I buried my mother. She wasn’t dead. It was a desperate metaphor to bring back some sense of normalcy. I made a green bean casserole and sang “Amazing Grace”. The scene was really touching in a twisted sort of way. There was no body, like I said, she wasn’t, and still isn’t dead. Good news is, she has been exhumed, dusted off, and is back in all her glory.
There were years and years of pent up problems. She drank hers. I evaded mine. Finally, I decided I couldn’t do anyone any good if I didn’t take some action. One tearful night I decided I had to be done with it.
The culminating event occurred on 3211. I was driving home and she was telling me that she was going to be friends with Mr. E’s bio mom. I can still feel the wounds that girl caused me. Deep in the night I can sense the pain that girl caused her baby. There is so much hurt in that one sad girl’s path. And my mother wanted to be her friend. It was just too much. So when I hung up the phone and thought about the slurred speech and the rambling sentences, I decided that I was done. Being the sort of person I am, I needed the ceremony.
I want to make my mom happy. I want to protect her from the consequences of her actions. I don’t want to force her to look at the messes she’s made. I know those things hurt her. I know that she isn’t strong enough to handle looking at it (Ok this is a happy story-She wasn’t strong enough.) I played along with her hiding and protecting her until that night, the night of green bean casserole and Amazing Grace and no more contact.
Christians are a people of redemption. My most basic belief is that Jesus can change anyone. This belief ate away at my resolve, digesting it. Long motorcycle rides followed by redemption themed preaching shredded my resolve. One night swinging a tired leg over the seat, I realized I can’t bury anyone who isn’t dead. I decided an exhumation was in order.
It was hard to bury my mother. It was even harder to exhume her. Who wants to be wrong about such a thing as death? Who wants to face the anger of the newly exhumed person? Humility bites (vampire metaphors could easily fill the rest of the post ).
While I had buried her, my mother had worked. She had gotten clean. She had worked through things, things I’m sure I don’t want to know. She had regained her strength and her beauty and her self. When I broke down and talked, she talked back.
I’m now happy to say that my mother is alive and well. There is no grave dust clinging to her. We talked the other day and had the best conversation in a very long time. My girls talked to her too. They were so excited to have her back.
The road is long. There will be bumps and toll roads and rickety bridges. She may disown me when she sees this. But, my mother is alive and well and re entering our lives, not as a vampire or a ghost. She is my mother.
