SHE

A pronoun meant for simple repetitive use without a whole lot of meaning or emotions. This pronoun is used with a capital letter to represent the name of the woman I came from. It is the half way mark that I have come to between Mom which is a grossly inappropriate name for something She didn't do for me which is mother and Velma which is her name and has more disrespect than I intend to apply. So for all intent and purposes I have been calling her "She" whenever I speak about her. Maybe that will change......

She was born January 9, 1946 as Velma Jean Gross. It was said that She was one of two. Her twin brother died an infant, SIDS. She was kinda spoiled and very selfish. She was known for saying that the reason she had so many children was because she didn't want us to feel alone like she did growing up. To me that was code for, "If I have enough of you there will enough so that I won't have to take care any of you very much." though those words were never actually spoken. Each of my siblings left her care sooner than most children do for varying reason both coerced and not. All before a graduating age except for "D" her favorite but that is a totally different story for a different blog. She passed away July 3rd, 2000.

I have very few good memories of her but many good thoughts from when I was kid that help to hold a mental image of her in my mind. I remember thinking she was quite possibly the most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on. The betrayal of reality was that it was just the outside that was beautiful. She was a model. Not like supermodel but she did some commercial stuff local to Sacramento. She modeled clothes that white collar Caucasian males would buy for their stay-at-home wives. She sold these clothes for a lady that owned a boutique on the corner of Howe and Arden near Arden Fair Mall and California State Fair Grounds. They would go to a Country Club across from a golf course. The club was called "The Golden Tee". She would model different outfits and sell raffle tickets for Ducks Unlimited. This job afforded her the ability to talk to people and flirt for money. Its what she loved to do the most, flirt. Nadia, the lady that owned the boutique, wasn't very good to my mother money wise but I suspect She knew it and didn't really care. My little sister and I loved playing in the clothes She got to keep and the way they smelled like her. Her beauty and her smell round out the image that is still her to me.

Two very distinct contrasting stories about what I remember one good and one bad and then the purpose for this blog dedicated to her. First the stories.

Rain -
I staring walking to school at a very age, kindergarten age 5, by myself. I think I was in first grade when I was walking home in a bad rain. The first corner you come to out of the school gate was always the first to flood. I was really tiny then...kind of a waif, wind and rain went right through me. After wading through the almost waist high water with my clear Tweedy Bird umbrella I walked that long street of Thomas Drive toward my house. As I was about to cross the last street to begin the last leg of my walk home I see someone running toward me. The person is really running. At first I was a little worried. Then the person started to come into clearer view and I noticed it was her. She must have looked out of the kitchen window and noticed that it was really coming down. She was running to get me. She scooped me up and ran back to the house. It was less than a full block back. When we got there soaked, she made me soup and let me have a pixie stick...it was grape my favorite.

I am not your accomplice-
It was freshmen year in high school I found out that She was dealing drugs. Her coast guard boyfriend who kind of liked me was out on a mission and had been away for a while. So left to her own devices she took up with a druggie. I have always said that her genitals must have been laced in gold or something because the women had the hardest time getting rid of anyone she slept with. The druggie was no different. One night after Mr. Coast Guard got back a fight broke out. Now I have to mention that the druggie was not a big guy. He was the quintessential druggie stereotypical in every way. So when this fight broke out it was unmatched from the first harsh word spoken. Then Mr. Coast Guard pulled a knife. I don't know how many times he stabbed the druggie but it was enough to leave him fighting for his life. She and Mr. Coast Guard had some explaining to do so they left the kids in my care. Later on that night a phone from Her asked me to move the knife for her to a safe place away from the apartment we lived. When I refused to become an accomplice she told me I had better not be home when she returned. I walked the streets for some hours until being cold led me back home to my brother and sisters. The next morning She was pist but she didn't speak to me not for several days actually. She pouted and gave the silent treatment like a child. It wasn't too long afterward that she kicked me out of the house for good for something more ludicrous than not moving a knife.

I have always been of the mindset that a happy medium should be reached if at all possible. I have rationalized what every human on earth knows full well. You cannot go back nor can you recapture what is lost or gain something that has never been. I have been more fortunate in becoming a mother. I realize that I am not the child in this scenario but what I do get out of being a mom is the redemption in doing it the right way and reclaiming some of the magic of a child that I was robbed. I know through just experience and putting what I knew about her and what it feels like to be a mom the choices she faced. I have figured out why she made the ones she did and how it probably made her a little miserable that she didn't make better choices. What is greater still is my daughter has restored me to a place where what could have been isn't killing me anymore and what will never be doesn't haunt my dreams.

I also believe that things happen for a reason and a purpose even when we are not sure of either. I believe that the circle of living is such that you get a chance to be whole even when you miss out on the little things. You will live long enough to see fences mend, for you to evolve, to share, to break and be broken and to have the cycle be as such that it folds onto itself creating a correlation to what was then to what is now. That fold is where it comes down to defining you, the perfect you. The you that realizes that from a bad mother came a great mother to a great child who will one day pay you a great honor and have kids that will benefit from your hardships and it will be become your legacy to break chains and clear a new path. That is what SHE ultimately made me. The new legacy.

People tell me all the time that I will one day need to make peace with her but I know that there is no peace to be made really. She was who she was and it made me who I am today. In a weird way I am grateful. I can't imagine being something different and more and more as time goes on I am sure I don't want to be. So all that is left to say is "Thanks Mom, rest in peace."