their children.  You, whom has spent the last 25 years taking care of your disabled brother, have your mother's selfless love.  You, whom encourages me often and speaks to me casually, have your mother's kindness.  You, whom has handled my moods and tolerated my stubbornness, have your mother's grace.  And I thank each of your mothers for you but I will never tell you.

Mom isn't very affectionate.  It isn't natural for her.   I think maybe text book definitions of how one is supposed to be is a huge problem in this world.  I think we spend too much time relying on some predictable behavior instead of looking below the surface for substance.  Mom loves me.  She will never admit it.  She doesn't have to.

When the father I never met or ever spoke to died a few years ago, I cried.  I'm not sure why.  At the time, my explanation was closure like his death was the ending of some untold story.   When mom heard the news, she immediately made some phone calls to see if he had a will.

Once she saw his obituary and noticed the absence of her name and mine, she cried.  Her reasoning was closure.

There is no such thing as closure.

Tomorrow, some will celebrate the day and others will mourn. 

And some of us will just sleep in.