Full Circle

This morning I went for my 5-mile hike. I've fallen out of the habit of it the last several months; and since "taking care of myself" is once again on my radar, I'm trying to get back to it at least once a week. Having fortunately managed to return to a fairly consistent work schedule, I can look forward to Saturdays off - so starting the day off with an early morning hike seems to be the best use of those hours where I would normally either be sleeping or playing on the computer. And it forces me to go outside. Today happened to be a beautiful, sunny Southern California day - I was happy I didn't miss it.

When I returned home, I decided to make myself breakfast with some Thanksgiving Day leftover spiral ham compliments of one of my neighbors. I am blessed with some really cool neighbors. The house I live in is the same house I grew up in as a kid, and there are a few neighbors still around that knew me from back then. So of course, they also knew the Bunny when we moved back here in 2006 or so, and they knew when he died.. I know I inspire people to worry about me (I'm not sure why exactly; I don't think I give off any "helpless" vibes) and I believe my neighbors to be no different. They come by frequently to see how I am doing, to ask how Christopher is doing and if I've heard from him lately. They feed my animals when I have to go away for a few days. They keep an eye on my house when strangers show up on my doorstep. And they share their food with me.

Anybody who knows me knows my passion for food. I love to cook. I love to eat. I have about a hundred recipe books, and I have several internet websites bookmarked that have recipes or that talk about food. But inside my head, I place special significance on an individual when I allow them feed me. From a very young age, I was fashioned to be very independent and self-sufficient. I don't like to be pampered or catered to as a general rule. Nine times out of ten, I'm a "Let's split the check" sort of girl. 

When I first started dating the Bunny, he never let me pay for food. And from the beginning, I allowed it. Not because I'm the high-maintenance type or because I expected him to - far from it. Generally, I will refrain from going out in the first place if I don't feel like I can cover my own meal... because from my point of view I don't wish anyone to gain an unfair advantage over me. If somebody feeds me, then I must "owe" them.

These thoughts bring me back to my mom. I remember as a kid that my mom never liked anyone else to do anything for her. But hopefully where I am different is because I recognize that, as an adult, I tend to do a lot of stuff for other people AND because I believe it's important (emotionally) for human beings to engage in reciprocation, I bend my independence rules just a bit... the result being: I get a lot of free lunches. I love food, and I love being appreciated.

While I was making my breakfast, one of my aunts called. Another of my mom's sisters, Tia Angela had missed the Thanksgiving gathering yesterday at Tia Fatima & Tio Cacho's house. I noticed her absence along with a few of my other cousins that had scheduling conflicts, but I guess I was surprised just a bit that I got a phone call. A few minutes into the conversation, and my questions were answered.

She was calling about my mom.

If you read the post immediately before this one, you will remember my mentioning receiving a letter addressed to my brother in a conversation with my Tia Fatima. It wasn't meant to be a secret or anything; I guess I didn't figure it was newsworthy enough to share with anybody. But clearly the information was communicated to other family members, because here was Tia Angela calling me and talking about it. What she wanted was to make sure that "if I talked to my mom" to please give her Tia Angela's cell phone number and tell her to call her so they could talk. Most of the family has not seen or heard from my mom in many years; some story about my mom getting involved with some "bad people" and basically she was forced to go underground so these people would not find her and hurt her, and by association find the rest of us and hurt us. I take every story about my mom with a grain of salt. My personal feeling is that the woman has some serious mental problems. So as far as going underground and not being anywhere in my vicinity, to me that's always been a good thing.

I was proud of myself for understanding most of the conversation between Tia Angela and myself (she was talking in Spanish); I've always wished I was fluent in Spanish but for whatever reason mastery of the language has always eluded me. My parents used to talk Spanish around me when I was a kid - when they didn't want me to know what they were talking about - and so I created my own mental block of "I can't understand I can't understand I can't understand" which clearly is encased in some kind of emotional concrete. 

I've come to the realization that there is a distinct possibility that I will, at some point in my life, come face to face with my mom again. At least I have some notice, so I can think about it, and hypothesize, and figure out what my potential responses would be to that event. Even just thinking about her, I feel the intensity of the strongest emotion: anger. I'm angry at her. I'm angry that she made my life as a kid a living hell. I'm angry that she pretended to be this "perfect mom" in front of all of my friends so everyone thought I was fucking crazy. I'm angry that I was so powerless against her.

But what do I want? Do I want retribution? Revenge? An apology? I don't expect any of those things. And when I take a step back and I evaluate what kind of person she is (from a daughter's perspective) and what her life must have been like... I feel sorry for her. Whatever the situation, to cut oneself off from one's family for years, to not even know or be part of the lives of your own children - that's got to be tough.

There is one thing I can empathize with: I know how tough it is to be a mother. Not that it's any excuse to treat your children like shit, however. And that's how I felt until I left my home at 18 years old. And why I worry so much about my relationship with Christopher; if I am doing right by him. If he feels loved. If he feels like a real person, with feelings and opinions and everything that goes along with that. My only hint is when he tells me that he loves me. Or when he talks to me and asks me for my advice. Or when he tells his friends what a cool mom I am.

I have no idea what I am going to do when that day comes. Guess I'll just have to wing it. But it will be interesting to see which side of me takes the lead. Either way, I don't see myself giving my mom entry back into my life on a regular basis, or even an infrequent basis. But maybe I can stop being angry. Maybe I can forgive her. Maybe I can let go.

Time will tell.