You Were Never Mine
February 10, 2009
When I find myself with no kids in the car, there’s nothing I love more than to turn up the music and sing. I absolutely love to sing, as my family knows, and since we’ve lived here in the apartment, I have sang less and less, simply out of respect and courtesy for my neighbours. Well, except the douchebag ones. Five more sleeps and I can get back at it! 
Today, with the kids both at school, I had to drive into London to purchase the blinds for the kid’s bedrooms and the bathrooms. With nothing but road ahead, I turned on the ipod and found myself really enjoying the drive. There are songs that make me feel really strong and there are others that can bring tears to my eyes in the mere flash of a lyric that nudges my heart just so.
My heartache has never come from boys. Even when I was young, I never took any boy too seriously, and I knew that girls of my age were more in love with the idea of being in love than with the boys themselves. I’ve never been an overly dramatic girl, and in 10 years of marriage, though we’ve had our times of true sorrow, it’s never been overly dramatic. It helps that we’ve also had so much happiness my heart could burst.
No, what brings this girl-turned-woman to her knees is what I secretly call, the death of my mother. No, she is not physically gone from this world, but she has been gone from my life for over 5 years now. For those of you who don’t know the story, she had a boyfriend with a young daughter. She abused the daughter much like she had abused me as a child. I blew the whistle on her and the daughter was removed, adopted and is now doing well. I cut ties with my mother because of her toxicity.
Certain songs make me cry over her, missing the woman she desperately tried to be. She tried to be sober, but fell, many times. She tried to be less suspicious of people but too many hurt her over the years, each one making her more jaded than the last. She tried to trust, but over and over she would sabotage relationships in order to avoid being hurt. Over time, as I matured, it was as if a filter covered her eyes to each of these things. Her life was crystal clear to me, but to her, things were foggy, blurred, as if by so many wine-laced tears she simply could not see.
Certain songs empower me to remember why I cut ties. Behind all the pain, my mother could be a drop down, deadly drunk. Vile, nasty, lashing out at those around her, she was a force to be reckoned with. It was more important to be seen as intelligent than sane. It was more important to be right than spare feelings. Anyone could be cut out at any time.
At the time I finally cut ties, she had already cut out every last member of our family, including her parents, Granny and Papa. She couldn’t keep a job. It was messy. Driving me away was not easy, but bragging about the abuse of a child I had the power to protect was the last straw. It was exactly the button she needed to push to release me. She knew I would protect a child at any cost. I wonder if in some sick, twist of her thinking, she believed it would be the test that would truly make or break our already buckling relationship.
Despite my promises to her that I would never ever give up on her, I had to say goodbye to the woman that brought me into this world. Believe me, it was dramatic and horrible – all the things I’m not.
So when I sing this, with all the power in my lungs and heart…it feels good. It feels right.
February 10th, 2009 at 4:37 am
We really need 30 minutes alone, and some beer.
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February 10th, 2009 at 10:25 am
I too am a singer. Sometimes those songs say more than we can.
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February 10th, 2009 at 11:49 am
Being relatively new to your story, I never knew this about your mom before. I think that’s awesome that you stood up to her for her step daughter. Seriously.
(Also? VERY good choice of song.)
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February 10th, 2009 at 12:36 pm
God love the little sanctuary that the car can become, I love to sing in the car. I think there is something altogether magical about the healing power of music.
(Untreated alcoholics are awful and difficult, and you were absolutely right to protect the children.)
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February 10th, 2009 at 3:31 pm
I am a turn-the-music-up-way-too-loud-and-bellow-my-lungs-out kind of gal. Though I don’t really enjoy driving, I love trips where I can sing until my heart’s content. I have a certain playlist that I really like…it takes me through the paces emotionally too.
And I’m thrilled that my daughter enjoys singing too. We turn up her music (right now her fave is Ralph’s World) and sing away!
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February 11th, 2009 at 6:22 am
The car is the only place I’ll sing (and only when I’m alone). Excellent song choice.
*squishy hugs*
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February 11th, 2009 at 7:59 pm
It amazes me how powerful a song can be to someone. I feel the same way about Washing Of The Water. Love it.
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February 11th, 2009 at 10:02 pm
So many times over the years I’ve gone for a drive so I could crank the tunes and just LET GO.
I get what you’re saying, and thank you for saying it.
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February 11th, 2009 at 10:42 pm
Man, Sugarpants. Pow. This got me.
(In five more sleeps, you’ll be home again.)
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February 12th, 2009 at 12:50 am
Oh Karen
you are strong and beautiful and amazing. You have done the right thing, and you know that. Your life is a lot more rewarding and happier now.
I love you cousin.
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February 13th, 2009 at 2:26 pm
while my story isn’t identical to yours, we are dealing with a lot of the same feelings as adults, and more importantly i’m guessing, as mothers.
it is hard for me not to let those experiences filter into my mothering, either through overcompensation or complete fear of failure.
big american love to you.
also, when i was growing up, i thought london, ontario was the epicenter of the world! even in high school i would only listen to london radio stations and when i was little all of our childrens programming was on CKCO
I can still hear the station identification call: CKCO TV, serving london, kitchener, and greater ontario.
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