Thursday, August 7, 2014
I'm not sure why this popped into my head the other night but it hit me that July 03rd (as in a few weeks ago) marks 20 years since I last had an even remotely decent relationship with my mother.
I never had a great relationship with her- at least not beyond age five or six. But it exploded and severed in the Miami airport on July 03. I left her house on July 04 to go back to my dad's house (where I already lived 75% of the time) permanently. My dad had forced me to keep my relationship with her until that point but things just broke down beyond repair and everything changed that night.
I do have a point here...I promise.
So as I was thinking about this, I paused to remember when I finally did see my mother again (because our relationship, like all bad relationships, would have a few, brief attempts to reconcile in the following years). I can't for the life of me remember. Was it around the holidays of that year? I honest to goodness have no memory of when we would reconcile. I seem to remember going six months without speaking to her and I would assume more months before seeing her. But that's totally a guess.
So my point is this...
I can remember my house in DC when I was 2.5 years old. I remember the day my dad drove up in the green Volvo station wagon with our beloved family dog to our new house in Florida from DC. I remember more mundane things too from the same early ages. Like the conversation I had, verbatim, at my fourth birthday party with my Aunt Susan. Or what the neighbor gave me as a gift. Or every silly detail about my bedroom that I had until age seven. I can even tell you all about preschool and kindergarten.
But I cannot bring up a memory of seeing my mother between July of 1994 and April of 1996. Not one. I know I eventually saw her on occasion. But I don't think I spent time at her house or with her husband. Though that's more of a guess than anything because I have no memories at all!
And it's bugging the heck out of me.
Not because I need to know for any specific reason. But my memories are so clear about so many things. I don't like the idea of forgetting. What if a miracle happens and I do eventually get to become a mother? I want to be able to tell my kid my childhood stories, just as my parents and grandparents did for me.
I am not sure if this means I am old, that God only gives you the important memories (even if you don't yet know why it's important to remember a conversation at your fourth birthday party), or if it simply doesn't matter after two decades.
Anyway, this is really just a long way for me to tell you that I'm suddenly nervous I'm losing my marbles. Yet another thing for me to quietly obsess over.
Oh and the birthday party conversation. Want to know what I discussed with Aunt Susan 32 years ago? I told her that I was officially an adult that day (you know...on my fourth birthday). I was super serious and absolutely meant it, too. Looking back, I stand by that statement. I think I was born an adult and have finally grown into my own personality.