This Thanksgiving

This Thanksgiving it will have been 19 years since my mom died. I have known her as a ghost in my life way longer now than I have alive. If I close my eyes I can't remember her face at all. Sometimes if I still myself, I can remember certain lilts to her voice, certain ways she elongated words, or shortened her midwestern vowels. What I can remember most about her physical body were her hands. They were long and skinny and creamy white. They were knobby at the middle knuckle. But this is so easy for me to remember because my sister has the very same hands as my mom did.

My mother was a drug addict and an alcoholic. She was so many more things like a liar, and a thief and quite possibly, a sociopath. She was my mother, so I have every right to say these things, because they are true.
I am not sure if her lifestyle made her that way, or if she was that way before the drugs.
And still, I will always love her, and mourn for her.
But because of these things, really, I grew up with no mother ever.
And because of that, I am raising my son with no prior knowledge on how to mother or raise children. I had no role model on how to love, or nurture or care for children. So many of us don't.


Right before Jace was born, I was sitting quietly alone one day. The sun was filtering in through the window, and shining into my face, so that I had to close my eyes. That forced me to do nothing else with my time but think. And I started to think about the fact that I would not know how to mother my son, the way a blind man cannot describe to anyone, the color orange.
A lot of times in my life I had to learn how to grab quickly, fend for myself, put myself to bed, soothe myself when I was hurt.
No one taught me how to communicate, how to be part of a family unit.
I thought I would be shit out of luck.

Now, several months after my son is here, I realized tonight, as I am sitting here again quietly, that I am separate from my mother. That I knew how to nurture long before I was born. That being motherly was and still is a huge part of my personality.

I have my sister, who has pioneered childbirth before me for all of the technical answers. When to start tummy time, any breastfeeding question I might ever have (she is the breastfeeding guru), whether or not to call the doctor.
But I need no one to teach me how to love and care for my son. I need no assistance in communicating with Amanda or Jace, in telling them how much they mean to me. Or in telling them what I need.
 I have wished for a child since I played alone on the fire engine red of my carpet as a child.
I have waited my whole life to start mothering.
And In some ways I wonder if the absence of my mother made my mothering instinct stronger?
Either way, it is present, and solid and unwavering.

If you are a parent, and you are missing something from your past, or in your life, don't doubt yourself. You are not your past, or your parents. You are your own being and even though your experiences have shaped you, they will not make you what you are. You will make that of yourself.
I will not let my mother influence me. I know I am the best mother I can possibly be for my son, every single day of my life.
If nothing else, from her, I know how not to be.
I have never felt so strong.