You Were A Mistake
Everything about her was a lie. The honey-laced words, the radiant smile, the tender caress. It was all a performance put up for the world to see!
My friends envied me, saying “You’re so lucky. You’ve got the best mom in the world.”
If only they knew the truth. Only I knew who she really was: an abuser, a psychopath, a sadist. I discovered her true identity even before mastering the alphabet.
My earliest memory is from kindergarten. I was playing with my friends at the bus stop when my mother slipped a dollar bill into my hands and cooed, “Munchkin, get something nice from the cafeteria.”
My friends turned green with envy, but my joy was short-lived. She knelt, kissed me, and hissed, “You little piece of shit. Don’t you dare waste my money!”
I spent my primary years skipping lunch because she needed the money for more important things - cigarettes, drugs, beer, and boyfriends.
On my thirteenth birthday, she growled, “Don’t get uglier. No one likes a fat cow.” I spent hours crying in the bathroom. When I finally stepped out, the house was dead silent. There was no sign of her or the cake I had baked. My heart sank as I looked at my calloused hands. Six months of mowing neighbour’s lawns gone waste…
Part of me hoped she had enjoyed the cake, but when she staggered in a few hours later and giggled, “Fabulous cake! Sold it to a tramp for ten bucks,” I wished I were an orphan.
Years later, as I was leaving for prom with my date, she hollered, “Don’t get knocked up like I did. Kids ruin everything!”
The year I was leaving for university, she sneered, “You were a mistake. Wish I had better options back then.”
I dumped my clothes and books into a garbage bag, dragged it across the floor, and slammed the door behind me. I never saw her again, not until this morning when I received a call from the hospital. Cancer – terminal stage – emergency contact – daughter.
Now, as I stand outside her room, a sob escapes my heart. She looks so fragile, broken, and lonely.
Reaching over, I take her hand in mine. “Mom! I’m really sorry.”
Her ashen face lights up when she traces my wedding ring. “You got married?! Any kids?”
“Yes, Mom. I’ve three lovely daughters. And Bob… he’s just great.”
“Did you graduate?”
“Yes, Mom, I did… with honours. I’m a Psychology professor.”
A condescending grin appears on her wrinkled face. Her hand slips from mine as her laughter reverberates in the sterile room. “If only I had gotten rid of you, I could’ve been happy too… You were my biggest mistake!”
Her words sink into me and haunt me even as I race outside the grim building, hail a taxi, and reach home.
Sadly, I did not know then that her cruel laughter and damning words would continue to haunt me for the rest of my life.