"Momma"

That was the text I received from my brother to tell me our mother had passed.  The fact that I received a text instead of a phone call or even a facetime call accurately indicated my relationship with my siblings. I am the oldest of my mother's five children and the only thing we had in common was our mother.

I was born in Mississippi to a fifteen-year-old mother.  I can imagine the shame she must have felt, being an unwed mother in the religious south.  By the time she was twenty-one, she was married to an abusive husband with three children.  As a young girl, I saw too much and experienced way too much.  I believed that I was born an old lady, which is why now I am experiencing my first childhood.  Those who have healed their childhood wounds understand what that means.

I was raised primarily by my grandmother.  A grandmother that I loved and admired.  A beautiful tall woman that could cook the best peach cobbler on any day of the week.  I had a grandfather that would take me fishing and who taught me how to gut a fish and fry it up.  Riding in the back of his truck was one of the highlights of my childhood.  I played outside until the fireflies would light the night sky.  The stars seemed so close I could touch them.   I loved being in the country.  My grandmother was all the love I needed until my mother moved us to California.  

I missed being home in Mississippi because my mother had never really been a mother to me and things got worse as I got older.  I was often overlooked and had way too many responsibilities as a child.  I had to call the police to save my mother way too many times.  I had to witness her being knocked unconscious and fearing that we would not survive the abuse and alcoholism  that was plaguing our family.  I needed my mother, but my mother needed a husband to save face.   Sometimes a woman who is being abused harbors a certain level of shame even though they are the victim.  She carried the shame of being an unwed teenage mother, now the shame of a failed marriage.  Her efforts to keep the family together damaged my childhood and our relationship.  I always felt I had to save her and in saving her I was showing her that I loved her, but she rejected that love because I was a source of shame.  

I was never a wild child, but a curious one.  I wasn't the child with the criminal record.  I wasn't the child who was a thief or the child who was jealous of any of my siblings.  I was the child who in high school, played tennis, and softball and was a cheerleader.  I was the child that was the salutatorian of my graduating class.  I am the child that was the first of her generation to receive a college degree. I am the child that would drive six hours to see you if you were sick or give you my last to help you out, but none of that mattered.  I still did not deserve to be loved.  I used to say that if I had turned out to be a drug-addicted prostitute then I probably would have received more respect from this family, but I decided to not let my circumstances define me.    I did not know that my talents and gifts would become the source of so much jealousy and envy.  Just being me would make people compete and project their bullshit on me, and lie on me. I won't even mention the level of envy that people have carried with them for years.   I just did not know.

My mother was the initiator of some of the lies after years of abuse, and a failed second marriage.  I could not expect to be happy around her because she wasn't.  It was her mission to destroy everyone's view of me and to keep me close to confirm what she was saying.  Every time I gained a little bit of independence she would get sick and need my help. And of course, I would drop everything for her, and I never complained.  I've left jobs for her, and I moved for her, while everyone else was able to get on with their lives.   If you ever had a mother to tell people not to give you compliments because being pretty would go to your head or a mother who would stifle your growth and then complain that you were not going anywhere, then you know what kind of mother I had.  At one point in my life, I didn't want to be pretty or receive any kind of attention.  I wanted to be invisible, but God had other plans.  Usually, when people want you to do well, but not better than them, it starts right there with your family.  

When I finally moved away from my family and worked on myself and my self-esteem, I became a hundred times happier.  I forgive people and I move on, but don’t expect a seat at my table.  A few years had passed on my healing journey and I had even invited my mom over for Thanksgiving, however, on November 21st, I received that text from my brother.  

Writing has become the one thing that gives me life.  Podcasting and sharing my stories and experiences have also been healing for me.  It has become about having grace, not perfection through all my circumstances. I hope my voice is healing to someone who knows what I am feeling at this moment. This is not to bash my mother or my family, but to share my journey because I am choosing to heal and today I am missing my momma.  

Momma, I know you are watching over me.  I was attached to your hip for over forty years because I needed you so much.  We went through so much together and I am sure you are witnessing the bullshit I am going through right now.  Thank you for being the kind of mother you were, it made me the kind of woman I am today. You made me a warrior, a fighter, and a great mom.  I have no regrets about our relationship, I just wish I knew who my father was.  It has been an unfulfilled spot that only he could have filled.  I know you are free now, and the journey you are on is sweet.  This is just the beginning for me, so keep watching over me, my plan is to make you extremely proud.

Love your Daughter,

Bee💗💖💖