Today, I went to the funeral of a sweet old woman, and old family friend, whom I considered my 3rd mom. She was the last of my personal maternal trio to leave this earth. I was told a few days ago of this sad event, and was very distraught to find out that the funeral was to take place on the eve I had a presentation for a class I am currently taking. But, mercifully, I got to go this morning, and pay my final respects. I thought I would be able to walk in there, view the body, go through the motions and leave. After all, I hadn't seen her in so long. Instead, a sudden wave of emotions overtook me as I witnessed her there lying so still and so very devoid of life. All those memories of my childhood came flooding back quite suddenly. I began sobbing uncontrollably at the thought of how could this woman, who had given so much of herself, not only to me, but to everyone she came in contact with had spent the last few years of her life blind from Diabetes, bedridden, and wilting in a nursing home?
In my youth, she had been employed as a Home Attendant assigned to take care of my own bedridden grandmother, who also suffered from Diabetes. By this time, my grandmother had lost most of both legs and had a stroke which left her left arm stiff and immobile. The real irony is that she was the only person, who carried my grandmother out of bed to avoid her from getting bed sores. Instead of using the bed pan and letting her skin decay, she would place her on a toilet and massage her to ensure her circulation would not become a problem. She used to take my grandma outside in her wheelchair every time the weather permitted, and prepared her food meticulously. She improved my grandmother's quality of life immensely during her final days. She was also one of the few people who was there until my grandmother's final days some 7 years later.
I first met this woman when I was 12. I was a broken little soul then. My own biological mother had never taken on the responsibilities a parent should have. She had always been more concerned with her own affairs rather than mine. I had ended up being sent away to relatives overseas I had never met before by the time I was 7. I returned to the US some 2 years later and once my grandmother became sick. It was then my mother decided I would be better off staying a while with one of her friends, whom I had also never met before. I spent 6 long months at this woman's home. She was a kind old woman, but I resented just being dropped off in her apartment, and even more so in not being allowed to come back home, particularly since I was geographically only a few blocks away. In time, I began to feel that my own mother had never wanted me, and I began to increasingly resent her. She never did anything to prove otherwise. I can't say I recall my mother ever hugging me, or directing kind words my way. She either simply criticized me when I didn't live up to her expectations, or would not say anything at all. I suppose somewhere along her own upbringing she must have had some own issues with her mother, and simply did what she had been taught to do, not knowing any better. I do remember my mother and my grandmother disagreeing constantly.
I recall another time when I had the Chicken Pox. I was about 13. I didn't get a lot of spots all over my body, but one on my stomach, a few on my buttocks, and one on my inner thigh, but there was a lot of fever and overall discomfort for me. Can you believe my own mother wasn't even aware I ever had the Chicken Pox? I simply could not believe it. My mom always had me fend for myself, and refused to stock the fridge with an adequate supply of food, which wouldn't have been a problem if she ever cooked. It was this sweet, and very petite dark skinned woman, who had nursed me back to health the handful of times when I was sick. She was the one who bought groceries from her own home so I could eat something when I got back home from school. It was this tiny, but very imposing woman who had argued furiously with my mother to take me to a hospital when I had an injury which caused a 2 inch gash on the top front portion of my left cheek. And through all this, my mother's own resentment grew towards her until there was an overwhelming tension in the air whenever the 2 were in the same room.
Oh, how my mother had wanted her to walk away and abandon us, but this angelic stranger would not. She persisted, and continued to care for me and my grandmother. She was such a humanitarian, so wonderfully compassionate, and so mercifully maternal. I am not sure what type of person I would be today if we had not crossed paths. I was on the verge of being lost, and never finding my way back, but her tender guidance showed me that I should care about myself because she believed in me. She wanted me to grow up to be someone I would be proud to be. Slowly, but surely I have reached this goal she set before me. I wish she could have seen me as an adult, and maybe be proud of me, too.
I lost contact with her when my grandmother died. That same year, I had a child and my mother threw me out of the house over some silly argument. By this time, I was getting too big to intimidate and I was becoming physically stronger. My mother was rather shocked the day my resentment culminated, and I resisted by blocking her hand and holding it in my grasp as she went to hit me. I held her hand until she finally relented, and I walked away from her. She was no longer that big scary figure, but a fragile unbalanced woman, who did not have total control over me anymore.
Eventually, I was forced to come back home since I had no where else to go and no means to support myself, but my mother made it no secret how ashamed she was of me because of my pregnancy. Once I had my daughter, my mother wanted me to contribute financially to the household once more so I began taking odd jobs. There were too many to count, and some which could have led me to very dark places. Since I had learned to always fend for myself, I was always too proud and protective of myself to let anyone manipulate me that way. Even today, I am not certain if I just got lucky, or if I was actually that smart to navigate through so many barriers.
Through time, my life took many different turns. I had a lot of bad relationships. I made many mistakes as a parent, but I somehow managed to turn my life around despite my mother. I sometimes think her contempt towards me motivated me more to prove her wrong. I finally did finish college. I had to be smart and select jobs which financed my studies, and I eventually gained employment which allowed me to be independent; to support myself, my oldest daughter, and a younger one I had along the way even through the midsts of a divorce.
So, a few years ago, this now defunct mother figure came to mind. By this time, my own mother had passed, and the complexity of emotions which accompanied that period had wavered. I was finally at peace, and I sought out this old woman on Mother's Day of 2006. I picked up some flowers and went to see her. It was so overwhelming for me to see her barely mobile anymore. She had gone completely blind, and depended on her immediate family to take care of her daily needs. I was very glad to see her, but her condition saddened me. I was touched even more deeply by the fact that she still remembered me as being a child in crisis, a child who needed care, a child who needed to find her way in life, but still a child, and not an adult. I know my visit moved her, and it was reciprocal. I loved seeing her. It had been so long since I had seen her last, and I knew her kind and trusting self was inside of that frail continuously aging body still untouched. It truly was a bittersweet moment visiting her that one time.
In my youth, she had been employed as a Home Attendant assigned to take care of my own bedridden grandmother, who also suffered from Diabetes. By this time, my grandmother had lost most of both legs and had a stroke which left her left arm stiff and immobile. The real irony is that she was the only person, who carried my grandmother out of bed to avoid her from getting bed sores. Instead of using the bed pan and letting her skin decay, she would place her on a toilet and massage her to ensure her circulation would not become a problem. She used to take my grandma outside in her wheelchair every time the weather permitted, and prepared her food meticulously. She improved my grandmother's quality of life immensely during her final days. She was also one of the few people who was there until my grandmother's final days some 7 years later.
I first met this woman when I was 12. I was a broken little soul then. My own biological mother had never taken on the responsibilities a parent should have. She had always been more concerned with her own affairs rather than mine. I had ended up being sent away to relatives overseas I had never met before by the time I was 7. I returned to the US some 2 years later and once my grandmother became sick. It was then my mother decided I would be better off staying a while with one of her friends, whom I had also never met before. I spent 6 long months at this woman's home. She was a kind old woman, but I resented just being dropped off in her apartment, and even more so in not being allowed to come back home, particularly since I was geographically only a few blocks away. In time, I began to feel that my own mother had never wanted me, and I began to increasingly resent her. She never did anything to prove otherwise. I can't say I recall my mother ever hugging me, or directing kind words my way. She either simply criticized me when I didn't live up to her expectations, or would not say anything at all. I suppose somewhere along her own upbringing she must have had some own issues with her mother, and simply did what she had been taught to do, not knowing any better. I do remember my mother and my grandmother disagreeing constantly.
I recall another time when I had the Chicken Pox. I was about 13. I didn't get a lot of spots all over my body, but one on my stomach, a few on my buttocks, and one on my inner thigh, but there was a lot of fever and overall discomfort for me. Can you believe my own mother wasn't even aware I ever had the Chicken Pox? I simply could not believe it. My mom always had me fend for myself, and refused to stock the fridge with an adequate supply of food, which wouldn't have been a problem if she ever cooked. It was this sweet, and very petite dark skinned woman, who had nursed me back to health the handful of times when I was sick. She was the one who bought groceries from her own home so I could eat something when I got back home from school. It was this tiny, but very imposing woman who had argued furiously with my mother to take me to a hospital when I had an injury which caused a 2 inch gash on the top front portion of my left cheek. And through all this, my mother's own resentment grew towards her until there was an overwhelming tension in the air whenever the 2 were in the same room.
Oh, how my mother had wanted her to walk away and abandon us, but this angelic stranger would not. She persisted, and continued to care for me and my grandmother. She was such a humanitarian, so wonderfully compassionate, and so mercifully maternal. I am not sure what type of person I would be today if we had not crossed paths. I was on the verge of being lost, and never finding my way back, but her tender guidance showed me that I should care about myself because she believed in me. She wanted me to grow up to be someone I would be proud to be. Slowly, but surely I have reached this goal she set before me. I wish she could have seen me as an adult, and maybe be proud of me, too.
I lost contact with her when my grandmother died. That same year, I had a child and my mother threw me out of the house over some silly argument. By this time, I was getting too big to intimidate and I was becoming physically stronger. My mother was rather shocked the day my resentment culminated, and I resisted by blocking her hand and holding it in my grasp as she went to hit me. I held her hand until she finally relented, and I walked away from her. She was no longer that big scary figure, but a fragile unbalanced woman, who did not have total control over me anymore.
Eventually, I was forced to come back home since I had no where else to go and no means to support myself, but my mother made it no secret how ashamed she was of me because of my pregnancy. Once I had my daughter, my mother wanted me to contribute financially to the household once more so I began taking odd jobs. There were too many to count, and some which could have led me to very dark places. Since I had learned to always fend for myself, I was always too proud and protective of myself to let anyone manipulate me that way. Even today, I am not certain if I just got lucky, or if I was actually that smart to navigate through so many barriers.
Through time, my life took many different turns. I had a lot of bad relationships. I made many mistakes as a parent, but I somehow managed to turn my life around despite my mother. I sometimes think her contempt towards me motivated me more to prove her wrong. I finally did finish college. I had to be smart and select jobs which financed my studies, and I eventually gained employment which allowed me to be independent; to support myself, my oldest daughter, and a younger one I had along the way even through the midsts of a divorce.
So, a few years ago, this now defunct mother figure came to mind. By this time, my own mother had passed, and the complexity of emotions which accompanied that period had wavered. I was finally at peace, and I sought out this old woman on Mother's Day of 2006. I picked up some flowers and went to see her. It was so overwhelming for me to see her barely mobile anymore. She had gone completely blind, and depended on her immediate family to take care of her daily needs. I was very glad to see her, but her condition saddened me. I was touched even more deeply by the fact that she still remembered me as being a child in crisis, a child who needed care, a child who needed to find her way in life, but still a child, and not an adult. I know my visit moved her, and it was reciprocal. I loved seeing her. It had been so long since I had seen her last, and I knew her kind and trusting self was inside of that frail continuously aging body still untouched. It truly was a bittersweet moment visiting her that one time.
After that, I regret to say I didn't make more of an effort to visit her regularly, and we lost contact once again until a few weeks back during this current year. I visited her daughter's house where I had seen her last and found out she had been taken to a local nursing home. I was so disappointed to discover she wasn't there anymore, and I wasn't going to see her during my visit. Her daughter wasn't too forthcoming with the information as to where exactly she was now living nor who could visit, and what visiting hours were allowed. I didn't think it was my place to insist any further. And finally, this past Sunday afternoon, I was informed she died the previous evening. I was beside myself when I heard the news. She was the last person in this wold who truly demonstrated she cared for me as her own child. I was now entirely lacking any parental figure and it made me feel alone once more.
After my time at the funeral home today, I had to return to work. I was playing Mariah Carey's Bye Bye on my Ipod and was struggling to keep it together as I commuted into Manhattan on a crowded train surrounded by strangers:
As much as I tried to fight it, I kept tearing up, but it felt good to relive all those moments in my head. I envisioned her as she was 30 years ago fussing in our kitchenette preparing tuna salad sandwiches for me when I got home from school. She always made them just the way I liked them with extra mayonnaise, and she would mash up the fish until it almost turned into the texture of a pate rather than chunks. She just always went that extra mile. Of course, I still feel her loss. It is very fresh in my mind, and in my heart, but this tragic event has brought to light for me how lucky I was to have met her, and for her to have rescued me when I needed it. A part of her will always live inside of me, and frankly, I think it is the part that loves and feels compassion for others. It is the part of me that wants to believe the best in others, and give them the benefit of the doubt. Good bye, JRA. I will never forget you!
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