Another Year Has Passed

It seems as though this day creeps up on me every year. Just when I think I'm going places, making progress, here it is again, tapping me on the shoulder and reminding me another year has passed; reminding me of what I lost, where I've been, and who I've become.

Just last week, Dustin and I were going through boxes of our personal effects that were stored away in the garage and I found some old perfume that belonged to my mom. I opened them, smelled them, and was whisked away to a time when I was a child. I remember sneaking into her bedroom and smelling her sweet perfumes, making sure to line them up exactly the way she left them. All I wanted was to be like her. Smelling those bottles the other night put me at peace. I had no idea what day it was, how much time was swirling past me, I thought I was finally feeling content knowing she was gone. 

Last night, feelings of anger, distaste, frustration, and self pity came rushing over me. I felt degraded, as if my feelings were childish, and as though something had been taken away from me. Anger will eat you alive, I'm a living testament to that statement, and over the past 14 years, I've been plenty angry. A majority of my anger is placed-properly if you ask me-at my mom. I feel as though she was selfish; she was so worried about herself that she never thought ahead to what life would be like for me, my dad, my brothers and sister, if she ever left us. I can't fathom, for even the briefest of seconds, putting anything before my children. Not a thing.

Another, smaller portion of my anger has been strategically placed at the hands of those who, "know how you feel", or "have been there". Don't get me wrong, there are people who have experienced similar situations, and some of my closest friends are included, and they're the exception to the rule here. Strangers, acquaintances, even some friends and family fall into this category. Unfortunately, with me, it's often best if you just say nothing at all.

I have additional issues, and these are not anything I feel like sharing or working on anytime soon. I feel the unstoppable urge to share how I do feel about things that have transpired, and I know feelings other than my own will be hurt, and now is not the time and place. This is my blog, but I don't feel like taking anything away from anyone, even if that's what I felt like they did to me. 

My mom was, simply, my mom. A mom changes diapers, brushes your hair, sends you off to school in your best clothes for picture day and hangs your kindergarten artwork proudly in her home. My mom was there for me when I had my first crush, she listened to my problems, she laughed and cried with me, and no one can take that away. We bought my first musical instrument together, read the same kinds of books, memorized the beginning scene to "The Odd Couple", and polished each other's nails. My mom bought me my first bra, was there when I entered womanhood, and helped me through the tough times. No one, not a soul, can say they shared those moments with her. You can't just walk into someone's life and expect them to be yours. There is a level of respect, trust, and love that needs to be earned, but with a mother, it's just the natural way of life. Our bond is one that can't be broken, no matter where she is. 

Now these hurtful feelings have resurfaced, years later, and I worry they will never be resolved. If someone was so jealous of the relationship my mother and I had, I pity their soul. To call someone "mom" is an honor, one not to be taken lightly. Any woman can mother a child, but it takes someone special to be their mom. It's not necessary for the bond to be by blood, but please, don't try to call someone "Mom" that didn't fill those shoes for you, you never know who's toes you'll be stepping on, and who's sitting on the sidelines with their heart breaking because you tried to take away what little they had left.