Last month (of course it had to be in 2009) I found out that my mom had thyroid cancer.  She is scheduled for surgery this Monday and I'm not very happy about any of it.  Frankly I'm a little scared, worried, and pissed off at God yet again.

Anyway, I was thinking about how important my mom is to me and what an impact she's had on my life and this thought train somehow took me down another writing path.  The Tapestry Series is going to be a bunch of blogs about the people and things that make up who I am.  It's certainly not EP material, and it's probably not even going to be interesting enough for most of the OS community to read.  But I think it'll be cathartic.  I plan to write about everything from my parents to my favorite brand of smokes.  The greatest achievements of my life and the most embarrassing moments (and boy there are a lot of them).

I'm going to start with my mom.  I think plopping me out of her vagina earns her the first spot.

Something that I've only recently come to realize about my mother is that we both suffer from one of the worst possible psychological malfunctions one can live with: we believe in happy endings.  And no matter how much life has tried to beat it out of us, (hell, I've tried to butcher my own personal handicap) I think the force is still strong within us.  

What made it so hard for me to make this connection was that we yearned for different things.

I believe that all my mom ever wanted out of life was a loving husband, cute kids, and holiday celebrations out the yin-yang.  She wanted vacations to Disney World, white Christmases, weddings and grandkids.  Things that seem so attainable and therefore were small to me.  I think that out of every desire she's ever had, the only thing she even came close to getting were two children.

Two children who left her when she probably needed them most.

I've been lucky in the fact that I've only had to make a handful of hard decisions in my life.  But the choice to leave my mother will probably always haunt me.

I'd never try to defend myself on this front because even now it seems like the unconscionable and easy way out.  But to set the stage in the most clinical way possible, I'll say that mom wasn't having the easiest time dealing with how shitty our life was during our teenage years.  And I'm not sure when it happened, but at some point my brother and I became the enemy.  It seemed like every time an armistice was signed, someone would violate the acts of treaty and it was us against her yet again.  So instead of sticking it out to see if peace could be achieved, we pulled out troops and refuged to the safety of the fatherland.

I can't even type this without getting a fucking snot face.  

We left her with no one.

I think sometimes there are decisions that you just can't let go of.  No matter the time, forgiveness, or the ocean of booze you've poured down your throat in order to forget.  It's like that one chipped tooth in your mouth that you tongue every single day.  A constant reminder of this gaping personal imperfection.

When I think about that decision it's hard to remember any possible hurt she may have caused us because our withdrawal was probably one of the most devastating things anyone has ever done to her.  I remember crying so hard the night that we moved all of our stuff out because all I could imagine was the pain she would feel when she came home to an empty house.  

I think about all the wonderful things she did for us when we were young.  

Buying us toys in place of clothes that she wanted.  Squirting us with water guns in the backyard even though she'd been on her feet all day at work.  Shielding us from the slow death of my grandmother and instead putting herself through the torture of watching her own mother slowly fade away. 

When we left her it seemed that her life turned into a series of one mentally abusive relationship after another. 

While I worked hard to create the life I've always wanted for myself.

I have cried, begged and pleaded for her to leave her piece of shit husband and come live with me, but she always says no.  I understand why.  That bridge was burned a long time ago... by me.

So I sit here and contemplate the fact that she has cancer and that her life has given her so little of the happiness she always wanted.  And I just want to hit something because I can't do a God damn thing about it. 

I think that at her very core, my mom really just wants to be loved and acknowledged.  It's what we all want when you break down all the other shit that gets in the way.

Though it seems like something so small, I do plan on giving that to her more often.  I'm going pay more attention to the things she likes.  Tell her how proud I am of her very existence.  Try to show her that she means so much to me.  

Though I used to think we couldn't be more different, I know now how truly alike we are.  We're caring, controlling, loving, sensitive, and, for better or worse, we both hold a belief in a happy ending that life has given us no reason to suspect exists.  

And if any kind of compassionate God exists in this universe, he'd let her have the happiness she has fought so long for.   She certainly deserves it.

My mom is going to be ok.  If only for the reason that I don't accept any other possibility.