Mom was a very complex person. Shy, quiet, moody. I think I'm a lot like her. At least that's what my father used to say. "You're just like your mother"
It's kind of a good thing.
On good days my mom would color with me in my coloring book. She would make me lunches that looked like clown faces. Peaches with raisins for the eyes. Carrot curls for the hair. She would make me chocolate milkshakes when I was sick.
She could crochet and knit and embroider. She could draw. She could write poems. She could sew. She could cook an amazing pot roast. She taught me to love reading and writing. Her mother was a poet; as were several of her cousins. Very artistic people. She could decorate a Christmas tree like no one else. She was incredibly creative and she used to let me make messes as we would make angels out of Readers Digest's; spray painted gold with the edges folded up. Lots of glitter and styrofoam!!
But not all the days were good. She was very unhappy. Depressed, sick. Physically and mentally. Daddy was away a lot. My siblings remember fighting. Lots of it. I don't remember that. I don't remember a lot of things. I don't really remember her being there sometimes. It's strange. I have memories of being taken to stay with other people but never knowing why.
I'm pretty sure she loved us kids. Although I never remember her saying it. She was not an affectionate person. Hugging was not something she did. Comforting was not her strong point. Teaching a lesson was. If there was a lesson to be learned from our punishment, she made sure we understood. I'm gonna place the blame on her upbringing. She got it from her mother who was the "mother" of all....nevermind. She was raised by a cruel, uncaring mother; a strong-willed woman with an uncanny ablility to make everyones life a little more miserable.
But, in spite of all the things she was and wasn't, she was still my mother. And even though she has been gone over 31 years, I still miss her terribly. I still cry. I still hurt. She left...just when I needed her most.
