My Mother, I’m a Son

My mother lives in government housing.  She is in a wheelchair and paralyzed from the waist down.  She was hit by a drunk driver before she was even old enough to drink.  I haven’t been to see my Mother for three weeks.  I visit my Mother less than once a month.  I speak to my Mother less than once every couple of weeks.  When I email my Mother, its only a couple sentences long – at best.  I think I am a bad son.

I grew up poor.  Neither of my parents graduated high school and they both made a lot of dumb mistakes.  I tend to focus on that a lot.  The mistakes.  I often resent my parents for being ignorant, uneducated, and unsuccessful (in my opinion).  I fail to take in to consideration what my Mother had to endure her entire life. 

When she was three she was run over by a car which severely damaged her right arm.  She grew up in a fairly mentally and sometimes physically abusive home.  I’m sure she was insecure and was never taught much self worth or ambition – and self confidence didn’t come naturally.  These factors alone should make me stand up and be a good son, realize why my Mother is the way she is, but I fail again as a son.

It’s no surprise that she found and married my Father right out of high school.  (Who has his own set of issues)  He loved her and gave her a sense of security I’m sure my Mother probably had not had too much of.  I cannot blame either one of them for being together – they gave me life. 

Both, products of their upbringing turned out just as one would expect.  They were poor and knew no better.  They were also unlucky.  After only a couple of years together my Mother was injured and became wheelchair bound for the rest of her life.  Shortly after my Father became addicted to crack and lost everything.  He recovered and life got better. Somewhere between those events I was born.

A few more tragic events later and my Mother was really no better off, but had raised me.  In between her addiction to drugs and alcohol, refusal to educate herself, and general lack of motivation she had also managed to make me right my spelling words five times each, encourage me to play sports, praise all of my efforts, support me in everything, love me, and teach me self confidence – most of which I often forget to give her credit for. 

I guess my point is one for myself to remember.  Of course she has messed up a lot – but can I really blame her?  Her life has been tough, tougher than I can imagine.  I should stop being a bastard and really cut her some slack, lover her as much as she has loved me all this time.  It’s time to stop being so selfish and give something back to her. 

My desire to achieve so much in light of where I have been cannot overshadow the duties I have as a decent human being.  Love was given to me, despite any mistakes, despite an recentment, so I have a duty to give that love back.  I want to do that.

This entry was posted in Life in General on by .

About Atticus C.

I was born in raised in Georgia, now approaching 30. I have traveled to 13 countries and have bachelors and masters degrees in business. I am fortunate enough to call my beautiful wife and daughter family. I've been writing here since 2011.

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