Today is my mom’s birthday.
I think she is turning 89. Others say she is turning 90.
My mom.
When I was born, she is was in mourning.
The sister 22 months older than me had been kidnapped by my dad while she was pregnant with me. There are other details, but the gist is that my mom wished I was her. In my baby book she put pictures of her and my sister.
I had my dads eyes, making it hard for her to bond with me.
It all set me up for the abuse that was coming.
But I remember learning how to make my mom happy. And when she was happy, I found a little rest.
If I stayed pretty, she was happier. When I impressed her friends with my behavior and intelligence, she was happier. When she wasn’t happy, I couldn’t stand the pain. She knew I heard/felt her thoughts sometimes. That made her push me away, so I tried not to. But when her pain was big, it was hard to ignore. But if I bothered then, she fed me. So I learned food’s purpose. It was to stop pain.
She enjoyed hearing people call me her carbon copy. She promoted me to do that. So I became her extension. I looked just like her except for my eyes. But even they changed color, to hers. The years of growing up were hard ones for her. She was trying to keep her new marriage alive, and care for a child who had been returned after six years of absence. I was overlooked. She only sexually abused me when she was drunk. The times I remember her being involved in the satanic stuff she was strongly drugged.
Once I got married, our relationship improved.
She thought I was doing the right thing, and when mom approved, she backed, financially and with nice-ness.
We got close again.
She enjoyed her grandkids.
She enjoyed sharing all their kudos.
With everyone. Everywhere.
She got a job caring for the nursery at the church I attended and was very well liked.
responsible and hard working and loved the little ones- that was how she was known.
When I became pregnant with my third child, God started my healing process.
Things became strained between us.
And unsafe for my children. Because mom was indiscriminate about who she shared with. And her sharing about what I was beginning to recover was causing the cult members of my family to become concerned I would reveal family secrets.
I had to separate.
It was a long time before I could reestablish relationship. And then it was a bit strained.
Now my mom is dying.
Her heart leaks. Badly, now. Alzheimers is gaining more of her time. And her days are short.
I am grateful for the day we had, in March this year. She had a heart attack and had just gotten home. I happened to be in town. We sat on her bed for three hours and she shared with me her life.
I grieve there could not have been more.
I remember when the Lord told me how to honor her. he said, if I went after all of what his cross makes available for me in my life, that if she chooses him, when she gets there, I will have honored her by making the most of the life she sacrificed to give me, she will be honored by me. I have clung to that.
Today as my Mom turns 89 or 90, I commit again to pursue God for all I am worth.
This one’s for you, Mom.
I love you.