Left Behind

 

Dear Old Friend,

I’ve been thinking a lot about my mother since my last letter to you.  I don’t know if you were aware that when she was just a baby her mother abandoned her and ran off with another man.  My grandfather then took off as well, leaving my mother with his parents until he remarried when she was eight.  I asked her once if she was sad to move away from her grandparents, who had raised her, and she said she only remembered being very excited and happy to finally live with her father.

She didn’t “meet” her mother until she was in College.  She tracked her down to Baltimore, Maryland and since the school was in a Maryland suburb just outside of Washington, D.C., my mother contacted her and made arrangements to come to her home.  She took along a couple of friends for support and her recollection was simply that they had a very nice visit.  Her mother and stepfather lived in a lovely apartment. They had no children. 

I tried to get my mother to tell me how it felt to finally meet the mother who had left her, but she could only say again that she had been ‘excited and happy’ to see her and get to know her.

Through the years my mother was the one who made the effort to maintain contact with her mother.  When my mother visited, she thought it was odd that she never met any of her mother’s friends.  On one occasion, when they did run into a friend at a restaurant, my grandmother only introduced my mother by name, with no reference to the fact that this was her daughter.  We assumed that no one knew my grandmother had a daughter, and apparently she intended to keep it that way.  My mother only laughed about it.  If she had any feelings of abandonment, they were very deeply buried. 

Following our Great Escape to my grandparent’s home, I recall waking up in the morning with an initial sense of relief that we were safe, quickly followed by a sinking feeling as I remembered that my mother was expecting Bill’s child.  Our lives had already been dramatically altered, but I realized they were about to change even more.  I tried to imagine what it would be like, living in this small house with my grandparents, my mother and a new baby.  I wondered if I could love this child.  I wondered if Bill would want to see the baby, or if he would even be allowed to.

I knew how upset my grandparents were about what had happened.  They did not want Bill anywhere near their daughter or me.  We soon learned that, when Bill realized we were gone, he had sold enough of our belongings to purchase a plane ticket to Hawaii, and had simply walked away.  I felt that was good news.  My grandfather and my mother made the trek back to Maryland where they found a padlock on the apartment door because no rent had been paid.  My grandfather footed the bill for the back rent and a moving van, and soon everything we owned was crammed into my grandparent’s house and garage.

Feeling safer, with Bill so far away, I began to adjust to what I thought would be my new life.  From past visits I knew some of the kids in my grandparents’ church, including a boy I called my Big Brother who was almost like family to me since our families had been close for three generations.  All of them were happy to see me, which helped me to feel less alone.   I hadn’t even been able to say goodbye to my friends at home since we left so abruptly, but I wrote to them and soon received letters in response, which made me feel a lot better.  I slowly began to think that maybe life was going to be all right.

Then the phone calls from Hawaii began. 

At first my grandfather did not want my mother to take the call from Bill, but she said she needed to speak with him about some things anyway.  I think I knew right away what this would mean, but I didn’t want to believe it.  At first my mother tried to reassure me when I voiced my feelings to her about Bill.  I didn’t have to worry, she said.  They just had things they needed to straighten out.  But the calls became more frequent and lasted longer and I became more frightened and desperate.  Soon there was talk of our moving to Hawaii to be with Bill.  My grandparents balked, my father balked, I balked and hoped that our united stance would actually convince my mother of what a bad idea this was.

Ultimately, my mother agreed that it was, indeed, a bad idea for me to move to Hawaii; so she decided to move there herself, without me.

Understanding my mother’s story helps me to understand my own; and, most likely, if I knew my grandmother’s story and her mother’s, etc., things would be even clearer.  That understanding doesn’t excuse, it just helps to explain. We are all flawed humans in need of forgiveness and grace, and we are our mother’s daughters, no matter how hard we try….

Love always,

Bonnie