Circa 1962I found out today that my mother died 18 months ago. She is on the SS death index. The dates all match, and the area is the same area I had heard she was in the last few years. So it must be her.
I was ejected from her body on a cold winter's day in early 1957. I was ejected from her heart on that day as well. She didn't know how to be a mother and so I went home with her grandparents to live. I remember vaguely that she would come around sometimes and I do recall going on walks with her. I clearly remember the night when I was 4 when she came in through my bedroom window and I sat in the middle of the bed and watched her throw some of my clothes into a brown grocery sack. She put me out of the window and we got on a greyhound bus, in the dark of night, way past my bedtime. She took me from a warm, loving home to another state and deposited me into the home of her sister. Then she left. My aunt had two children smaller than me and a husband who did not want me there. I don't have fond memories of that time. I remember my great grandparents arriving to take me back and I remember them crying as they hugged me and told me that they had to go home without me. The judge said no. I remember that.
So life goes on, and I was put into an orphanage and numerous foster homes. Until I was eight, I saw my mother off and on. I remember once she took me to the movies. We were going to see a Disney cartoon movie that I don't remember, but ended up seeing something else. I remember that I was disappointed. It was 1965. I didn't see her anymore after that summer. I moved to another city and another foster home. She signed the adoption papers then. I was eight, and nobody adopted eight year olds back then.Travel forward in time to 1973. I was 16 and determined to find my real mother. I had such nice fantasies about why she didn't keep me and how happy we would be once I found her. Well, I found her alright. I found her address from city hall and called my caseworker and told her that if she didn't contact her first, well I would just go knock on her door myself. I was a feisty gal back then. So a date was set up to meet and she walked into the children's bureau and asked me how old I was. I watched all my balloons burst one by one during that meeting. By the time I left I felt deflated. I'm sure my caseworker felt I got what I deserved for being so cheeky.
Time moved on and I got pregnant, had my firstborn son, and guess who shows up at my door--yep, it was her. She wanted me to give him to her since I was young and could have more. I said--are you nuts? You gave all your children away. She said she didn't want children--she just liked babies. Once they could talk back, she didn't want them anymore. Pop-there went another balloon. I kept my baby.
I didn't see much of her after that. I had another son, moved to another city close by, started college, and paid her a visit. She deserved to know her grandchildren, I thought. She got a kick out of the boys that day.
She came to my wedding.
My hubby joined the service and we moved to the other side of the country after that. I had my daughter and she caught a bus and came to see her. She stayed a month. During that month, she allowed my not yet three year old son to play with a hot iron and burn his pj's to his leg. She would call my oldest to come give her a hug and tell my younger son to stay away. She set her lighter down somewhere and went to sleep and my little boy set a fire in the kitchen early one morning. I was ever so nice to her and ever so happy to put her on that bus when the month was over.
1980 and back to our old stomping grounds. We struggled to make ends meet and got a little apartment in the city. I worked right across the street from my mother's apartment. I cleaned hotel rooms. She would stand at the bus stop morning and evening and tell my coworkers that I was a slut and a nigger lover. I was floored when they finally told me. She would come to our place, throw open the door, stomp in, and stay until the next mealtime. She would eat, say I have to go, and stomp out again. My hubby said to be nice--she's your mother. So I was nice.
1981 he goes back active duty and we move to another state again. She called alot. She would call and tell me that she just took all the pills in her medicine cabinet. I would tell her to call the ambulance and hang up. I lived 500 miles away. She would call in a day or two from the psych ward in the hospital. Act like nothing was wrong. I would be a basket case. The last straw was in 1984. We were moving cross country again and stopping in our hometown to see everyone first. She called a couple of weeks prior to our moving and said that when we got up there, we would have to meet in McDonalds or somewhere. I said why and she said she couldn't have colored folks in her apartment building. I said ok and then I had to go. I told my hubby that if she called again to say that I wasn't there. I never talked to her again. It was June of 1984. I never saw her again. I didn't want my children to ever be ridiculed by their own grandmother. I had to keep them happy and safe. My babies-my first priority.
She's dead now. She died alone. The state finally put her in a home or something. Nobody tried to find me or my sister to let us know she had died. I'm going to try to find out what happened and what they did with her. I'd hate for her to be lying in an unmarked grave. I would have to have a marker placed there. If I can find out where she is.
After all, she is my mother.
