Through all the "stuff" surrounding the recent demise of my mother, my brain has been working overtime. I'd always believed that once she was dead and buried that I would finally be free of her; that I could move on and never again have to be plagued by that two-edged sword she used as a tongue. Alas however, here I sit. I must say that I'm surprised and a bit angry that she has occupied more of my brain space in the last three weeks than she did in the last 15 years.
A casual observer might say that the reason for the intrusion is that I must be harboring some unresolved regret. I only have one regret and it pains me greatly. I have always said that I would far rather regret something I did. I guess my logic failed me because when the moment was at hand, I spaced! And so, because I missed my chance to have my say at her funeral, I will use this medium to express my thoughts.
The woman who gave birth to me was a very complicated person who was also an extremely tragic figure. She grew up without the benefit of a warm loving mother or any father at all. At an early age, she experienced abject abandonment and a gripping fear of losing her only sibling. It is no small wonder that she never learned how to love. What makes that fact so heartbreaking is that she was never able to overcome her childhood scars and wounds and as such, could not even love her own children unconditionally.
Vera Jo cared most about money and social status. Being out in public with her was sheer torture. The waitstaff at any restaurant, even a five star one, could never hope to measure up to her standards and she was always quite loud and obnoxious in expressing her displeasure to the management. In any conversation, when her engineered opportunities to mention a famous name arose, her voice would raise several decibels to ensure those around us could hear it. She told me on many occasions that when you marry for the second time it should be more of a business arrangement. I would be lying if I said that none of the family ever thought she was marrying Allen Russell for his money. After all, he was 20 years older than her. He and my grandmother were born on the exact same date and year.
It took me 40+ years and lots of therapy to understand my mother and to appreciate the sacrifices she endured to provide for me and my brothers. She always was true to her obligations. She provided all four of us with the basics (food, clothing, and shelter) and when she was able, a few frills, though not that many. The brick walls she built around herself were very clearly evident to me, even when I was a small child. I learned at an early age how to lie quite convincingly. Experience had taught me that I should avoid at any cost being the target of her wrath. I'm happy to report that is one skill to which I have lost all prowess.
By example, Vera Jo taught me to be a survivor, to always land on my feet, and to not depend on anybody else if I wanted something. She also taught me about having a work ethic. Because she worked such long hours, I learned to be independent and not fearful of trying new things. I guess the most valuable lesson I learned from her is that she taught me about the kind of mother I did NOT want to be. She taught me by her negative example that family is the only thing of value I will ever have and to remember to try and NOT screw it up!
I was 15 years old before I ever heard the words, "I love you" from my mother. All six of my children have heard those words repeatedly from the time each of them were born, and they continue to hear them today. I deeply and sincerely treasure the relationships I have with all my kids. We aren't perfect and we have had our fair share of squabbles but we love each other and always work to resolve any differences.
I cannot say that I love my mother. I will say, however, that I will always respect her. Along with that, I will always feel sorry for her. She missed out on so many of the things that truly matter in this world. I just hope she has finally found some peace. I have worked very hard to destroy the legacy of "those Russell women" that has been handed down from generation to generation. There are a few others in my family who have also tried to break the cycle of the "raging bitch gene" that so many of our female ancestors carried. I have great admiration for them as the struggle is all too familiar.
A Final Thought:
Every one of us comes into this world naked, crying, and owners of but one thing; a family. When we leave this world, we leave it in the same way, owning that one thing only, that same family. Seems to me we should all treat them a little better while we are here.
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