Celebrating The Moms

The Moms: Well, I'm pretty boring and stable. You know I don't have much gossip for you or anything.
Belle: Stable... Be proud of that! It's an achievement!

And it is.

Today marks the momentous occasion 53 years ago that brought The Moms into this world. Whatever our differences might be, I have to give the woman some credit for all she's done for herself (and for me) in this life. Since our family isn't given to sappy expressions of emotions and whatnot, I'll do it here on the Internets, where I'm fairly certain she'll never find it.

Born to a soon-dead carny father and a crazy, manipulative, evil bitch of a mother, The Moms was at more than a slight disadvantage from the start. Change, change, change, her mother, brothers, and stepfather had always told her. You'll never be good enough.

At 18, she was ready to get out of a household that might as well have had a needlepoint plaque at the front entrance boasting, "We'll beat you down until you don't have the will to get up. Then, for good measure, we'll kick you some more."

Marriage was the road she chose to get her out of that hell hole. After a short-lived honeymoon period, The Moms found that her partner 'til death was a controlling, mentally abusive man-whore with a knack for business deals gone sour and a penchant for barely-legal secretaries. Keep your mouth closed and your eyes down, Woman. Change, change, change.

The Moms popped out two kids (namely, Older Brother and Belle) before popping into a hotel to witness the man of her dreams dallying with the hired help and, subsequently, popping out of marriage one.

Despite the marriage having survived to the 10-year mark and The Moms having indisputable evidence of infidelity, her loving mother, The Matriarch, all but refused to help The Moms in her next phase of life. You couldn't keep him. I told you you'd never be good enough. Father stopped paying the mortgage on his children's home. The Moms had to pick up her kids and move.

Shunned from all social circles, lacking viable work experience or an education beyond high school, she set out to find a way to support herself and two brats too young for the free babysitting service we call public schools.

So, at 28, with two little ones, an ex-husband who was just this side of being a deadbeat dad, and little familial or social support, The Moms went to college. She struggled through it, subsisting on tomato soup for weeks so her kids could enjoy cheese sandwiches and the like, making games for us when a weaker person might've been reduced to a sobbing mass on the floor from the stress of it all.

The man who vowed to serve and protect through sickness and health moved on to a new life with a new, younger wife, doing his part by having Stepmom pick us up every other weekend and holiday. Sending his pathetic, court-ordered $40 per week every two months or so.

When The Moms donned her cap and gown and crossed that stage, she was the only person in her graduating class to shed tears. Surely they were long overdue.

She entered the working world more starry-eyed than one might expect, choosing a profession she thought would help people. A much-needed service to the public. She took a pittance of a salary, and worked for the next decade to pay off her student loans and credit cards.

Meanwhile, Father used every opportunity to tempt Older Brother and me from our life with The Moms. Biting comments. New bikes she couldn't afford. Don't you want to come live with us? With your new Baby Brother? Older Brother took the bait. If you come with us, you can never go back. I stayed.

Terrible bosses, monstrous boyfriends, the cliquish women in the Lord's House. The vengeful and malicious acts of Older Brother who'd adopted a distorted view of life. Everywhere she went, The Moms met opposition. Keep your voice down, was what they told her. You shouldn't say that. We don't do things that way here. The subtext, always: Change, change, change. Being you will never be good enough.

Defiant, she became more of who she is. Smart, brusque, sensitive, loud, honest, thoughtful, defensive, caring.

Determined not to follow in The Matriarch's emotionally distant and verbally abusive footsteps, The Moms took an interest in my life. In Older Brother's life, as much as he would let her. Faithful scout leader. Reliable sleepover host. She planned trips to the beach and outings to the park. Money was still tight, but The Moms made sure my childhood didn't consist of drudgery and lack fun as hers did.

Many years after the divorce, The Moms found herself living in the woods with a smart-ass, defiant teenage daughter who resented her attempts at loving gestures. You're embarrassing me! Change, change, change. Rare visits from her only son yielded shouting matches and vows to maintain distance. Most of her post-divorce friends had scattered to various cities, states, countries. She was alone in everything but reality.

When The Moms met someone who claimed to love her, who shared her passion for The Lord, who said they should be together 'til death parted them, she bought into it. She married the maniac, flaws and all. She lived with the mental and physical abuse for a few months before getting divorced and lived with the experience bottled inside until a few years after I left for college.

The Matriarch, long estranged, was diagnosed with breast cancer. The Moms went back to her. She visited daily, took the old bitch out when and where she wanted to go, helped in any way she could. The Matriarch repaid her by telling lies about her only daughter. By planting seeds that would sprout into hate in the hearts of her husband and sons. The Moms would only find out much later, when disputing the word of the dead could only make things worse than they already were.

When The Matriarch started losing her mind, The Moms was shut out by her stepfather and brothers. No matter that The Matriarch's claim of wrongdoing was rooted in a haze of dementia warped by her longstanding routine of evil manipulation and backstabbing. No matter that The Moms was her only daughter. She wasn't welcome in the house. The Matriarch passed. The Moms was no longer welcome in the family.

What, with Older Brother too busy living in a drug-induced sub-reality of paranoia, rage, and remorse, I became The Moms' only family. And I lived hundreds of miles away.

Finally out of debt, The Moms bought her dream house, just a few short blocks from the tiny home we'd occupied before. She surprised me with a new room when I went home for Thanksgiving, a new house. A nicer house than she'd ever owned. And without so much as the tiniest bit of help from any man. She was proud of it. I was proud of her. She deserved something nice.

A month after signing the deed, she was laid off. Cutbacks at her company. After eleven years of service, she was given a day to clear her office and a month's pay.

Not nine months later, every worldly thing she'd worked for in her life was wiped out. All her possessions gone. Photos and memories destroyed in an instant.

Neighbors who stayed watched through a small attic window as the storm surged, gutting every house on The Moms' street. The sea was in and out in a couple of minutes. The debris on the bits of sheet rock that remained in her once-beautiful home showed the water had reached nearly nine feet. Still, she and her neighbors were some of the lucky ones. Not a block away, where every house was ripped from its foundation and washed out to sea, seven people who'd taken shelter in one home were never seen again.

Aid was slow in coming for those who survived. I sat helpless hundreds of miles away, knowing, finally, that my family was alive but little more. Unable to help in any way.

A week later, The Moms came to live with me. Shocked and demoralized, wearing donated clothes and shoes, having little cash on hand and fewer resources at her disposal, she started searching for a job, seeking help. She called me daily in tears, lost and distraught.

Soon we found ourselves in a tiny rented house, surrounded by used objects donated and procured from thrift stores and estate sales. Everything surrounding us was a reminder of all that was lost. After my fixed-term position ended, we found ourselves facing a bleak, unemployed Christmas and the dreary winter months that followed.

The Moms finally found a job, and I left for better prospects. Once again, her only real family was hundreds of miles away, and The Moms was alone. She started fighting then to get back to what she'd worked for.

Today, she's finally back in her newly-finished house. Older Brother has settled down, started a family, given her grandsons. They still go rounds on occasion. Not valuing her strength and independence, he still feels the need to tell her to change, change, change. He projects his own feelings of inadequacy on her. You'll never be good enough.

What Older Brother doesn't realize is that she's earned the right to speak her mind, and loudly. That she's worthy of being who she wants and of living her life her way.

When I talked to her today, she seemed happy. Stable.

Happy birthday, The Moms. You've achieved a lot.