My mother abandoned me and my sister during my 7th grade and the entire summer before my 8th grade. Many months had passed before my godmother, Betty, came to my grandparents’ house to inform me that she had heard from my mother. Until Betty’s arrival, I spent so much time trying to adjust to my mother’s absence that I never envisioned or fantasized about her reentering my life. In many ways, I was in denial and learning that she had a message for me was almost too much to emotionally absorb.
Betty, who was often upbeat, seemed morose and weighed down by our meeting. Maybe Betty could not fully comprehend what had happened to me and Mickey but was now given the uncomfortable task of delivering news to me. We exchanged pleasantries, and Betty broached the subject of my mother by saying, “Johnny, I heard from your mother, and she wanted me to tell you that she misses you and loves you.”
Betty’s words rang hollow with me since I never equated love with abandonment. It took me a few moments to process them before I asked, “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine and doing well.”
This comment engulfed me with consternation. It just seemed so unfair that my mother was doing “well” while her children and the rest of the family struggled with not only the emotional damage she selfishly created but also with the practical side of continuing our lives in a prudent and self-supportive manner. Eventually I responded, “I am glad she is doing well. Do you know where she is or what she is doing?”
Betty then reached into her purse and handed me an envelope. Hesitating with her words, Betty said, “This is from your mother, and she wanted me to give it to you.” She continued her part of the conversation by stating, “Your mother is in Florida, and she is working as a waitress.”
I was stunned because she could have mailed a letter directly to me or my grandparents. Instead, she surreptitiously sent the letter for Betty to deliver. I curiously asked, “Why would she go to Florida?” Overwhelmed by my disbelief that she would have traveled so far and put so much distance between herself and her family, I took a deep breath. Besides, what would be the allure of Florida? It made me realize that my mother’s decision to leave her children and her family was not spontaneous but carefully planned. It seemed implausible that someone would leave their entire family and accidentally end up in Florida.
Betty grabbed my hand and hugged me. Without breaking our embrace, she pulled back and looked me directly in the eyes. In a soft voice, she said, “I don’t know.” Tears welled up in her eyes as she continued, “I have to go.” She softly pulled away from our embrace and left in her car.
After Betty left I told my grandparents everything I knew about my mother. They did not seem surprised, and I wondered if they already knew where my mother was and what she was doing. Were they trying to protect me and Mickey? I hugged them and went to my room to read my letter. When I opened it, it had the same stale, smoke smell as my mother. It was short, and she told me in the letter that she missed Mickey and me more than either of us could imagine. I didn’t fully believe her.
I have written 50 blog posts about growing up in Saginaw in a highly dysfunctional family. In one of my early blog posts I shared a conversation with my mother in her bar. In that post I wrote the following:
My mother loved three things in life: smoking, drinking, and screwing. This isn’t an assumption but an admission. One that Shirley willingly gave when I asked her one night about what she loved most in the world. I was visiting home from college and, while sitting with my mother in her bar, J&J, hoped to elicit some sort of sentimental confession from her. Having been surprised by her blunt answer, I reminded my mother of her three children, to which she responded, “Oh, I like you guys too.”
Even though my mother may not have been nominated for “Mother of the Year,” she was at least incredibly honest.
(Next week: My Mother Returns)
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