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My sister and I arrived at our mom’s house on a Wednesday; it was her weekend to take care of us. Though tears were a usual sight in her eyes, the heaviness of her sorrow that day was palpable.
“Girls, come to the living room. We need to talk.”
That was my warning. I braced myself for the worst, a reflex developed since the day she whisked us away from our father’s house in a dramatic escape from her marriage. As she began to weep, I held her tight, trying to ease her pain. “I’m here for you, Mom.”
But then came the words that would change everything. “Your stepfather and I are bankrupt. We have to move to Oklahoma, and we’re leaving Friday. You’ll be living with your dad.”
In just two days, she was leaving, moving out of state without us. Despite her increasingly erratic behavior over the years, I was still blindsided. Mothers simply don’t abandon their children.
I thought the bond formed when she carried me would always keep us connected. My instincts screamed that this shouldn’t be happening, yet it was. I suppressed my pain, trying to understand why I wasn’t enough to make her stay.
Maybe she would still be my mother, just from a distance; a phone call away in a city nine hours away. But what do you do with 48 hours left with your mom?
I wanted to make our last night special, but before I could voice my thoughts, she announced, “I’m going to see my friend Giselle. She’s having a tough time.” My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. This was the woman I was supposed to spend my last evening with, yet she chose a friend over me.
We ended up spending the night packing for our move. I don’t recall her coming back that night; I just woke up to the sound of the alarm clock on Friday.
As my sister walked to her school, I packed my things in our mom’s car for the final drop-off. The silence felt heavy as she turned up the music, but soon her sobs broke through. I told myself, “Don’t cry; be strong.”
Minutes before we arrived, she said, “I’m not worried about you; I’m only worried about your sister. Promise me you’ll take care of her.” I promised.
I stepped out of the car and hugged her, saying I loved her. She returned the sentiment but never mentioned calling once she settled in her new life. There was no plan for our future together.
Stumbling into school, I felt lost. The bell rang, and she was gone. My father sent a coworker to pick me up that afternoon, and I felt humiliated, being the motherless girl who needed a ride. My father’s emotional oblivion hurt more than his busy schedule.
The plan was to grab our things from our mother’s empty house, which she would return to next week to collect her belongings. My sister and I tried to lift each other’s spirits by dancing to Michael Jackson songs, pretending it was a party rather than an emotional funeral for our family life.
As the sun set and my father was late, a sense of anger bubbled within me for being left alone. I didn’t have a license, but I rummaged for the keys to our mom’s car. “Let’s get some food,” I told my sister.
Though I was usually the obedient child, I felt the need to break the rules now that we had no parents looking after us. I took back roads to the nearest fast-food place, paranoid someone would catch me driving my mother’s car. After grabbing food, I sped home, my drink spilling and saturating the vehicle.
“I can’t believe I did this,” I muttered, hastily trying to clean up the mess. When I eventually confessed to my mother about borrowing her car, her reaction was minimal, claiming she had done worse things in her youth. “I ran away and slept in an airport when my mother signed me away to a pedophile,” she said, as if that justified everything.
Weeks turned into months, and I tried to call her, but her voice was sharp and distant. She didn’t have time for me, and I realized her role as my mother had slipped away the day she left.
The longing for a mother became deeper, and each time she contacted me, it felt like I was losing her again. Each phone call was a reminder of who she used to be, and I yearned for our connection.
When I visited her years later, she appeared more as a distant relative than my mother. We took a submarine tour, but when I turned around, she was curled up sobbing on the stairs. My sister suggested we leave her be; she was just processing. But I was not alright.
Eventually, we helped her up, but I found myself slipping back into a caretaker role, even as my own needs faded. Traumas seemed to pass from one generation to the next, and I resolved to break that cycle.
I had to accept the reality that I didn’t have a mother who was present in my life. But even in that void, I never stopped loving her or the idea of her.
Years later, I still felt that lost child searching for her mother. Perhaps one day, we will meet again where our traumas have faded away, and all that will remain is love. Until then, I will learn to mother myself.
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Summary
This narrative reflects the profound emotional impact of a mother leaving her children, exploring themes of abandonment, loss, and the struggle to create a sense of self in the absence of maternal support. The protagonist’s journey highlights the complexities of familial relationships, trauma, and the yearning for connection, ultimately leading to the realization of self-love and acceptance.