Today was a day of anticipation for me. I have been kind of nervous about this day. This was the day that I was to come home... to the backwoods of Missouri. I was born here some 29ish years ago to a 17 year old Marion and and a 19 year old Tim. I spent a good part of my childhood trying to woo whatever love and affection I could get out of my mom. When the woo wouldn't net the results I wanted, I tried my hand at being a fucker. That seemed to work. I was pretty good at it. I could out fucker the best of em'. When my mom left Arizona to move back to Missouri, it didn't even cross my mind that she was leaving my dad. She was leaving me. I had caused this. I knew I had. I have always been a narcissist. I got that from my mom. It was my success in getting the attention I needed through a constant stream of fuckerness that resulted in a mom whose love I craved so badly to now be 1500 miles away.
My filterless humor came from her. My ability to talk my way into or out of anything came from my mom. My strange quiet confidence came directly from her. These weren't things that she necessarily instilled in me... they were just biological or personality traits that I simply took from her. I spent the years after she left tying to understand these things in me.. and how somebody could dare leave me. I tried spiritual drudgery... through highly intellectual books mostly of eastern origin... I tried to fuck as many girls as I could... I tried self punishment using whatever drugs, whatever drink I could scrape together. I chased anybody that fell in love with me away. I left them before they could leave me.
At 21, I met the woman who wouldn't let me leave, that wouldn't let me punish myself. A woman who's love was stronger than my ability to be a fucker. And that other woman, my mom, became less important to me. All the screwed up shit that I seemed to be born with or in to, was a memory. The attention and love I sought had arrived. She drove here with me. She's gonna drive back with me.
I sort of let my mom simmer on the back burner of my heart. I always love her, but I could never get what I thought I needed from her and maybe got a little tired of trying. Mostly though I don't think I liked who I became when I tried so hard. I can be a stubborn asshole. I got that from my mom also. So, happy with who I was with Willow, months would go by without a phone call. Then years would go by. The occasional call was always awkward. When so much time slips past, you quickly run out of things to chat about. Perhaps that awkwardness led to even longer periods of no contact.
So here I was... one state over in Nebraska. 30 minutes or so away from the Missouri state line. The anticipation of how this day was to play out running through my head from the time I awoke. Art made us another simple, wholesome, and delicious breakfast. I gotta tell you all.... Willow's dad and his wife Alison are about the coolest people on the planet. Willow didn't always have a great childhood. In fact, much of it was worse than most of our childhoods. She unfairly suffered a great deal. But she got the best of both of her parents. From her mom, she got beauty and deep compassion and passion in her voice. She got generosity and strength and feminism. From her father she received intellect, wit, a keen sense of awareness, vivid and interesting stories about everything, curls forever, and the ability to love without thought. I love them both without condition, because together they made this perfect human being that I am lucky enough to be loved by.
The drive here was excruciating... each mile closer meant 1 minute less time to prepare. each mile closer was another minute closer to facing my neglect. The scenery went from beautiful to so fucking beautiful. It was beauty I remembered as a kid. Big meadows hugged by thick forested hills with wildlife too private to come out until the sun gets a little lower in the sky.
We pulled in to the house... a beautiful place... way out in the country. I mean way out in the country. 40 acres of oak, maple, and walnut trees surrounding a porch swing attached to a porch, attached to a 1940's country house. The sun was shining. It was maybe 76 degrees and my heart was pounding. Inside, the woman who's attention and love I sought for so many years was stirring around.
My sister provided clear warnings, "Now you know mom is not the same as you remember her. She's gained a little weight. She's older.". She was attempting to brace me. I pictured this little old overweight lady, feeble... barely healthy enough to lift her head to say hello. I imagined that I would be visiting her by her bedside much of the time.
On the porch that holds the swing is Gary. Only stories created in my head had prepared me for my mom's "new" husband (they have been together for 12 years - but to me he is new). The first thing that strikes me is that this sure is a handsome and young fella to be with such a sick old lady. In addition to his home, he offered a warm handshake and a genuine voice. I rush by looking for the bed that my mother is laid upon - gasping for breath.
There she is... she's beautiful.
She's not old. She's not bed-ridden. She's not overweight in the least. She has the face she had when she was 25. The pictures prove it. Her eyes are warmer than I remember them. Her smile as genuine but mischievous as always. Her hug as needed as anything I can remember. I melt from a man to a boy beside her. We talk until past 2am. I sit proudly beside her. Reluctantly we go to bed where I sleep immediately and soundly like I you do when you are in Missouri.
Tomorrow we'll be here at the house most of the day visiting. I don't think we are doing much so the blog will be a short one.
There is no internet connection here except the few little drops of internet I can get off of my phone way out here. Because of that I can't load any pictures. When I get to Cape Girardeau and get settled, I will update the blog for Thursday and add pictures.
Until next time!
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