Friday is going to be a happy day here in Casa de Wench. My mama and Aunt Dee are coming. They can only come for the day, and already my stomach is knotting in dread at the thought of them leaving.
You might call me silly. I might call you a poo-poo head, so maybe we’re even on that one. But anyways. My mother and I, were not always close, and I am going to try and explain why I’m already dreading her leaving when she hasn’t even gotten here yet.
When I was a teeny tiny girl, my mama was the center of my universe. For reasons that don’t really need to be rehashed, we grew estranged as the years went by. To the point where, well, we just didn’t really see eye to eye on some things, and it led to some big big rifts.
My mama was there for the birth of BabyBoy, and it meant the world to me. She had also come down on Labor Day (the holiday) to help me get the house ready, and brought me things so my son would have what he needed when he came into the world. Having her there in the labor room with me was a source of great strength and comfort to me. Mr. Wench was there too, and his presence was just as great a comfort and support to me. Just so you don’t go all “Where’s the love for Mister?”. She came when my son was a week and a half old for a three day, two night stay. I think it was that long. It’s lost in the sleepy haze.
As some of you may or may not know, my stepfather passed away in 2008, and it really hit me hard. He never met ToddlerGirl, who was 9 months old when he died. Things had degenerated that badly between my mom and I that my stepfather hadn’t met my middle child. Adding insult to injury was that my stepfather and I had managed to foster a modicum of mutual respect for each other, and I thought maybe in time we’d have a normal stepparent/stepkid relationship. But that never happened.
And then Mister’s stepdad passed away, very suddenly, at the age of 48, last year. BabyBoy was the bit of good news we needed to soften the blow, as I found out I was pregnant about a month later.
So it kinda just hit me hard, and suddenly, that my mama and I have lost time. And though you can never get it back, you still feel the need to. I don’t think Mister will ever understand, and to be honest, I’m glad he won’t, because the only way anyone could understand is if they’ve gone through a lengthy estrangement. My mom is my mom again, and I can’t get back the lost time, and I desperately want to. I miss being closer distance wise to my mom. I miss being able to drive to her house if I just wanted to get away from all the crap that was bothering me.
When I visit my mom, I don’t want to leave. When she comes to visit me, I want to grab her leg and beg and plead with her not to go. But I rein it in, because I am, unfortunately, an adult, and cannot do such things. I am always in tears before she reaches the end of my street.
So much lost time, and distance doesn’t often grant us the chance to make up for it. I am looking forward to Friday morning…and I am dreading Friday night.
Catch you on the flipside.