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One of the four principles in attracting positive energy is to practice forgiveness. This column is a platform for purging the negative emotions we hold for those who have wronged us. Take back your power, forgive, and move on to a better life and the best you! |
I grew up with an assortment of “uncles” and mother’s “friends”. I never knew who my father
was and I believe it was a mystery even to my mother. She never spoke much on the subject,
but on the rare occasions when she was feeling kindly towards me, she would tell me that my
father was a very important and famous man. She made a game out of my guessing who he
was. Throughout my childhood, I would guess from all the important men I knew of, from the
ice cream man right up to Elvis. Mother would always giggle and when I would press for a
confirmation, she would put a finger to her lips, and say she had to keep the secret until I was
older.
I remember countless mornings waking to discover a new uncle seated at the kitchen table
with mother. They were waiting on me to brew the coffee and make them breakfast. I had been
mother’s maid service ever since I learned how to walk and fetch her smokes and booze from
wherever she had left them. When I was older I continued being the servant. I knew if I did as I
was told and stayed out of the way of the current uncle, she’d let me stay. I learned early the
hell that you are familiar with is always better than the one you don’t know.
If mother hooked her rum wagon to an uncle who didn’t want me around, I would be left with
relatives who didn’t want me either. These blood relations would curse mother and her
bastard child, while I sat right in front of them. I guess they thought I was deaf, or I was too
young to have feelings. It was strange behavior for folks who thought they were better than
mother. When I hit my teen years they just straight out refused to take me in, so I’d crash at a
friend’s house or sleep in someone’s car until the latest new relative was history. Uncles
usually left in a week or so.
Mother was always happy to welcome me back. She would apologize and carry on about how
much she loved me. A bizarre mother daughter dance where a man could immediately cut in
and the daughter turned away. I was not important to my mother. Any drunk she lifted off of the
floor at the corner bar held more value to her. How could I not grow up hating her?
I was fifteen when I came home from school and found the locks on the door had been
changed. I pounded on the door until a new uncle’s face appeared at the window and blew me
a kiss. My mother’s head popped up and she mouthed the words, “Go away.” I did, forever.
My friend’s mother found me sitting on the curb, in front of her house, crying. No, not just crying,
I was hysterical. The final portion of my heart that I had fought to keep safe and hopeful
exploded and dissolved, with my tears, into the dirty street. Kerry’s mother brought me into her
home and allowed me to scream, weep, wail and curse for three solid hours, while she just sat
and listened and stroked my head. It was the first time in my life that I had ever let all the anger
and pain out and the first time I had ever experienced real tenderness from an adult. I was so
exhausted from such a powerful outpouring that Mrs. D put me to bed. I slept for fourteen
hours. I awoke to find Mr. and Mrs. D and Kerry sitting at their kitchen table. Before I could
begin to apologize for my behavior Mrs. D asked if I’d like to stay with them. I did, forever. They
became my family and taught me to love and trust. I’m so grateful to them! They made/make
me feel special and cared for.
Happy and successful, I’m in my thirties now. I haven’t seen my mother since that awful, yet,
fortunate day. I have no desire to seek her out. I want nothing to do with her, nor do I wish to
know who my father is. I have a loving family. But, I do want to put the hate and resentments for
my mother to rest. She was/is a sick woman who never should have had a child. I forgive you
mother for your addictions and weaknesses, and for abandoning me. I know now that you
lacked something, not me.
was and I believe it was a mystery even to my mother. She never spoke much on the subject,
but on the rare occasions when she was feeling kindly towards me, she would tell me that my
father was a very important and famous man. She made a game out of my guessing who he
was. Throughout my childhood, I would guess from all the important men I knew of, from the
ice cream man right up to Elvis. Mother would always giggle and when I would press for a
confirmation, she would put a finger to her lips, and say she had to keep the secret until I was
older.
I remember countless mornings waking to discover a new uncle seated at the kitchen table
with mother. They were waiting on me to brew the coffee and make them breakfast. I had been
mother’s maid service ever since I learned how to walk and fetch her smokes and booze from
wherever she had left them. When I was older I continued being the servant. I knew if I did as I
was told and stayed out of the way of the current uncle, she’d let me stay. I learned early the
hell that you are familiar with is always better than the one you don’t know.
If mother hooked her rum wagon to an uncle who didn’t want me around, I would be left with
relatives who didn’t want me either. These blood relations would curse mother and her
bastard child, while I sat right in front of them. I guess they thought I was deaf, or I was too
young to have feelings. It was strange behavior for folks who thought they were better than
mother. When I hit my teen years they just straight out refused to take me in, so I’d crash at a
friend’s house or sleep in someone’s car until the latest new relative was history. Uncles
usually left in a week or so.
Mother was always happy to welcome me back. She would apologize and carry on about how
much she loved me. A bizarre mother daughter dance where a man could immediately cut in
and the daughter turned away. I was not important to my mother. Any drunk she lifted off of the
floor at the corner bar held more value to her. How could I not grow up hating her?
I was fifteen when I came home from school and found the locks on the door had been
changed. I pounded on the door until a new uncle’s face appeared at the window and blew me
a kiss. My mother’s head popped up and she mouthed the words, “Go away.” I did, forever.
My friend’s mother found me sitting on the curb, in front of her house, crying. No, not just crying,
I was hysterical. The final portion of my heart that I had fought to keep safe and hopeful
exploded and dissolved, with my tears, into the dirty street. Kerry’s mother brought me into her
home and allowed me to scream, weep, wail and curse for three solid hours, while she just sat
and listened and stroked my head. It was the first time in my life that I had ever let all the anger
and pain out and the first time I had ever experienced real tenderness from an adult. I was so
exhausted from such a powerful outpouring that Mrs. D put me to bed. I slept for fourteen
hours. I awoke to find Mr. and Mrs. D and Kerry sitting at their kitchen table. Before I could
begin to apologize for my behavior Mrs. D asked if I’d like to stay with them. I did, forever. They
became my family and taught me to love and trust. I’m so grateful to them! They made/make
me feel special and cared for.
Happy and successful, I’m in my thirties now. I haven’t seen my mother since that awful, yet,
fortunate day. I have no desire to seek her out. I want nothing to do with her, nor do I wish to
know who my father is. I have a loving family. But, I do want to put the hate and resentments for
my mother to rest. She was/is a sick woman who never should have had a child. I forgive you
mother for your addictions and weaknesses, and for abandoning me. I know now that you
lacked something, not me.
| A clear head solves problems... Relax...Reflect... Includes Sandalwood Meditation Candle and Free Peaceful Journey CD Willow Zen Garden |
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| An Unwanted Child By S.G., MO |
August 2010
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