Dear Mother, Do You Remember?

This is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever written and I hope you all, gentle readers, can make it all the way through it as I had to.  Just remember, you only have to read it. I sadly, had to live it.  Be safe. 

Dear mother,

  People sometimes ask me about you and when I tell them that I haven’t spoken to you for 16 years, they are usually pretty shocked. I try to tell them that, simply, you aren’t a good person, and they always say ‘but she’s your mom! You should always love and stay In Touch with your mom, she gave birth to you!’

Yeah.... about that. 

  I’ll come back to that in a minute.  I’m writing you for the last and only time. I won’t respond to anything you try to say or write. I’ll block this account and any other way you try to reach out.  Your job is to read this and move on. But let’s be honest, you won’t read this. 

  You attacking my Dad on his fb account is disgusting. First off, all three of the kids have made peace with him one way or another. Secondly, this is 43 years.  43 YEARS!!! And now you come and stalk his account and try to verbally assault him for failing his children?

  So let’s talk about failing ones children, shall we. I’m best equipped to speak on this subject as I was an unwilling witness

 to the epic and monstrous failure of your so called ‘parenting’. 

  So you remember what your favourite threat to us was when we were little? ‘I should just ship you off to your retard father! You fucking bastards deserve eachother’.  

 I was 6 when you started using that old faithful of an insult. Usually followed up with ‘I wish you had never been born, I hate you all’.  Later on as we grew up we sometimes got the treat of ‘why don’t you fuck off and just die!’ 

  My mother, the woman who gave me life. About that....

  You remember telling Jen, and later me about how you tried to have me aborted but you were a week too late? Do you remember all the booze and smoking and drugs you did while I was helpless, growing inside of you, becoming stunted, losing my vision, having a hole in my heart, and being born deathly sick for that first year of my life?  I don’t remember it, but I sure got the coles notes from everyone else in the family who remembers and I DEFINITELY have the near blindness, weak health, and damaged body from your ‘parenting’. 

 Do you remember ‘spanking’ us until your arthritis got so bad that it hurt you more than it hurt us and when we’d nervously giggle at your feeble attempts, you would beat us with the belt or the wooden spoons till they broke... until we had no wooden spoons left in the house?  Do you remember the super mom parenting when you’d crash drunkenly into our bedrooms and drag us by the hair into the shower at 3 in the morning and made us have an ice cold shower for an hour or until you passed out? 

  I remember. 

I know you kept us kids away from our dad who fought so hard to stay in our lives and loved us, because welfare money was good money and you could inflict emotional damage on dad indefinitely until he finally left the province or else was going to be arrested because of your false claims to the police. 

  I know you didn’t care much about us because you let me watch 9 1/2 weeks when I was 8. How fucked up is that?

  You think you have the high ground because you chased dad away? You let random strangers in to the house while your three small children slept, sometimss in the same room, as you hot knifed your hash and oil and did your drugs and drank yourself stupid and fucked these randos. 

The biker gang members, the prostitutes and the druggies who you palled around with all year long and partied allllllll night long with.  

  I was a smart kid but I stayed up all night, all the time and it fucked up my ability to learn and to pay attention and to be a decent student.  I was lucky to scrape by and escape high school with a solid 65% average. I doubt you even knew what my final GPA was but that’s inconsequential and not something I feel is even worth bragging about. You wouldn’t give a shit, as you would say, whenever I wanted to share my successes with. ‘I don’t give a shit’ or ‘I Dont fucking care, just fuck off, okay?’ With your home made cigarette dangling from your mouth... just waking up at 4 in the afternoon. 

  I slept at school. Sometimes nodding off in classes or hiding out in spare band rooms or art closet areas and even in the bathroom stalls to try and get some rest. To feel safe because I sure didn’t feel safe at home with your biker pals leering at us and getting into fights in the living room, or in the hall of the apartment. 

  Your parties would go all weekend, Monday morning would suck for school for me but hey, you were having a good time and really earning your mother of the year medals. 

  Remember that time I was in that massive car accident in high school and I came home, pale, shaken, injured and in shock? I told you what happened and your response? ‘Well my fucking day was hard, these tenants keeping banging on my door trying to bum smokes off me like I’m their corner store’. I just walked away and went to my room. My friend Jon was with me and he idolized you, always thought you were the coolest mom because you let us drink and party and do what we wanted even during school.  That day he finally understood why I always said you weren’t that cool.  He finally saw who you really are. I sat on my bed and listened to Black by pearl jam on that shitty pawnshop stereo your drug biker boyfriend gave me, the one that skipped all the time because the CD laser reader was fucked, he sat with me and quietly said ‘man, im so so sorry.  You mom is a monster’. 

  He finally got it. 

Mother of the year? No, sorry, you don’t get that one, but you definitely are the front runner for Monster Of The Year! You will win that by a landslide. 

  Do you remember being so drunk that Jen and I had to sneak over to KUB bakery when we lived on Stella Ave? Remember how we would dumpster dive so we literally would not starve to death for lack of food?  Ketchup sandwiches were better than no sandwiches.  You probably don’t remember that because you were busy being a good mom to those beer bottles, because you sure paid them way more attention than you did to us. 

  Do you remember when Jen got hit by that car on mcgregor on our way to school that one morning?  Do you remember when Colin slipped and crashed his bike when he was 14, in the rain? He had his board games with him and slipped, it was rainy. It happens. He broke an arm and a finger in his other hand. He came home crying and in obvious pain... 

  Do you remember? He begged you to take him to the hospital but you told him to stop being a ‘fucking baby’ and sent him to bed without supper because it took him so long to get home... 

do you remember that he finally took a transit bus to the hospital two and a half day’s later by himself and both arms were in casts for that whole summer? 

  Do you remember?

I can do this all night, mother, and I probably will. I won’t stop writing this till every awful and horrifying memory I have is posted here for you to read (which you probably won’t). I’m leaving this here in your message box to read and I’ll block your account in a week or so, give you a chance to read why I will defend dad to my last breath against the ‘mother who raised me’. I’ll also post this to my personal blog, which sees a decent amount of traffic from friends, coworkers, family and strangers from across the globe. I’ll link this blog posting to my fb, my Instagram, my snapchat and anywhere else I can. Your ‘parenting’, I sure hope, is about to go viral.  And if it doesn’t then that’s ok too because the people who truly care for me and my life and my family and KNOW me and KNOW how much my dad means to me, those people will bear witness to who you really are.  A monster in a human skin.  You’re 5’1, 95lbs of terrible human being with no one to love you even if you let them.  

  Love, caring, concern, empathy... That’s weakness to you. A tool to be manipulated. 

  Do you remember, dear mother of mine, calling me names like ‘little bastard’ ‘fuck up’ ‘useless piece of shit’ ‘mistake’ ‘loser’ and your person al favourite ‘retard’... you’d hurl these words at your 7, 8, 9 year old youngest child, an underweight, double lens glasses wearing kid who got his ass kicked by bullies and ‘friends’ alike most of his school years... you’d insult me till I broke down crying, confused, hurt, aching for my mum to just hug and hold me, being crushed by your vile words and just needing my mom... 

do you remember laughing when I’d cry? Do you remember calling me a ‘little pussy’ or to ‘go to your room you fucking faggot’. Do you remember?

 I remember. All of it. 

Do you remember when I was hit by a car on arlington st and miraculously walked away unhurt but scared and upset because my bike was destroyed... do you remember laughing when I started to cry from the shock hitting me as I tried to explain to you what happened and your mom of the year response? ‘I’m not buying you a new bike you little retard’. 

  Good thing we had to either steal or build our own bikes anyway or get them from friends. 

  

Do you remember christmases? I sure do!   Let’s have an interlude from all of this super heavy commentary, yeah?

     Ahhh Christmas! The lights, the tinsel, the excitement of gifts! GI Joes, Transformers, Ninja turtles, comics. Barbies and cabbage patch kids! We lived for looking through those consumers distributors catalogues and marking what we wanted and the endless waiting for the big day! 

  Do you remember the two christmases you bought us a bunch of gifts and then one year you waited till 10 days before Christmas before finding an excuse to get mad at us and return everything.   

Everything.   All gone. You spent the money on booze and drugs though so your Christmas with the guy with the 68 mustang who drank too much, that was a fun one right?  

 The second time you waited till less than a week before and did the same thing. It worked once right? May as well put it in your SUPER MOMS GREATEST HITS playbook. 

  We at least got Christmas hampers and the little toys and socks and the turkey and food that they offered. Ana let’s not forget Koats for Kids! My school teachers at King Edward when I was 9 saw me coming to school in a couple hoodies and spring rain jacket in -32 c weather and let me get a really ugly brown jacket. But it was warm at least.  The humiliation of that night never went away. That’s the night I realized that we were well and truly the poor kids.  That even a poor north end school saw how badly in need I was but you were busy spending money on booze and partying. But hey, free jacket! More money for me to spend at green brier pub!

 Aw shit, look here! My interlude, our break away from the heavy awful stuff wasn’t an interlude after all. 

   Well, that’s because we had no break, nobody stepped in. Nobody was allowed, you kept us away from most of our family and we had no place to go. 

  Every. Single. Day.  

Relentless.  The abuses, the fear, the exhaustion,., the near starvation. That gnawing in our belly that really never went away till I was finally on my own. 

  The emotional retardation we learned from you. We still suffer from it, mother. All three of us struggle in relationships, both with friends, family and our partners. You only equipped us with the skills of verbally decimating people, lashing out blindly when we should be talking and listening and trying to work things out like adults... you sure taught us how to deal with the world. Rage issues, manipulation, verbal abuses.  Yup. We were ready to take on the world. 

Clear eyes, full heart, right, Mother of mine?  

  Do you remember? I remember all of it... I am stuck trying to fix it all, to repair myself and learn how to be a good person and how to properly love and receive love with no strings attached. 

Your gifts... we were poor of course and I know that you showed what little care for us you ever had by spending money on us but of course there were always strings attached. Those christmases are a good example. Buying school clothes was another one.  Do you remember me going to grade ten, HIGH SCHOOL!! A big year for a freshman! You bought me clothes and that same day returned shit because I argued with you about cleaning up. 

I went to my first day in high school in a Teasers Burlesque Palace baggy (down nearly my knees) sweater with paint stains.  A gift from one of your boyfriends (he forgot it when he left and never returned that last year). I got in shit from a teacher who demanded I take it off. I didn’t have a Tshirt on because you had returned my clothes, so there I was in the hall with kids swirling all around me with looks of curiosity and some laughing as I had to explain that this was all I had. The teacher asked if I even knew what the sweater referred to and I said I had no clue, he finally relented and let me go to class with the promise not to wear it again. 

  I found out in grade 12 that it was a greasy strip club. 

  Do you remember DJ, Super mom?  DJ was my dog that you decided one day to send away with your biker buddy Curt to a ‘farm’. Do you remember laughing at me after i got home from school and started watching tv, not realizing yet that DJ hadn’t come to lay with me?  And when I did ask about her you literally laughed in my face and said ‘took you long enough’ regarding me noticing. ‘I got rid of her. She’s in a farm now. Better place for her’. 

I cried for days afterward. She was my only friend in that house on Atlantic Ave. 

She was my pal. I loved her and I missed her presence for a long time. 

 Do you remember when she escaped wherever she actually was and made her way all the way home to me? I begged for you to let her stay and you finally peeled me off her and sent her away again.  She never came back.  

  Do you remember when I had my paper route on dufferin ave and a cute dog on the route was run over right In Front of my 12 year old eyes? I came home  sobbing and tried to tell you about it, about how I pet that little black lab every day for two years, it was an outside dog and loved seeing me everyday. That day I stupidly crossed the street instead of going to pet the dog because another dog was In the yard so I thought I’d let them play. 

  You called me a ‘stupid retard’ and told me to stop being a pussy and left me In the living room crying my heart out. I still can’t listen to the song Forever Young without thinking of that puppy and tearing up.  The song was on when I got home. It tore me up, but of course, you were busy drinking and playing rummoli with your pals. More important things than my lame problems, am I right? 

  Do you remember... in junior high at Isaac Newton, we came home from our big performing arts tour, after my first time away from home and for a week too!  Do you remember being at the school to pick me up with all the other kids and their parents? No.. I don’t suppose you’ll remember that because you didn’t come for me. You left 13 year old me to take my luggage (a garbage bag) on the transit bus and ride home alone, trying hard not to cry on the bus. 

  Do you remember what kept you so busy and away? You were having a house party with a bunch of biker dudes and a bunch of drugs.  

  I called Andrew to see if maybe I could come and stay with him and his family, like I did so often back then, and he said no.. he just got home and was 13 and just wanted to chill with his family. I cried as I hung up and went to bed at 430 in the afternoon on a Saturday, listening to Nazareth playing downstairs as bottles smashed, you scream-laughed and deep bass voices laughed and said unintelligible things.  I woke up sometime in the early morning, sunrise, and you were still partying. 

  Did I ever tell you one of my earliest memories I have?  We lived in St. John’s in that duplex in the north end.  Fun fact, a good buddy lives about 5 houses away from that old house, but you wouldn’t know that because you don’t know me at all.  Anyway, I must have been about 3 or 4. It was summer so I must have just turned 4. The kids in the duplex below us, Kevin and Eddie, would fight with us all the time. For some reason Colin and Jen weren’t around to protect me, the baby. Kevin and Eddie were chasing me around the house and I ran up the back fire escape to the back door, three floors up. To this day I remember screaming at the top of my lungs In terror for you to come unlock the screen door and let me in but you were listening to your music sooooo loud.  Not loud enough though because Kevin and Eddie heard my screaming for help, and I remember them turning the corner on the ground level.  I remember Kevin, the older boy (what was he, maybe 11,12?). He came around the corner and pointed at me.  He scooped up a fist sized rock in his hand and baseball pitched it up at me. 

  I remember the sound of a crack and blackness.  I don’t remember anything after that.  

  I read somewhere that major head injuries will usually have black out periods just before and/or just after the injury, sometimes the memory comes back and sometimes not. 

We didn’t go to the hospital and I, as an adult, understand why. The doctors and nurses would ask uncomfortable questions about what happened to me and why I was left alone and where was my mother? So you just let me heal up without any medical attention. 

  I dont need to remember the scars on my cheek, under my eye, and on my upper lip and forehead though. Those bad boys are still with me, all these years later, reminding of me your stellar parenting, because locking your 4 year old out of the house while you blast music and clean or drink or sit and rage or whatever the fuck you do... that’s more important than keeping even a half assed  weather eye out for your youngest child and heaven forbid if you did fuck it up and your kid was hurt pretty seriously but you refused to take him to the hospital? Braaavo! Parenting 101 right there 

Do YOU remember? I do. 

I remember everything. 

  Do you remember Jen and I fighting when we were in our teens? Do you remember her knocking me unconscious because she found out welfare covered me for contact lenses so I was getting them? Do you remember her almost throwing me out of the second storey kitchen window and me slashing at her with a kitchen knife in the same episode? 

 Do you remember what you said? ‘I don’t fucking care what you two do, kill yourselves for all I fuckin care’. 

 And you let us continue to beat the living crap out of eachother for weeks. 

  Do you remember kicking me out when I was 18 because you wanted your own life and you were sick of us ‘mooching’ off you?   I guess that’s pretty tough love and we were really cramping your style. You could only go to the bar once or twice every week, drink and do drugs and bang strangers when we went out... thanks for the life lessons there. Definitely made me a better person. 

Do you remember the racism and bigotry that came out of your mouth every single day? The hatred for anyone not as white as you was kept at such an impossible level, I sometimes thought you’d spontaneously combust. The pakis, the jigaboos, the n-words, spear chuckers, whops, and let’s not forget the WHITE people you hated on.  

  I brought Margaret to meet you when I was 16, my first true love! She was 14, blonde haired and green eyed and freckled and just a sweet and beautiful girl.  I was excited for you to meet her...

Do you remember? You talked politely to her for a couple of minutes and I thought ‘hey, this is going really well’ until you asked the question.  

‘What’s your last name?’ 

She said it and your response?

‘Fucking polack piece of shit, get the fuck out of my face you fucking piece of shit. Polacks are retards, are you a ...?’

  That was when I grabbed her hand and dragged her out of there.   I speak with her still and she doesn’t remember it. 

But I remember. 

You ask dad if he remembered his first three kids...

  He remembered us... every single day and he hated leaving us knowing full well what he was leaving us with.  I dont blame him nor should I. You chased him off. You abused him like you did us, you made this fucked up little drama, and it played out in a way you thought was good for you..

...

Except now here we are. Your son, defending his dad against the ‘Monster of the year’ and I won’t stop.  I won’t stop talking to him and learning about who he is and where he comes from and learning how to be decent and good and a better man.  

  He has taught me how to care and listen. To be objective.  He’s taught me how to love someone unconditionally.  I watch him do it every single day. I see him be vulnerable and recognize a true man. 

Your idea of a man... if he isn’t beating you up then he’s not a real man, right mother? 

  I remember, you see. I remember you insulting and abusing these guys and when they refused to beat the living shit out of you, that’s what you’d say. ‘You’re not a real man! Pussy! Can’t even hit a woman!’  And you’d laugh maniacally. 

Do you remember? 

I do. And I chose to build a relationship with my dad. He’s the best man I know and I need him to stick around awhile because, as you and I both know, I still need to work on things, I have a lot to learn about being a good and proper man and person. 

  I’ve always been a late bloomer but I eventually get there. 

  So, mother of mine, I will end this missive and this ‘relationship’ as it were, on a simple note.  

  Dad is loved. He is wanted and needed and cared about. Elaine is my mom and she has watched out and cared for me for so long and unconditionally that I’m finally starting to understand what a good mother looks like. 

  Im a better man now. You don’t get credit for that.  I’m better in spite of you, not because of you. 

I’m blessed with mom figures who took me in and tried to keep me out of trouble. Andrews Mom Annemarie is one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever known and took in this dirty and beat up stray from day one.  My fiancé, Meaghan, who’s amazing in her own right... her mom, just the most decent and caring woman you could ask for.  I watch my friends with their kids and I’m quietly taking notes on what good parents... and most importantly... what good mums look like and I’m learning quickly. 

You go back to your booze and abusive relationships, you go back to Jen and cry about why your boys don’t want to talk to you and why you can’t understand why they don’t want to speak with their mother... you’ll never change, you’ll never try to be better, you’ll never ask forgiveness or admit all of the wrongs you’ve done. My list is the smallest of the kids, my memories not as long and sharp as Colin or Jennifer’s, and look at this... why would anyone in their right mind reconnect with a ‘monster of the year’ like you? 

  I will hold to the few good memories I do have. You holding me and smoking and talking on the phone when I was very young and I could hear your voice and vibrations through your chest as you chatted with someone.  Your gift of a green thumb, seems I have that, and your love of music.  I will take those things and hold them close in memory of the mother who died long ago, causes unknown, and left behind a truly monstrous creature to raise three vulnerable children who almost didn’t make it out alive. 

  Some argue that not all of us did, but the jury is still out. Goodbye Rosemary.