Even the Catholic Church doesn't Take Sainthood Lightly

This may offend some people, but its my thoughts so, don't take it personally.

I've written before about people who rewrite history so that it fits with the story they want to tell, and the message they want others to believe. It happens all the time as people tell and retell stories from their childhoods, or about that fish they caught, or the girl they dated, or the grades they achieved, or the sports they played.....or......well...you get the idea.

I am a realist, I prefer to save the fiction for that novel I still plan to write someday, but for now, I focus on reality and facts. I was recently made aware of a blog in which my mother was awarded the equivalent of sainthood. Now granted, I have not read the blog, and the interpretation is merely someone else viewpoint, but I think its important to be real.

I am grateful for my mom and the life she has given me. I love her, in my own way, and I acknowledge that, she did her best in a difficult situation.  She was a pregnant teen who was forced to drop out of high-school and marry her teenage boyfriend in the early 1960's. It wasn't the ideal start to a life she dreamed of, but she did as she was told by her father, a brimstone and fire preacher of the era. She spent the next 30 years married to that teen age boy, and together, they raised 6 children. The truth is that as much as he loved her, she was never happy.  They had some very rough times filled with infidelity, abuse, neglect, & economic strife. Neither liked each others extended family. He felt judged and diminished by hers and she felt jealous and bitter towards his. Resentment and discourse were always buried just beneath the surface.

Mom, made sure the children were always in church, always hearing the messages of heaven and hell. She thought it an important element in raising children. Religion was her safety net and what she fell back on when she needed it. She still does. I understand and empathize with her need for the church. It has always been her comfort and what feels like home to her. Its her childhood, and her parents, and the place she goes to find her center again even at the age of 70.

We grew up, by today's standards, in the ghetto. Poor. But mom always had money for enough new clothes to fill her closet, wigs for her head, jewelry for her fingers and neck, and shoes for her feet. While we wore hand-me-downs, and two pairs of shoes a year were the limit (one for church and one for play), her closet was full of clothes with tags still on them. I know it sounds negative, but the truth is, I learned how to be a better, more giving and gracious person, friend, and mother, from my mom. She provided me with examples of what I could do differently. In her own way, she equipped me to be a better woman and parent.

When my mom left my dad after 30 years of marriage for the man she is married to today, it was hard on him.  It wasn't enough to simply leave him, but she set out to destroy his spirit. She made efforts to keep his grown children from him, and he suffered greatly for it.  My mother and I were estranged for many years because of the behaviors she exhibited after she left my father. I am a grown woman who understands that sometimes love isn't enough, that sometimes people grow apart, or were never meant to be to begin with. Long ago, I accepted my mothers need to follow her heart and be with the man she had found love with, but I struggled with the vindictive gestures she made towards my father in the wake of their divorce.

Years after my fathers death, mom and I reconnected.  It was tenuous at first, but in time it got better. Where I still struggle is with the truth. Mom still plays the naive child at times. She has always known truth from fiction, and yet she prefers to hide from it. She lives her life like a flamingo, with her head buried in the sand, avoiding anything she can not face. Her affections are saved for those who play pretend with her and are willing to wear rose colored glasses. The truth is, I want to love my mom for the person and woman she really is, not the facade she puts on to avoid being accountable to her life path and choices.

I don't want to sit in judgment, but side by side. We all make mistakes, none of us are saints. It would be so much easier to relate to her and embrace her as an equal instead of an elevated hero. She was a woman with 6 children in a loveless marriage who made the best of what she had until she could bide her time and get out.  Simple truth. Its so much easier to respect and admire people who wear their skin with honor and pride.  I'm not seeking confession, but I will not wear blinders either. Pretense doesn't suit me well. I believe in owning the truth and embracing the facts. They make us stronger, more real, vulnerable, but relate-able.

Life is not easy. As mothers the best we can do is teach our children that we are fallible, rife with mistakes, but that to err is human.