Last night my Little One and I were watching a segment on the news about Alzheimer's. My Father has it, and it is a horrid disease. The news cast featured a mother who had the disease and her daughter who was caring for her. While the mother seemed to be very aware of what is going on in the moment, most of the time she didn't recognize her daughter.My Little One turned to me and said (verbatim), "I'd rather take you out back and shoot you than have you not recognize me." Then she burst into tears. She has such a way with words don't ya think?
The thought of me not knowing her some day, after all we have shared, and have yet to share, hurts her. It would hurt me too, at least in my moments of lucidity. I am so very, very, blessed with a wonderful relationship with this amazing and beautiful spirit that I have been entrusted to take care of.
My Mother, who has been dead nine years now, and I did not have this. As a matter of fact, the relationship between my Mother and myself was the polar opposite of what The Little One and I have. I am the first born child of a woman who married too soon, had me too soon, and then blamed me for all of the things she did not accomplish in her life...after all, if I had never been born...She suffered from bi-polar disorder, but she never dealt with it...she was, of course, certain that there was nothing wrong with her. My youth was spent trying gain her approval (impossible), and to stay out of her way so that I was not the recipient of her rage, which took both verbal and physical form....which is a very "clean" way to say I was both verbally and physically abused.
I share that not because it is a sad story, but rather because it is reality. Things were very different that long ago, and what went on inside a home was left inside the home. The people in the community that I grew up in would be shocked to know what actually went on between my mother and myself. Over the years I have come to understand that she had no real skills to deal with children, and her illness did not afford her the ability to learn those skills. She did the best she could with what she had, she simply did not have the capacity to love the way children (or at least I) need to be loved. Forgiveness is devine...but there is no forgiveness to be given...she cannot be forgiven for something she could not do...instead I strive to understand...and to love her in spite of what was.
While she and I never really loved each other, looking back over it all, I can see that this path was the one I was meant to walk, because it taught me what a mother is supposed to be, how important the nurturing is to a child trying to bloom. My Mother's greatest gift to me was not teaching me how to be a mother, but how NOT to mother. Later in life, when I had my own children, those lessons were never far from my mind, and even closer to my heart.
When I looked into the tearful eyes of my Little One who was afraid that some day an illness would take away our relationship, I realize the depth of love that a mother can have.
My beautiful daughter and I have a very unique and special bond, and to be honest, in the beginning I just was not sure that it would happen. There are seven years between her and her brother, not by plan, but by way of a bout with cervical cancer. I will forever be thankful to my doctor who did not believe in ripping out my uterus if at all possible, but in trying the smallest invasion first, and, luckily, the surgery removed the cancer. She gave me the chance to not only love my amazing son, but also the chance to have more children to love.When it was all done, and the all clear given to try again, it took a bit over a year before I conceived. In May of that year I decided that I had put myself through enough, my then husband was content with one child, and it didn't seem meant to be that we would have another. I tossed in the towel, thankful to have my wonderful son. Ahhh....but that wasn't to be, on the 8th of June I found out I was pregnant...it was an early birthday gift from the Heavens.
I knew from the beginning that she was going to be a girl. She was going to be a girl because I wanted a girl, so there simply was no other possibility. Of course I would have loved another son, that would have been fine, but I wanted a girl. Her brother wanted a girl. The only one not weighing in on the girl side was her father, he simply wanted a healthy baby. I told my midwife I was going to have a girl...she laughed because the signs pointed to a boy.
There were other signs too though...I was sick from the moment of conception, losing 15 pounds in the first four months (and gaining only 15 pounds total). When that finally subsided, I had more heartburn than was humanly possible, which, of course, meant that not only was she a girl, she was some alien being...no human child could cause that kind of pain. (And, contrary to the old wives tale about the heartburn being a sign the child will have a full head of hair at birth, she had none. She had no real hair until she was much closer to three.) Later...toward the end of the pregnancy, I lost weight...lots of it. Enough for the midwife to worry. I did go into labor on my due date...she came 28 minutes into the next day...she had her own schedule...then and now.
Once she was born, she deprived me of sleep, she nursed constantly...45 minutes of every two hours. And, if that wasn't enough, at about eight weeks, she developed colic. She screamed for hours and hours and hours....and hours. For the next four months. I remember thinking on more than one occasion that I would never learn to love this child. Her brother was so easy, he had always been such a happy baby, in comparison, she seemed a demon. It would be impossible to love her. I realized that this must have been what my mother felt about me.
But, soon enough, smiles started replacing the screams...drool became the norm rather than tears...big, wet, slobbery kisses planted on my cheek did wonders to erase the memories of her screams. She walked early, she talked early...and she learned to listen early too. She became fiercely independent, "I do it MYSELF Mommy!" became her favorite phrase. She conquered climbing to the top of the fridge by two...was simple...if you catch Mom's back turned, you climb onto the chair, then the counter...and the microwave...She was potty trained about the same age...because she wanted the big girl panties....you know, the ones with the ruffles on the butt, and was determined to have them...hell or high water. Defiant was definitely a part of this child's nature...but that I understood.
She became head-strong and stubborn...a gift from her Grandmother Crawford who told her that when she was at Grandma's house, she could have anything she wanted...no matter what her Mother said. And, while I pretended it bothered me, I was happy to give that to her and her grandmother...it was a wonderful and special bond between them. (Beside...pay back is a bitch...and one day I will be Marmy...darn her for calling Krippy first!)
She followed her brother everywhere, certain that his only purpose in life was to be adored by her, because as surely as she breathed, she knew he had hanged the moon and the stars in the sky just for her. And, when she looked at him I was just as certain of it as she was. He did hang the moon there just for her...and he has been the best of all possible Big Brothers to her. They are wonderful together, and I hope they always will be.And, somehow the years passed and she grew. Now, standing before me isn't my baby any more, but this strong, brilliant, amazing, confident, young woman who will be 18 in less than a month.
She developed an understanding of what she perceives justice to be...and stood her ground when a friend of hers was threatened by his own father...She is brave and fierce and loyal to those she loves, often without thinking of the consequences to herself. She grew tolerant of those who did not understand because they did not know...and is yet impatient with those who choose to be ignorant. She doesn't see the outside of people, she sees to the depths of their souls. She is everything I want to be.
And I love her more than mere words could begin to convey. I look at her and wonder what my mother and I might have been had she not hated me so...but I cannot dwell on that...what is done is done...and, at least it gave me the understanding I needed to NOT allow that to happen with my own children. It also gives me greater insight. I see a physical resemblance to my mother in her, and it is bitter sweet. I will never stop longing for what might have been no matter how much my head says that time is past, my heart will always grieve for that love I did not receive...and was not allowed to give.
So, my darling Little One...one day, should I ever look at you and not know who you are...not know the joys and the sorrows that we have shared...to not know the full measure of the love I have for you...you have my full and complete permission to take me out back and shoot me....because, My Little one...my Kate...I never want to look at you and not know that you are my beautiful Daughter...
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