Good advice; Bad example…

I grew up hearing stories of my grandfather from my mother on a regular basis. As a young girl my mother was his pet, she would often talk of his projects. Things she had assisted him with, where she had learned how to do this or that. My grandfather would teach my mother many things throughout her life. He would have seven children and every one would be a girl. Yes, six aunts…

My mother was his chosen pet. Nick-named Charlie, she was the boy my grandfather never had. She was tough, mean, and witty. For all the traits my mother would acquire from her father, the drinking and manipulation are by far the worst. Through the years my grandfather struggled with a drinking problem similar to my mothers. My mom and my aunts would all talk of his drinking and how it affected each of them. My mother is the one who adopted his behavior the strongest as their own. It was as if my mother needed to live by his playbook. Crossing off the mile stones as she completed them or outperformed her predecessor.

My mother would tell us a story portraying the alcoholism found in her dad to relate a message “never drink, or never do drugs” and not have the ability to head her own advise. Even as an adult I remember my mothers stories of her dad. She would still paint him as a victim or anti-hero in the stories. It was not until later in life, hearing the accounts from my aunts and doing the math that my mothers stories did not add up. Her stories were the manipulated memories of how she portrayed the situations. My mother would cover for her father in all his wrong doings. As with everything my mother did, she was fully committed to her daddy. Ever when my grandfather needed a cover story my mother was able and willing.

These behaviors would become my mothers staple in life. She would alienate herself and our family through her behavior towards friends and family alike. Nothing and no one was sacred when it came to my mothers drinking, the lows that my mother would achieve were depths of despair. I remember one occasion my mom had went away for something, I was not told where she was going and I remember the pain of her disappearance. Gom was gone but Nanny was still alive so it was maybe 2000. I was awaken by my mothers mom “Nanny” and my father having a heated discussion. They were in the living room which was also currently doubling as my bedroom in full blown panic about my mom.

She had left the treatment program where she had been admitted, a 21 day facility she didn’t even make it to day 10. It was the middle of the night and either Nanny received the call or my dad called her after they notified him. No matter, Nanny was at the house and insistent about someone going after my mom. Mom had left treatment against medical advise and was now wondering the streets of Baltimore City. The treatment facility had notified the police because mom had no ties to the area and we the family were notified. After that they washed their hands of her and she was now our problem.

Lost or left, wondering the streets of Baltimore, dad loaded up in the truck and away we went. It was about 3 o’clock in the morning when we got to Baltimore and I remember the scary empty streets eerily lite by cold dim street lights. Fires burned in the alleys and the homeless population was in full wondering mode. Mom was no where to be found, dad would drive around for hours in search of mom only to return home without her. Upon arriving back at Nanny’s house the news was told to my dad that mom had been found. The Baltimore City police had found her sleeping in a bus stop and detained her for her own safety. Dad would return to the city and bring mom home.

Not the first or the last, moms drinking would play a major role on how the family is organized and how each person evolved differently solely out of need for survival. My mother would influence each of us differently and no one was untouched. Through her manipulation, misguided, and misdirected love she would plant seeds of corruption with those around her and inside her circle. The best example I can give for my mother is, Gemma Teller from the show Sons of Anarchy. Anything to protect her family and those instincts were strong and without moral.

My mother would cling to me and I to her, the miracle baby I was 7 pregnancies after my brother. The first 6 ending in miscarriage due to complications from a birth control devise. I was special to my mother and babied because of it. Gommy would start the catering mentality and mom would continue it later in life. The manipulation founded by my mother would be spiced through relationships of my own forming as well as second hand family members. My mom would establish the crooked foundation and others would add to it. A manifestation that took 14 years to self destruct and find a new way to navigate the world.

We do Recover!…