MOM

 

Everyone has one. There is only one. Biological MOM.

Two boys in my family called this woman mom. Just like most adults you didn’t know anything about her except she changed your diapers, feed you, put you to bed and in the morning, there she was again.

I was the youngest, so all that father/son bonding must have been done with my brother. I was a mamma’s boy.

MOM was responsible to delivering me to school, make sure I dressed fine for church, and prepared the daily meals. She never helped me with reading or math but was interesting in writing (a pass me down from her ancestors who wrote long flowery letters). Don’t know how much education she had?

My MOM had an extemporary life. She went from a backwater town in North Carolina to a semi-famous singer in a big band. She got to travel. She got to party with stars. She got to model. Her name was on the marquee.

Then the band broke up due to the War and the boys came along and life must have been a big change. Without fame, she still had family.

She had few friends but was steady with her second husband (my father). She desired the attention, but couldn’t match the wealth needed. She did mingle with the country club set and became very good at golf.

Then my father died.

MOM broke down. She didn’t know what to do. Like many important discussions, this was never talked about. The house was paid off, dad had life insurance, but MOM had never handled any of the books.

After the family gave condolences, they all left leaving me to handle what was ahead. Neither MOM or I were prepared for what was to become.

My career was taking off, my first marriage was fading away and then there was MOM. Every weekend I would go over to the house and try and help with the checks and do some chores while she was avoiding the adult that was supposed to be MOM.

Drunken phone calls at work, tales of workmen staying after hours drinking (and stealing), and finally falling down the stairs. It was time for a change.

My second wife and I tried to care for her, but she didn’t want it. I found a place where she could reside and I could afford that would feed her and avoid her consumption of alcohol.

She called her brother and returned home to continue with her alcohol addiction and growing old ungracefully. I decided to get a divorce, but another house and take care of my MOM.

Once my brother retired from the service, he had time to help out with MOM. Being the eldest and not experiencing the woes of picking her up off the floor or bailing her out for DUI while all the while keeping an eye on her house to make sure her ‘buddies’ were not breaking in to loot.

He and I settled on moving her, so we ventured through the options and found a suitable place across town that resembled a Williamsburg lodge and her bank account could afford. It had medical, cleaning and food services and the most part, MOM was happy with it.

This time we got smart and sold her house so she couldn’t move back.

My brother would come to visit every now and then and after a brief spell we’d go out for a beer to recover. MOM wanted her car, so my wife drove it out there and walked home in the middle of the night.

I stopped having contact with my mother.

Before my mother died, my brother asked if I want to see her. “No”

A MOM is all you have. Some have good memories. Some can be problems. Kids can apply life to MOM’s because they are the grownups.

I won’t be buying flowers on Mother’s Day. I will watch others yanking around their kids and scolding them on not behaving properly and ponder the years spent with my MOM.