My Mother’s Answer

Parents are supposedly always together for their family, but what if the mother is only losing pieces of herself for the sake of her children. My mother was more of a parent to me than my father, she did everything my father deemed not worth his time. She worked two jobs driving a bus for school and delivering mail, both all to help medical bills and every other necessity in my family’s life. Outdoor activities would be covered by her, from splitting wood to feeding the barn animals. I did not know that my mother’s selflessness was causing pain for her until I decided to ask a question that would change my perspective on my mother and my father forever.

I wanted any dirty little secrets I could get about my father at the time, I was 14 and I hated my father for how he had treated me as a child. For what he put me through I wanted whatever reasons I could gather to hate my father with every emotion in my body. I wanted even more proof for the horrible man I had been raised by, indoctrinated with ideas of how to live life without putting forth any effort. He was a criminal and my childhood was his crime, he was a writing prompt, and my mother held the pencil that wrote the answers.

I worked up all the courage I could; scared that for whatever reason she could find be mad at me for asking something so personal, and asked her.

“Mom, why exactly did you divorce dad? Was it the alcohol?”. I had no idea what she might say or do with me having asked her something so personal and painful that it ended a marriage that started straight out of high school.

I was only scared until she opened a pandora’s box of my childhood and her marriage where she let loose all the demons that would confirm my every belief of my father. She told me of when my father became abusive, providing him with the excuse of alcohol making him act that way when it was on accounts of so many of my siblings of how they experienced this as well. She threw out all the times that my father would never pay attention to me or my youngest sister or when he would start pointless arguments with my second youngest sister when she would hang out with my mother because of my father’s jealousy.

Like a fountain that I had thrown so many coins in, she granted my wish for knowledge and secrets. This fountain ran black, dark of hatred and terror; her imposition that I used to give myself more joy, was causing my mother pain.

I did not know why the thought of her marriage made her sad since she always said she hated and gave him the pseudonym of “idiot”. What I used for my own personal benefit was turning out to be more of a detriment to my relationship with my mother, I believe she thought I want to know so I knew which person to blame for their bad marriage. Still, she told me the truth of the marriage; she told me more truth in that conversation than my father had my entire life.

I did not know why the thought of her marriage made her sad since she always said she hated and gave him the pseudonym of “idiot”. What I used for my own personal benefit was turning out to be more of a detriment to my relationship with my mother, I believe she thought I want to know so I knew which person to blame for their bad marriage. Still, she told me the truth of the marriage.

She told me all these events that I had never once stopped and realized were going on. But the truth was much more deadly than I ever thought and facing these truths was painful for everyone, she was a victim and I was perpetuating this pain with my questions.

In retrospect, I should have never brought this topic up to her, I already hated my father, but from my own selfish desires, I brought the pain back to my family even for the short time that it was. From my experience, I learned one key element of most questions,  I realized that they are evil, they hold nothing but malignant intent and end up causing pain. I brought that pain back to my family even for the short time that it was.

Photo by Demmer S on Foter.com / CC BY-NC-ND