Looking through my file box for some paperwork and came across an unlabeled dvd. I found it was from when Kyle (my oldest son) was born 11 years ago. This time in my life was just ridiculous. My mom and I were at war 99% of the time.
I had just told my mom to get out of the delivery room. She was all nervous and worked up because of my blood pressure and I could tell she was on something. Before she left, she kissed my head. She left the hospital (I’m sure because she was upset I didn’t want her around) before she could hold the baby, but not before she could bring me some chicken nuggets lol. And when she came back that night I had her kicked out again because she was messed up.
I know she held him at some point, and I know she was there as much as she could’ve been and that I would allow. But I totally forgot we shared a tender moment. Because even after all these years I held onto that anger and resentment. I went through very intense anger followed by the strongest wave of guilt I’ve ever felt. I felt guilty that I had prevented her from having the relationship with her first bio grandchild that she wanted. And to deal with the guilt, I would pull up my anger and remind myself that she made things that way. I had to do what I had to do to protect my sanity and my son in the best way I knew how at the time. But now I’ve learned to accept the anger and guilt for just what it was, a survival tactic. My anger was simply a mask for what I was really feeling, grief. I was grieving the loss of a mother I once had that left long before her body did. I couldn’t live life at that time if I really had to feel my true emotions. I’m glad that today, I can just feel and process it as it comes.
Today I am grateful for that veil of anger to be lifted and to appreciate the small (seemingly insignificant) things, because for those who have lost someone the small things matter the most. She died just 3 months later. And I’m so thankful I found this. To be reminded that even in the most dysfunctional and hectic point of our relationship, she was still my mother. And she still loved me.
