
Inspired by
cruisin-momMy parents divorced when I was 2, and between ages 2-7 Mom & I lived with her parents. Those were charmed years for me. Suburban house, beautiful neighborhood with kids my age, and nurturing grandparents, most notably a wonderful, jolly grandfather who was the father I didn't know (who was abusive to my mother, so I'm actually glad that he left).
I imagine my mom was dying for her independence. When I was 7 we moved into an apartment about a mile away. Unfortunately, I became a "latchkey kid". I wasn't allowed to answer the phone, go outside, or be with my friends. On the weekends my mother was too tired to arrange for me to spend time with friends from the old neighborhood. I was in prison until I basically escaped when I was 14.
I moved 800 miles away to live with my father. It was a very painful time, and I did not see my mother, and barely spoke to her, for over five years.
We reconciled when I was living at college (and less under the thumb of my father and stepmonster - another abusive situation, but actually far worse), she got remarried, and we had a great adult-to-adult relationship for several years.
My mom passed away very suddenly in 1997, when I was 29 and she was 49. The last time I saw her was on my wedding day, 9 months earlier. It was a huge shock, compounded by the fact that I'd lost those 5 years when I'd gone from the frying pan to the fire...
When we go back to visit both sides of my family, we drive by both places to show the kids "where Mommy grew up". Like
cruisin-mom, I have come so close to knocking on the doors so, so many times. On the door of the house to reminisce about my charmed childhood that was snatched away, and on the door of the apartment to dispense with the pain and sadness that have haunted me for years and years...
A couple days ago, I received from my (former?) stepdad three boxes "from storage". They are filled with pictures and negatives, dating back to when Mom was a child. Many I've never seen before. What a shock to see pictures of ME that I've never seen before! I showed my daughter a picture of me at about her age and she said, "that looks just like me!" What a riot!
There are many pictures of the "charmed" years, there are pictures of the apartment where the walls ooze the pain and oppression of those years, and many pictures remind me of the recent post at Beyond BT
Embarrassed by My Mother’s Photo Album .
After going though just a little bit, I had to take a break and reassess. I've decided that the first time I go through all of them I'll make three piles: 1) keepers (happy memories), 2) keep but put away (bittersweet or unhappy memories that I can't bear to throw away because of who's in the picture or whatever) and 3) circular file (pictures I never, ever want to see again).