Day Thirty-Two: My Mother

            My mother can drive me crazy sometimes. It’s probably a prerequisite of being a mom, must drive daughter crazy at some point.  This morning though, I am thinking about the struggle my mother went through when I was thirteen.  I was on the brink of young adulthood, getting ready to start high school and my mother was getting ready to end her marriage.  Things in our house were pretty bad that summer.  My younger brother and I used go for day long bike rides to avoid staying in the house.  My father was home a lot, though I don’t remember why, because I know he had a good job.  On one of these bike rides I brought up the subject of divorce.  I asked my brother who he would stay with my mom or my dad.  He said my mom and there was no question for me, I would stay with my mother as well.  I don’t know why I brought that subject up that particular day; nothing had happened that would have indicated to us kids that a divorce was brewing.  We knew our parents were unhappy, but we didn’t know the depth of that unhappiness.  When we got home late that same day (we always made sure that mom was home before we came home), our parents were in the basement.  Being the creative kids that we were and nosy to boot, we opened the laundry chute doors so we could hear their conversation.  I can still remember what was said.  My father was telling my mom to take the big television because of us kids.  After that things get a bit fuzzy, but I know we asked our parents what was going on, more specifically I asked if they were getting a divorce, the answer of course was yes. 

            I think about how hard it must have been for both my parents, but especially my mother.  My father hadn’t wanted kids and it was pretty clear that we would be living with my mom.  I went to stay with my grandparents in Pennsylvania for the summer. I couldn’t stand the tension in the house.  We (my mother, brother and I) moved to Pennsylvania after the divorce, but only for a few weeks, before moving back to Wisconsin.  I never thought about how difficult things must have been for my mother during that time, moving three times in under six months, two kids that were constantly fighting, and the divorce with my father.  I know she was depressed much of that time and I did my best to listen and help her, but I was still just a child.  I was thinking about all of this, this morning and thinking that I never told my mother thank you, or how strong I thought she was for sticking to her guns and getting through that time, despite all the hardship.  I remember being made fun of during my freshman year in one of my classes because we were supposed to name our hero/heroine and I named my mother.  The mocking hurt, but now I feel it was worth it to tell the truth.  No actress or superhero could have taken the place or had the strength my mother showed during that time.  As much as she drives me crazy, I think it’s important to remember and to say thank you.