A Walk Down Memory Lane…

I was looking at pictures today. I posted a couple in the previous blog:

Met an Author Today : New Book List in Progress

In another Forum, a group of us was pondering whether we ever stop being children.  I knew I had to respond.

My Mom made me feel like a child clear into my 40’s, but when she began her spiraling descent into dementia, I found that my childish rebellion against her authority was replaced by pity and sorrow for a lifetime of fences that would never be mended. I felt bad for her, and self-loathing for myself. I find myself wondering how I was finally able to forgive and forget, after all the hut, the heartbreak and disappointment I felt I had caused her and myself.

Calamity Sandra, age 4 1960

Calamity Sandra, age 4 1960

Here, I am, a little Cowgirl on my own 4th birthday, all duded up.

My Mom grew up on a farm, with a hard-working father, 2 brothers and 1 sister. Their mother had died when they were all fairly young, diabetes-related heart problems. Mom didn’t get along well with her sister Iola, and they fought constantly, as far as I could remember mom saying, they barely got along at all.. there was always the underlying resentments from failed childhood relationships.

I know my Mom wanted a boy. She adopted one once, when I was a little girl. I don’t remember him at all-I think I was about 2 when this happened. Mom was allowed temporary custody of a little boy a couple years older than myself. She told me about how she bought him brand-new cloths, and loved him for an entire year. Then one day, the mother wanted her son back and Mom had to give him up. She was devastated. She refused to give any of the cloths she bought him, only the cloths he wore, when she took him back.

I never found any pictures of this little boy, in all her photo albums, there are none. I think she just couldn’t deal with the loss and must have removed every trace of his short life with us, so she wouldn’t be reminded of him.

Mom used to tell  one story about  an incident when she had us both outside, in the back yard, playing. She told of how she went inside for a minute. When she came back, she found the little boy sitting on top of a cardboard box, laughing, and no sign of me anywhere. I guess something told her to look in the box, for that is where she found me, almost blue from lack of air. She repeated that story to a few of her friends over the years, and I always wondered if that had anything to do with the little boy leaving. She never seemed to dwell on that, other than to say how that incident was just one more miracle of my being alive. The other miracle was my birth, ahead of a uterine tumor that left my mother unable to have more children after me. That, and the fact she was 32 when she had me, probably were enough to stop having kids, period. In those days, it was not considered “safe” or wise to be pregnant at that age.

So it came to be, I was an Only Child, and a girl. If mom had come to terms with that later, I guess I will never know; I have to believe she did, eventually. So much time was wasted in not talking with each other, I don’t want it to be that way with my children, ever.

I wish I had a sister like Jackie on Roseanne, the TV series….I could have used a sister to talk with about things, someone with a different view of things.

tired from my walk down Memory Lane, I’m ready for bed~



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