"Don’t worry honey, Ill be back”
“But when”
“Soon Hun”
“When is soon?”
“As soon as I can”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise”
The fatal words. The words that killed a young girl. They killed the girl and started her on a path that could never be changed.
I promise.
Two simple words.
The memories are foggy now. Pictures have a gray hew as I try to focus back to that time. As if I am watching an old back and white movie.
But some memories are burned into my heart.
We lived in large apartment complex. The horse shoe shaped building was 3 stories tall. There were 6 different entrance doors, with each containing 6 apartments. My parents lived on the second floor at door number one. My grandparents lived on the first floor across the courtyard. I don’t remember who else living in the building. But I do remember my life was spent between the two homes.
Drugs and alcohol ruled my parents’ lives. We didn’t have beds in my parents’ home. There were mattresses on the floor, and very little furniture. I don’t ever remember eating at my parents' home. We always ate at grandma’s and grandpa’s. I guess because there was never any food at my parents.
My sister and I would play it the courtyard. No grass, only dirt and if it rained there was a large mud puddle in the far south east corner.
We would go back and forth in the courtyard between the two small apartments
I was four or five. I know that there was no school for me at that time. Was it summer? Was it winter break? Was I too young to be in school? I'm no quite sure any more. What I do remember is that conversation.
Do your promise mom?
I promise sweetheart.
I waited up until late that night. Mom didn’t come back.
The next morning, I asked grandpa if I could go by mom and dad’s apartment. He looked out the courtyard window.
"The window shade is pulled down—see?” They aren’t home.
The day moved by so slowly. The window shade didn’t move.
But she promised
By about 5 PM I had developed a plan
I pulled two chairs out from around the silver Formica kitchen table. The chairs were a glittery gray vinyl. They were cold to the touch so I also grab the chenille blanket off of grandma’ bed. I put the two chairs together seats facing each other to form a little bed. I placed this bed in front of the living room window, facing out to the court yard. I would wait.
“What are you doing Annamarie? “
“I’m waiting for mom. She promised she’d be back soon.”
Grandma didn’t say anything. She just watched.
I feel asleep in the chair bed.
I woke up in grandma’s bed.
I ran to the window to take back my look out post, but the chairs were gone. The blanket was back on the bed. And I was mad. She didn’t come and grandma took away my post… my look out…. What had become of my alter?
I moved the chairs back to the window and grabbed the blanked off the bed again. I wrapped myself tightly in the blanket. I placed the blanket on the floor and rolled in it, once, twice, three times around. I stood up, mummy-like, and laid myself down on the chair bed I made. My grandfather didn’t work, and he didn't really say much about what I was doing, but when grandma came home she seemed very … well not upset, but concerned. She came over and tried to talk with me. I don’t really remember what she said. I do remember I was mad. I was mad at her for putting me to bed last night. I was mad at her for taking way my window watch spot. I was mad at her for trying to talk to me when I was doing something important.
I was waiting…
Because she promised.
It was a promise.
You don’t ever break a promise.
To break a promise is to lie.
My mom
Lied?
She lied .
She lied to me.
She said she’d be home
She’d come back to me
She promised
No one had ever lied to me before. No one had ever broken a promise and now the one person in the world I loved the most had let me down
On the morning of day four I didn’t put the chairs back.
I didn’t grab the blanket and I didn’t want to talk about it.
I didn’t know if mom was dead or alive, and to be honest, neither did my grandparents. They had no answers for me. I didn’t want any answers.
A part of my childhood died that day.
And a very important philosophy became embedded in my being.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
"If you can’t make it, it’s okay”
“Mom, I said I would be there, the flight leaves on the 26th”
“Well if you’re too busy”
“I’m not too busy”
“But it’s like a 3 hour drive”
“Yeah, I know, but I said I would be there; I’m too close not to come to see you.”
“I just hope”
“Hope what mom”
“Hope you’re not too disappointed”
“Mom, you’re my mother, what kind of expectations do you think I should have? Mom, I love you”
“I love you too.”
I hear sobbing at the other end
“I’ll see you soon mom”
The flight was easy to LAX from Chicago. The family was very excited and so was I. But I was a bit nervous. High wind warnings on Highway One in California.
It was a 3 hour drive I’d have to make
My family had never met my mom. I don’t think they knew what to expect. I told them the same thing I told my self
Don’t have any expectations
Just say “Hi”
“The weather doesn’t sound too good”, my husband said. “They are talking about high winds and snow in the mountains… something about chains on the tires?”
“We’ll let her know it won’t be today.”
My emotions were mixed. I wanted to see my mom, but then again I would have been happy if it snowed and the mountains were impassable. After all, then it wouldn’t have been my fault, it would be all on Mother Nature, or better yet fate!
I called her and let her know, it would have to be on the 30th, the day before we went back home to Illinois.
“ We won’t be able to say long, mom. Jim’s leg is bothering him, we have to catch our flight in the morning, there is a lot going on. But I want to see you mom”
I will see you, mom
As I woke up that morning, things were stressful right off the bat. We were all running later than we wanted to. A 3 hour drive though the mountains to get from LA to Fresno. We stopped to drop off the wheel chair we rented for Jim and then whet for breakfast. So far so good, except we are about 3 hours behind schedule. I’ll be driving home in the dark so there will be no reason to go back on Pacific Coast Highway to see the sun set. Oh well.
As we made our way to the highway out of town, our first road block… literally. Accident on the highway, right outside of Burbank. We sat in the traffic for an hour. We haven’t even hit the mountains yet.
Great. More time to think. More time to stress. Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe we won’t be able to go any further.
Jim searched for a radio station, he found a few I enjoyed, but you can tell he hated listening to the killers and my chemical romance. More stress. Where is the next rest stop? I have to stretch my legs. I have to get out of this car. Get out from behind the wheel.
Rest stop. Great pictures with mountains behind us. Snow!!! My husband was still in a lot of pain. He couldn’t stand out of the car very long so we grabbed some snacks from vending and were on our way again.
The landscape changed drastically from LA to Fresno, highway then mountains, than flat land then Fresno. The 3 hour drive that turning into a 4 hour drive seems the same Spica as my childhood memories.
We had really good directions because Jim brought the GPS system with and downloaded the area.
Just a few blocks away. As I made the right turn onto the street
As we arrived, Jim spotted my mom outside.
Waiting.
Watching for me.
Out in the street.
Outside of a picture window.
As he mentioned that, I was catapulted back to a little girl in front of my own window. I wouldn’t keep her waiting any longer.
And I would heal.
And I would keep my promise
She came running toward me.
We embraced.
Her words and kisses and smile flood the California air.
And with all the thoughts of my childhood and my adulthood and my own motherhood racing through my head—with all of that-- all I could say, in a soft, still voice was “Hi Mom.”
“
“But when”
“Soon Hun”
“When is soon?”
“As soon as I can”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise”
The fatal words. The words that killed a young girl. They killed the girl and started her on a path that could never be changed.
I promise.
Two simple words.
The memories are foggy now. Pictures have a gray hew as I try to focus back to that time. As if I am watching an old back and white movie.
But some memories are burned into my heart.
We lived in large apartment complex. The horse shoe shaped building was 3 stories tall. There were 6 different entrance doors, with each containing 6 apartments. My parents lived on the second floor at door number one. My grandparents lived on the first floor across the courtyard. I don’t remember who else living in the building. But I do remember my life was spent between the two homes.
Drugs and alcohol ruled my parents’ lives. We didn’t have beds in my parents’ home. There were mattresses on the floor, and very little furniture. I don’t ever remember eating at my parents' home. We always ate at grandma’s and grandpa’s. I guess because there was never any food at my parents.
My sister and I would play it the courtyard. No grass, only dirt and if it rained there was a large mud puddle in the far south east corner.
We would go back and forth in the courtyard between the two small apartments
I was four or five. I know that there was no school for me at that time. Was it summer? Was it winter break? Was I too young to be in school? I'm no quite sure any more. What I do remember is that conversation.
Do your promise mom?
I promise sweetheart.
I waited up until late that night. Mom didn’t come back.
The next morning, I asked grandpa if I could go by mom and dad’s apartment. He looked out the courtyard window.
"The window shade is pulled down—see?” They aren’t home.
The day moved by so slowly. The window shade didn’t move.
But she promised
By about 5 PM I had developed a plan
I pulled two chairs out from around the silver Formica kitchen table. The chairs were a glittery gray vinyl. They were cold to the touch so I also grab the chenille blanket off of grandma’ bed. I put the two chairs together seats facing each other to form a little bed. I placed this bed in front of the living room window, facing out to the court yard. I would wait.
“What are you doing Annamarie? “
“I’m waiting for mom. She promised she’d be back soon.”
Grandma didn’t say anything. She just watched.
I feel asleep in the chair bed.
I woke up in grandma’s bed.
I ran to the window to take back my look out post, but the chairs were gone. The blanket was back on the bed. And I was mad. She didn’t come and grandma took away my post… my look out…. What had become of my alter?
I moved the chairs back to the window and grabbed the blanked off the bed again. I wrapped myself tightly in the blanket. I placed the blanket on the floor and rolled in it, once, twice, three times around. I stood up, mummy-like, and laid myself down on the chair bed I made. My grandfather didn’t work, and he didn't really say much about what I was doing, but when grandma came home she seemed very … well not upset, but concerned. She came over and tried to talk with me. I don’t really remember what she said. I do remember I was mad. I was mad at her for putting me to bed last night. I was mad at her for taking way my window watch spot. I was mad at her for trying to talk to me when I was doing something important.
I was waiting…
Because she promised.
It was a promise.
You don’t ever break a promise.
To break a promise is to lie.
My mom
Lied?
She lied .
She lied to me.
She said she’d be home
She’d come back to me
She promised
No one had ever lied to me before. No one had ever broken a promise and now the one person in the world I loved the most had let me down
On the morning of day four I didn’t put the chairs back.
I didn’t grab the blanket and I didn’t want to talk about it.
I didn’t know if mom was dead or alive, and to be honest, neither did my grandparents. They had no answers for me. I didn’t want any answers.
A part of my childhood died that day.
And a very important philosophy became embedded in my being.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
"If you can’t make it, it’s okay”
“Mom, I said I would be there, the flight leaves on the 26th”
“Well if you’re too busy”
“I’m not too busy”
“But it’s like a 3 hour drive”
“Yeah, I know, but I said I would be there; I’m too close not to come to see you.”
“I just hope”
“Hope what mom”
“Hope you’re not too disappointed”
“Mom, you’re my mother, what kind of expectations do you think I should have? Mom, I love you”
“I love you too.”
I hear sobbing at the other end
“I’ll see you soon mom”
The flight was easy to LAX from Chicago. The family was very excited and so was I. But I was a bit nervous. High wind warnings on Highway One in California.
It was a 3 hour drive I’d have to make
My family had never met my mom. I don’t think they knew what to expect. I told them the same thing I told my self
Don’t have any expectations
Just say “Hi”
“The weather doesn’t sound too good”, my husband said. “They are talking about high winds and snow in the mountains… something about chains on the tires?”
“We’ll let her know it won’t be today.”
My emotions were mixed. I wanted to see my mom, but then again I would have been happy if it snowed and the mountains were impassable. After all, then it wouldn’t have been my fault, it would be all on Mother Nature, or better yet fate!
I called her and let her know, it would have to be on the 30th, the day before we went back home to Illinois.
“ We won’t be able to say long, mom. Jim’s leg is bothering him, we have to catch our flight in the morning, there is a lot going on. But I want to see you mom”
I will see you, mom
As I woke up that morning, things were stressful right off the bat. We were all running later than we wanted to. A 3 hour drive though the mountains to get from LA to Fresno. We stopped to drop off the wheel chair we rented for Jim and then whet for breakfast. So far so good, except we are about 3 hours behind schedule. I’ll be driving home in the dark so there will be no reason to go back on Pacific Coast Highway to see the sun set. Oh well.
As we made our way to the highway out of town, our first road block… literally. Accident on the highway, right outside of Burbank. We sat in the traffic for an hour. We haven’t even hit the mountains yet.
Great. More time to think. More time to stress. Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe we won’t be able to go any further.
Jim searched for a radio station, he found a few I enjoyed, but you can tell he hated listening to the killers and my chemical romance. More stress. Where is the next rest stop? I have to stretch my legs. I have to get out of this car. Get out from behind the wheel.
Rest stop. Great pictures with mountains behind us. Snow!!! My husband was still in a lot of pain. He couldn’t stand out of the car very long so we grabbed some snacks from vending and were on our way again.
The landscape changed drastically from LA to Fresno, highway then mountains, than flat land then Fresno. The 3 hour drive that turning into a 4 hour drive seems the same Spica as my childhood memories.
We had really good directions because Jim brought the GPS system with and downloaded the area.
Just a few blocks away. As I made the right turn onto the street
As we arrived, Jim spotted my mom outside.
Waiting.
Watching for me.
Out in the street.
Outside of a picture window.
As he mentioned that, I was catapulted back to a little girl in front of my own window. I wouldn’t keep her waiting any longer.
And I would heal.
And I would keep my promise
She came running toward me.
We embraced.
Her words and kisses and smile flood the California air.
And with all the thoughts of my childhood and my adulthood and my own motherhood racing through my head—with all of that-- all I could say, in a soft, still voice was “Hi Mom.”
“
26 comments:
Mouse. This is enough to melt even the coldest heart...
Mouse, I had no idea of the enormity of your trip. Do you feel better? How many years had it been since you saw her?
What a moving - and wonderfully written - story. This is really heavy-duty emotional stuff you're dealing with. Thank you for sharing such a personal and meaningful part of yourself.
The mother-daughter bond is such a complex and important one. Your grandparents must have been brokenhearted watching their own daughter's fall, yet they were able to raise you well, to give you self-confidence and strength.
I hope that your trip was a new beginning of some sort, a start at healing some very old and very deep wounds. At the very least, it was a huge step in that direction. I'm not suggesting "happily ever after" - just hoping for the beginning of peace.
Goodnight, Citymouse. Have good dreams.
Excellent post. I am speechless...
Hi. Coldest heart here. You melted it.
That is how to write.
No words. ((((hugs)))
It is enough tom melt even the coldest heart like grish said...
I'm proof of that.
Steve~
That was heartbreaking. I'm glad to hear there was a happy ending. Which is to say, whatever your relationship with your mother is now, at least you were able to keep your promise. That's the important thing.
Childhood broken heart...adult forgiveness...beautiful!
your story is making me cry...it is so brutally honest and from two perspectives...you as the little girl and you as the adult. your words are powerful. you are an excellent writer...please keep sharing.
I think back to the time I had been clicking on "next blog" and ran across citymouse,wondering if anyone had even read what she had to say.
This post is an excellent example of why I kept coming back...Your honesty.
Beautifully written CM!
I've got tears in my eyes..
Wow. That was worth the wait. Many more Happy Endings that are really beginnings!
grish... thank you
Wizard,
I just want to thank you for taking the time to read it. My mom and I have been on good terms for a while, but it doesnt take away the past. Every once in a while, the thinks of my childhood come back and I have to deal with them. This was one of those times. Things are well... I just need to make sure my next blog entry says that.. because mom reads the blog.
whim, you humble me
jp... :)
Lorraine (((hug))) back at ya
steve... ya, you are cold... so em.. thank you.
diesel-- did you know i have pics that say ampm diesel from LA? (ampm are my real initials)
thank you.
spoke.. thankyou
meander... at my "alter ego" blog, i just wrote, that if I could realate a story that could make someone cry the way I once did... I would know I really could write. Thank you for the vote of confidence.
Sling,
I think this might turn into a whole post.. so if you only see two lines.. well it’s all your own fault!
Allan-- you always say the nicest things
One of the best... Literature pieces I ever read. And I was a part of it, at least the Californian part... It all moves to such a huge other light after reading the blog, knowing your feelings, your past. It all brings pieces to the little puzzle I had so far from that relationship. It is... Just moving, it really is. How even more moving it is if you sometimes had difficult times too, even just a little fuss on the day you read it... How many people will read this blog entry and would just wish they still could say "hi", in the softest voice? How many people will be able to and will be doing it after reading it? That's how a little flapping of a butterfly's wing, can cause a storm on the other side of the world...
Mother effer.
I cannot commment as honestly as I want to. This hits a little too close to home.
I (applaud) your 'ability' to put this much of the truth OUT there and to, umm, wow...deal with it.
Eff.
Mouse, mouse, mouse...
Jeez.
Awesome...
I loved this piece. You are a remarkable woman and I am so gald you got to spend this moment with your mom.
I had a moment like this with my mom just before she died.
I hadn't seen her in many many years. We laughed and talked and most importantly, we made peace before she died.
I'd have never been able to live with myself if she'd died before we made peace...
Thanks for sharing this. I mean it.
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