Bad Mom
some times i was a bad mom. i stood back, let things happen. didn’t jump in, didn’t shush the baby, stop them from doing ‘the thing’ they should not do. i didn’t oversee, demand, monitor, hover. she freely expressed her emotions. loudly and for all to hear. comments with no filter, angry outbursts filled with fury. this was just simply not done. -could she not be quieter? more well behaved?- for this i received a stream of criticism and self doubt. could i have done more? should have stepped in? demanded obedience could i? should i?
the raising of my daughter had been fraught with obstacles. most days were quiet, uneventful. then there were the other days. days that would seem to never end. days when i get calls like -your daughter is in north dakota, come get her, now.- i had come home from work and saw that gordon the gargoyle head was missing from the bottom stair, and i knew immediately that this was not going to be a pleasant end to a good day. (gordon, why on earth did she take gordon?) what to do? well, i did most of not much as i recall. i pondered this for a while and concluded that i had no options other than to wait. wait and see what would happen next. it could be bad, it could be awful, but at that moment, in my apartment alone, there were no other options. waiting was my only choice. no frantic panic reaching out. who would i call? what would i say?
also this was the night of the performance of the vagina monologues. it was valentine’s day and we each had been working on this play to be performed in a local theater. i went to be there for my actor and support her. what to do about my daughter would wait a bit.
i waited then, for the inevitable. through a long night until the call came the next morning. -come get your daughter- and then i said it, the most unmotherly thing i could say, but i meant it. the peace and quiet was a blessing, she was safe, well fed, actually having a good time with the foster care family who took her in until i got there. the rest would have done both of us good. one more day, just one more day: -do i have to come right now- pause -yes, you do- so i did.
the long drive in february from michigan to north dakota took two days. bright sunny days of -22o, icy roads, crisp-frozen snow in a blinding landscape that stretched to eternity, finally pulling up to a mid-western plains farmhouse. and then a long quiet drive home.
this was not my first time dealing with disaster, the panicked moments of uncertainty, not knowing what to do to make this right, to make this disaster go away and have everything be right again. these did not begin with her, but she did carry the banner forward seeking her own equilibrium in this ridiculous parade that we lived in. i could have done many things during those moments, stirring up emotional pots, but i chose to hang tight, let things play out.
in the times before these i speak of here, i often was stunned into unmoving. i was the deer in the headlights with no idea what was happening or what to do about it. my script written by others. a sense of helplessness. i was merely a player in this act. and i drifted along with this. until i didn’t. i found a determination, it was not a grand eloquent one, a quieter one, passive even. but not without consideration.
i learned that there was nothing i could do ultimately and accepted it. the course was set and that was that. but i eventually chose to not be helpless, i could affect only my bit part ever-so slightly. the course for others was of their choosing, as was mine. so, i saved my energy for when it was needed. sometimes i wonder should i have done more, made calls, tried to stop it, prevent it, punish it, say something, anything? but i didn’t. i let things go to sort themselves out.
oh, i did have rules, rules about the condition and order of my environment. rules i could control. keep the house clean, pick up after yourself, no friends over when i’m not home, things like that. but i knew the limits of that. i took heat for that. i needed to make her obey, toe the line, follow the rules, don’t speak up, don’t speak out, don’t make a scene. look good, look well behaved, well mannered. she was not well mannered and it showed.
one day she was as grown up as she could possibly be for the time and moved her gear from my house to an apartment a block and half away. small baby steps. she was on her own. she never moved back, other than a week or two between apartments, and the house was forever quieter. we still met once a week for our standing dinner date where we would check in with each other. even living in the same house our schedules often didn’t mesh and we would meet for dinner on friday to catch up. this started in middle school and lasted until she moved out. we re-instated them a few years later on wednesdays instead. only this time is was she who paid for the food and the $2.00 pitchers of pbr at the meanwhile bar. she had arrived at a functioning adulthood.
early in these wednesday dinners, i stopped by her place to pick her up and walk over. she read me a poem she wrote in which she was able to rhyme jackie onassis with preying mantis, each having something to do with me. she also thanked my for letting her be angry and for the things i did and didn’t do. so there haters, doubters. it did all work out in the end.
