Sunday, May 25, 2008

There's a saltwater film, on the jar of your ashes. [longest blog of my life]

I woke up yesterday morning to find my mother on the couch crying into a sweatshirt of mine, sobbing something about me going away to college. I sit next to her and quickly realize that there's nothing good about the situation and therefore nothing I can say except, "It's going to be OK" which I know isn't comforting. She just sits there and cries at 10am and I've got everywhere in the world to be but I can't just leave her. Soon enough I tell her to take a breath then take a shower and get ready, it'd make her feel better.

Mom and I are making a collage of pictures of my life for my graduation party tonight. We were looking through an album I got from my dads house, and she remarked that there were lots of pictures of him and I then proceeded to ask if there were pictures of her and I like that, of us doing things together as a child. There aren't, so I said "No". She looked sad, and then said, "Now I see why you cried so much coming home from visiting your dad. You two did things together,huh? You hung out? I don't have memories like that." Yes, my dad is a very good dad. Always has been, at least in my eyes. I lived away from him most of my life and would come to visit in the summer months, and that time was typically all about me. So when I reach back into my childhood and pull out some memories I pull out ones of dad and I in a rowboat in some little pond, him threatening to throw me in. I pull out memories of us eating pounds of Oreos and watching Mrs. Doubtfire. Going to movies and having intense conversations afterwards about what the movie "really meant". Mostly I remember that when I did spend time with my dad, and when we did talk together I felt like all he cared about in that moment was me, and what I had to say. There weren't other things floating around in his mind that seemed more important. I liked that undivided attention. I never got that from my mom, who was always concerned with herself. She's gotten better in recent years but here I am ready to go off to college. So what was I to say when she said, "I wish I had memories like that with you. Now I'll never get that back" ? All I could tell her was that she still had right now...

I love my mother. More than I could ever say to you in words. I know that we all make mistakes. She's grown up a lot in the past four years. Her priorities are in better places now.

I feel bad for her. If she had just opened her eyes, she would have seen a long time ago that the photoalbums were mostly filled with pictures of me and dad. She never cared to look. Or she never thought to look. Even worse.

2 comments:

Samson Agonistes said...

Harsh. I'll wager your ma doesn't read your blog. Someday, whatever your opinion, do not accept the feelings you have as a substitute for actually spending good time with your kids. It is my privilege to be your pa. I hope when my time is done you'll really believe, in your heart that I've done it well.

Samson Agonistes said...

Death Cab's lyrics are pretty harsh also. Styrofoam Plates are pretty harsh lyrics. Isn't there a title with softer implications? Is it hyperbole or intended?