A long couple of days. My son Keegan is amazing. I watch his every movement when I'm holding him. He smiles. I don't care what experts say. He smiles. I love to hold him close and give him my body's warmth. Feeding him was incredible. Life is a beautiful thing. I could wax poetic about Keegan for eternity.
Sometimes reality comes in to snatch you up.
At 4am on Thursday morning I called my mother to let her know that we were in labor and that child was imminent.
At about 8am he was born.
Around 10am I called my mother back to let her know all was good and Keegan was born a healthy bombastic, amazing, beautiful, and truly awesome duder.
She was the first person that I called.
But she was upset that I had left that much time between calls, rightly so I suppose, since I'm sure she was worried a bit. She didn't call the hospital or my cell phone but she was definitely quite worried as she expressed to her mother via e-mail. And that's fair. I apologized for leaving her out of the loop. I didn't want to run out and call her quick because my wife's labor was quick and I didn't want to miss a second of it. I guess I could have called her immediately after he was born or soon after but I was focused on making sure my wife was okay and my new son was perfect. I clearly remember counting toes the second he emerged. The photo below is of a ten or twenty-second year-old. He is beautiful.
It might have been easier on her if she had decided to come up during labor but she had not indicated that this was her intention or desire. Rather she declared, "hey I'll come up when you guys are ready, take your time, this is hard" in a very understanding (hey she's had THREE KIDS I thought to myself!) tone. And I thought all was well.
So I called her a couple of hours after my first born son graced us with his immaculate presence.
But that wasn't good.
She was upset and worried and all of that. And as I told her, I felt bad! Hey, you were the first person I called! I didn't want to miss anything! I'm sorry!
"I'm sorry my dad and Shearley [his wife] were in the room and we took some pictures and everything"
"Oh....I need to talk to you about that..."
"Huh?"
"Yeah sometime we need to discuss that problem"
"What??! I don't know what you mean?"
"Yeah, well we can talk about it later."
"Mom, I am not separating my son's life because you have an issue with my father and his wife"
"Uh, well..."
More negativity ensued. My mother, bless her heart knows how to push my buttons. Even if it's just merely minutes after she has heard about my son being born. And then BOOM. You know, when your parent decides hey you're not really their kid but an experiment. An experiment in how far you can push them. Well over the edge I fell. I knew I had seen this in my horizon so many times before.
My mother is a racist. My father married a black woman. A black woman that he started to date while my parents were still married. But a woman that I love as much as I love my mother. A woman that is beyond the definition of kind. So clearly this problem had to be rectified on the very day that my first born son was born.
Or not. As I told her. This was disgusting and a disgrace. How could you do this? Why would you? You know this would upset. Yes I understand you want to talk about it later, that's why you brought it up now rather than, later. CLICK.
Yes that's right. My mother hung up on me.
Why am I telling the anonymous Internet world and the unanonymous Internet world this? I could ask myself that a million times over and still come to the conclusion that I need this. A sort of closure. But not really. Because there's nothing in the world that could or would supplant a mother's embrace in or near the moment when you feel most vulnerable. But my mother wasn't there for me. In fact she was busy pushing me away. Again. As usual. As I've always felt.
Disappointing? Hey I got a new definition for you. Callous? Hey forget about it. There's no words to describe it. At. All.
Sure I guess I could have shrugged it off and laughed it off, in yet another one of my mother's more ridiculous overtures of hatred and missplaced aggression. But no. I let it get to me. Big time.
The same day my son was born.
And that my friends is inexcusable. Unforgivable.
Certainly in her brain, she was doing nothing wrong. And that's when I became convinced that she has some sort of mental disorder. She has to. God I hope so. There's no possible way that anyone could have that much pent up anger and expell it in that way without having something very askew. At least I hope not. What could I have done wrong? That's the type of question that pummels through my head every few minutes. Ugh. I'm drained.
But what do I do?
That's a question I asked myself a lot over the hours and hours before I finally called my mother. After I got home yesterday at 10am I fed my cats, cleaned up a little bit, and answered some e-mails. (by the way, thank you all for sending us such loving thoughts, you guys rule and I will try to answer each of you individually very soon!!!!, oh yeah, COME AND SEE MY SON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
But I prepared myself to call my mother. I knew this wasn't going to be easy given our past history of problems and how angry I was that she HUNG UP ON ME mere hours after her grandson was born. Really? Had that happened? Yes? My god!
Neverless I decided that I needed to call her to air out my grievances after what she pulled. It was the next day. I let her fester for that entire time. She never tried to reach me nor the opposite.
I guess I wouldn't have felt so bad if I thought this was more born out of the fact that the mother of my child, stole the love of my mom. But in this long conversation my mother would tell how she NEVER loved my father, (let's bear in mind that I was born out of wedlock and early into my parent's relationship, so yeah, NO GUILT HERE), how she had seen 'research' that told her how bad interracial relationships are (she's qualified since she's never been in one and has NEVER met my step-mother), and how unfair I was to try to "force them together".
Which obviously was followed by declarations of how I never invite them anywhere (I've invited my mother and her family to almost every family event that I've ever been a part of) and how I never have events that are curtained around my mother's side of the family (guess she forgot about that special baby shower my mother-in-law put together a few weeks ago or the Christmas that I went to a couple of years back--I never spend Christmas with my dad's family). Regardless even that is trite and crazy. Come on!!!!
But who cares!
Oh wait, that's right I do! Unfortunately I allow my mother to manipulate--the exact thing that I've complained, bitched, and moaned about for years upon years (ask any of the poor individuals that I was friends with back in the day, yes I took this out on them in so many ways I couldn't possibly apologize). I mean I guess I was misstaken when I read in the manual of life that a mother was supposed to be happy first and foremost when she has a grandson. Because clearly I didn't read that chapter about my life. You know the one where my concerns, hopes, dreams, and aspirations were thrown out of the window.
I wonder if she realized that's all I had hoped for. I wanted to hear her surprise and joy and love even if it was over the phone. But it felt misplaced. Almost like it had been circumcisioned. Cut short. Slightly ajar. So much. So far away from real emotions.
But I'm getting behind myself now.
I called her and instantly asked for an apology. What do you think that resulted in? Yes laughter. That's right, here's myself at my most rawest and my mother is laughing at me, mere hours after completely trying to jar loose what happiness I had in my son's birth. After she refused to apologize (real surprise there), I had told her that I was truly sorry (and I was and am) that I didn't call her quicker after my son's birth so she knew what was happening. That evening I had asked her if she wanted directions but she didn't want them until I called her back and all was settled. Which is fair now no doubt! But yes, I probably should have called her earlier. I also should have strived to remember this wasn't my first child and that I didn't need any help from my parents.
Anyways, so after the request for an apology was shot down we talked. In heightened angry voices as usual. I've shut out my mother for entire years of my life before so I know somewhat how to just let go. Well to an extent. I also know that no matter what, I'll hold these things closer than I should and that they will bother me and crawl under skin. But just so you are reassurred oh readers of mine, she has shut me out just as much. We're both stubborn and hard-headed and all that jazz. Sometimes it's a blessing. Today however it was a beating.
She told me how much she disliked me. She didn't use the word "hate" though she has quite a few times in the past. I guess she was trying to watch what she was saying, which is kind of scary when I reflect on what was said.
The main problem that I've always had with my mother is that she has kaleidoscope eyes that are so rose-coloured that she can't see when (and I'm hoping here desperately) she is hurting the ones she loves. It's always about her and how it affects her and her life. What a shame. That discounts me. And my wife. Ugh.
I told her that she needs therapy and that maybe she has a mental illness which would explain why she sees things so obtusely. She reflected on events that never happened and recounted stories that were so beyond a warped intrepretation that it was quite laughable. But sad is really the right description.
Over and over I was struck with the reality complex. Was this really real? Was my mother really this obnoxious? This racist? This much of a bigot? Would she really says "buttfuckers" in regard to those that had been close to my family?
Was she really this much of a bigot as she related to me how she was upset that I spent my Thanksgiving's with a family that invited "buttfucking friends" referring to my aunt's ex-husband who is gay. Was she this much of a racist as she reflected how wrong it was for a white to marry a black? You know, all the while saying it was "mostly okay for a white to marry an asian because their skin was close". Wow! Really? Amazing! I was stumped at her ingenuity.
And as I told her, yes I understand people have different opinions. I never saw her raise the Rebel Flag, she was never like this when I was younger, she never agreed with the Ku Klu Klan so much. But she is now. And she has for a while. And it sickens me. Regardless. And I don't have to accept that behavior as normal. Because it isn't!!!
I suppose there's a lot of resentment because my grandmother's current husband said that he wanted nothing to do with my mother and her brother when she was a young adult. But that doesn't excuse what she's trying to do to me. She wants to control me still and try to cubicle my life into something that she can mold. But unlike before, she's scared. She can tell that all shields are up and that it's a mere joke to try to get through.
Why? Because I have people that help me now. Accept me for who I am and who I will be and who I always will be.
These people have helped me deal with her and taught me important lessons in dealing with her BS.
She continued to try to reach out and tell me such things as "I hope you know that I'm recording this conversation" only to later reject that statement as "cynical" (kinda thinking my mom needs to look up that definition) and that she was only kidding. Wow because normal non-paranoid people say things like that.
But there were other fun tid-bits about how apparantly I was absurd to remember the emails she exchanged with the guy she was seeing when my parents were still married. Because you know (PINKY PROMISE) that didn't count, even when she told another man she loved him and I archived it for my father (upon his request). Right. She denied that this EVER happened. You know, they were just friends. As if the emails, midnight calls, and other behavior exhibited something entirely opposite. Don't worry I resent my father immaculately for what he caused me therewithin.
Uh. No, I remember how she was when she was seperating herself from my father. She's not the only one to blame either.
While I hate my dad for asking me to intervene simply because "I knew computers", I'm glad that I do know somewhat of what was going on her side of the canvas. It's a shame, because I think my glasses would be much more rose-coloured otherwise.
She said hurtful things towards my wife's family and otherwise today.
I guess what's most disappointing is that I truly didn't feel like she cared much about her grandson but about establishing the fact that you know, she was the PARENT and I was the CHILD. Right. Let me know when that manuel publishes...
I really have no idea what to do. I want my mother to meet her grandson, I really do. I'm proud beyond belief (another fault of mine, I apparantly should no longer tell her if I have any accomplishments, because that's like, you know, BRAGGING, sorry mom for those emails!!!). But I cannot swallow what she has done to me, today, yesterday, the day before, and beyond.
What do you do? I don't know.
Help me....
