It's the day after Mother's Day. My favorite Facebook post included a clip from the movie Mommy Dearest and a toast to all the brave kids who broke up with their toxic moms. After my sisters and I saw the movie, we referred to our mother as Mommy Dearest. There should be a Happy Estrangement Day for us.
Coincidentally, my mother's name was Joan. Late one night, Joan took me for a ride to the Ember's where she worked. We didn't go in. She was probably stalking someone. On the way there, she told me not to call her mother, but to call her Joan. I never called her mother after that. It was meant as a barb on my part, but I don't think she noticed or cared. I was eight and my parent's were divorcing. Joan often said I was just like my father. It was meant to be demeaning.
My birth receptacle died on Cinco de Mayo. I love that beer drinking holiday. When I learned of her death, I called my favorite sister and sang, Ding Dong the Witch is Dead. I didn't have to say who had died. We did not attend the funeral. I hadn't seen Joan since the 70's. Until then, we had a relationship based in fear.
Belts hung in all the looped window openers. It was a tacit threat. On the rare occasion that someone was coming over, they were removed. Joan got rid of our Collie dog because Dundee would not let her hit us. I was often grounded to my room for one ridiculous thing or another. This included no TV, no electrical devices, such as a radio or hot curlers.
Thank God for the weekly bookmobile that stopped in front of our house. I would sneak out the window, make a dash and exchange one pile of books for another. Books were my escape to other worlds. I hid them under the bed. One of my favorite series was Little Women. For the life of me, I could not understand why our household was not like that.
I wanted to be Anne of Green Gables, sent to live with kindly people where there was no screaming and yelling, no beer bottles rushed to the floor with one angry swipe of the hand. Joan was always charming and kind to other people. She could turn it on and off like a light switch. When I was eighteen, Joan kicked me out of the house. Until then, I had been college bound.
Joan had kept us so sequestered and isolated that I had no support system. I moved in with my boyfriend at his parent's house, became pregnant and got married. I lost the baby before the wedding. Joan was approached by the county nurse regarding the miscarriage. Joan told all her family and friends that I had an abortion. I walked down the aisle feeling hopeless. It turned into another eighteen years of pain.
Between Joan and my husband, I ended up in therapy. The therapist I saw validated me. He said I should cut ties with my toxic mother. I had spent years poring over phone books looking for my dad. Joan had cut him out of our lives. When I found him, he had married a saint. My dad's wife became the mother and friend I never had. For that, I am eternally grateful,
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