This is my mother, Sindee. I was five years old when this picture was taken and my mother was only 21. What I didn’t know until I was older, was that despite her smile, she was suffering terribly. Shortly after this photo I was sent to live with my father who I hadn’t seen in several years because she was gravely ill. She was walking around with gangrenous bowels and no one would believe her that something was wrong until she was almost dead.
There were a lot of things my mom didn’t do right in my lifetime and those seem to rise to the surface very easily because we live in a world where we are supported in finding the bad in people. I feel like I need to change that in my life.
Sindee was beautiful and headstrong. She was the hardest working woman I ever met. She never sat still and I suppose I get that from her now that I think of it. I remember her working 2, sometimes 3 jobs just to be sure there was food on the table and clothes on my back. With that comes a certain amount of emotional distance due to tiredness and stress. As children, I think we can take this distance personally, like an abandonment, but as an adult I understand the long work hours, the overtime, the missed recitals, and the pull of responsibility. In her mind she was doing the very best she could and we always had food and a place to live.
When a 15 year old gets pregnant they barely know how to live and take care of themselves. They know nothing of emotional complexities or emotional intelligence of raising a child or how to build a sense of worth into them, how to nurture their subtle minds. This is challenging to navigate as a full-fledged adult.
She was an artist. I used to love to watch her draw and make things come alive. I wanted to be like her and have this magic come out of the end of a pencil. I wanted that imagination. My whole life I wanted to be an artist, but she wasn’t good about having the patience to teach it, so I learned in school but still never felt like I would match her work so I didn’t try. I think I had just turned 14 when she came down from her room one day and handed me her art bag and said “I don’t need this anymore.” I acted very excited to have the bag and took it to my room and sobbed. She took that bag everywhere. It made her happy to make art. After that time she fell hard into drinking and drugs and the following year had a series of accidents and surgeries that changed the outcome of our lives.
Most of the time my mother was a wonderful cook. She loved cooking and especially loved feeding people. In my adult years, I remember that she would tell me on the phone she was delivering food to this person or another, volunteering to help people through whatever was going on in their lives. But instead of seeing the beauty in this, I saw it selfishly. I saw her giving of herself to others but never giving of herself to me. I understand now how emotionally complex of a person I am. I required deep feelings and deep conversation. I am a need to know the details sort of person which I think was hard for her. She lost most of her childhood to parenting and really abusive relationships and by the time she hit her 30’s she was over it. I love to cook as well and feeding people is a joy of mine or maybe it is just sharing a good meal and conversation. Food is art. Food is love. There is something whole about cooking good food.
I think what I love most about my mother is her strength. She saved my life more than once. When I was three I drank ammonia and she ran two miles to the hospital with me in her arms because she had no phone and no car. She saved me from drowning in a river and also swam two miles against a tide in the ocean when I was being carried away. To sit and think about this now as an almost 52 year old, it makes me cry. She showed me how much she loved me over and over again, but just not in a language I could understand at the time. I understand now.
As a mother myself, I can say it is the hardest job in the world. You create a human and then hope like hell you give them all the things they need to survive in the world except your learning and understanding of the world comes from the previous generation. We are always several steps behind. I love being a mom, but it also is the most frustrating job you can ever have. It is heartbreaking to watch my child make mistakes and fall down, to watch her suffer through things without being able to help or say anything to change it. The best I can do is stand in the wings of the stage shouting, I love you! I’m here if you need me! Please be careful!
Being a mother is a forever job. As long as you live and breathe, you are working, fine tuning, apologizing for things you didn’t get right when you see your mistakes. It has been eleven years since I have heard my mother’s voice, see her brilliant smile, smelled her perfume, or had coffee with her on a cool spring morning. She is missing the best part of my life, the part where I am happy and fulfilled, the part where her grandchild is starting to build her own life.
I love you mom. Sorry for being a brat, for not understanding how hard the job is until it’s too late. We all make choices that change the trajectory of our lives, you made yours and it didn’t turn out as you had planned. I’m sorry for that. You had so much to give. Happy Mother’s Day. I’ll see you in the garden.
Aleathia
Aleathia Drehmer 