Graphic Artist, Writer and Girl Geek
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Posts Tagged with ‘loss’

Equidistant

May 3, 2013
MomMeSept1982web

Today marks the day when I have traveled two equal distances, one with my mother, one without.

I feel the weight of this moment, as I contemplate what the next 15.91 years will hold. I can look back on my past, at both journeys and appreciate the joy and the struggle. The triumph and the disaster. I used to see myself as one or the other — ‘The-Girl-With-A-Single-Mother’ and ‘The-Motherless-Daughter’, but I finally feel as if I am defined by something else entirely. That those two parts belong to me, but not I to them.

There is a third path, one that perhaps I wasn’t ready to contemplate until now. The possibility of finally being me, a whole person, not the girl who lost so much.

I am so ready.

 

Why I Want A Cure For Cancer

April 5, 2012
nightmommydied

As many of you already know, I was 15 when my mother died.

She had breast cancer. By the time she got help, it was already too late. But she fought her disease and emminent death as hard as she could. She even outlasted the doctor’s predictions of being dead within the month by a few years. Eventually the chemo, radiation and myraid of experimental medications weren’t enough.

Near the end, when she couldn’t walk, talk or feed herself I saw something on a talk show that gave me a glimmer of hope. It was a psychic of all things, that made the prediction that there would be a cure for cancer very soon. I remember thinking that the timing couldn’t be better. My mother needed this cure. And fast. So I prayed. And prayed. And prayed. When there almost wasn’t any time left, a family friend of ours told us about someone who had a cure for cancer. I don’t know if it cost anything, I’m not even sure who this person was, but family members drove the hour or so to get to this person and brought back a bucket of the nastiest looking stuff. It was black, like tar. And kind of chunky. I didn’t care and I hoped my mother wouldn’t either. I thought this was it! The miracle we had been hoping for. My mother was gonna be well again! So I diligently did as instructed and fed her this horrible black soup.

I pulled up a kitchen chair in front of her wheelchair, just as you might do when feeding your fussy toddler, legs splayed wide to get up nice and close. Because the cancer had spread to her brain, she had lost the ability to speak and perhaps even fully understand what I was up to. I explained the best I could and started shoveling this stuff in her mouth, wiping at her face to catch anything that she dribbled. I remember putting each spoonful in her mouth and wincing inside as she would grimace and struggle to get it down. But she did it and she dutifully swallowed every bite. I will never, however, forget the look in her eyes. Desperation, fear…love. I told her, with a little desperation of mine own, that she needed to finish everything in that bowl, that it would make her better. And she did.

Unfortunately it wasn’t enough.

She died a few weeks later on May 3.

I remember thinking that perhaps the cure we had wasn’t the “cure”, but that eventually as per the psychics prediction, the cure would be revealed and shared with all those that were ill with this horrible illness.

It’s been 15 years and I am still waiting. It’s been too long and too many lives have been lost.

That is why I’m running in the CIBC Run For The Cure race this September. If you are able, no donation is too small, please make a donation on my behalf to the Canadian Breast Cancer Foundation  or for more information visit my Run For The Cure personal page.

How I Lost 5 Million Dollars

April 5, 2012
  1. I bought 5 of my closest friends million dollar homes.
  2. I bought 2 Bugatti Veyron Super Sports.
  3. I bought myself a five million dollar mega-mansion. In Hawaii.
  4. I travelled around the world, in style. 50 times.
  5. I donated five million dollars to my favorite charities and organizations.
  6. I paid off my mortgage and set aside money for my daughters’ education and future. I also bought some investment property to provide income and equity. Then hubby and I finally went on our honeymoon. After that I spent it on a family trip to Disneyland. The rest of the money I put in our bank account while I figured out what to invest in.

Out of those six choices, what would you do?

What did I do?

None of them.

I actually let my aunt and uncle decide what would happen with my inheritance so that they would love me and I could continue to be part of their family. Unfortunately they decided to dump the majority of it into a risky agriculture investment so that I wouldn’t have access to the cash.

Eventually the investment failed and the property was sold in foreclosure proceedings. There was a shortfall. And because my aunt and uncle didn’t want to own up to their responsibility – they felt they should only pay half, we finally bumped them up to paying two-thirds — hubby and I had to remortgage our house.

When I think about all of the things that I could have done with the money, #6 hurts me the most. I never had big plans, you see. Growing up , my mom and I didn’t have much. We didn’t own a home, she barely owned a junker of a vehicle and my aspirations for my future had nothing to do with spending big. I wanted to go to Disneyland (cause I’d never been), I wanted to go to Hawaii (because my Mom loved it there) and I wanted my own house (because I’d never had one).

Of course those things can still happen and that is what I will focus on, but people like my aunt and uncle, who start out with good intentions perhaps, but end up exchanging their morals for money — they need to be held accountable.

They need to know, that it was never about money. It has nothing to do with whether I shared it with them or not. It was never about me wanting it all or being greedy — as they often said.  What this is really about is their responsibility in our relationship. A relationship of child and parent that should be one of trust, honesty and mutual love.

I was a child when my mother died.

I was a child and they became my guardians. Maybe not out of love, but out of a sense of duty and perhaps also a little bit of greed.

When they sold my grandma’s house, the house my mom and I lived in, what was the rush? My mother had only been dead for a month when the for sale sign went up.  It was sold a few months later and that was the reason I couldn’t pack up my room until moving day. I had barely wrapped my head around not having a mother and now I was moving?

When you use the money from the sale of that house to pay off your mortgage, that’s not okay.

Never sitting down with me to say what they felt was owed to them (because of a legal battle to get my inheritance – a story for another time) is not okay.

Telling my husband and I that we shouldn’t buy a house just so they could keep us close and under their control is not okay.

By not telling me I should plan and save for my future, my kids future, is not being good parents. It’s not even being good human beings!

Putting the majority of the money into a farm they knew nothing of owning and operating and not telling me to make sure I have enough set aside to buy a house for my little family, IS. NOT. OKAY.

And when the going got tough and I had no more money for them to take, being conveniently “too busy” to call or spend time with my children, IS. NOT. OKAY.

When the going got really tough, and it was time to step up to their responsibility, telling me you don’t have money and building a brand new house that spared no expense IS. NOT. OKAY.

Finally, for convincing your children who had nothing to do with what happened that I was greedy and absolutely wrong — that…now that, was low. Even for you.

It is because of a couple of my dear friends that I’m writing this. I want them to know that when you experience betrayal by the people you love, and over something so superficial and meaningless as money, it does hurt, but you will get through this.  You need to know that you don’t get over something like this overnight. It takes time. At times, it’s a very hard pill to swallow.

Many nights I wallowed in self-pity and regret — especially when we almost lost our home. But we got through it and so will you. Money doesn’t buy you happiness and I’m proof of this because I’ve never been happier.  I know for a fact that there is a silver lining to every cloud. You must find yours.

To all the people out there like my friends and I — who believe that money is not more important than people — keep believing that and follow your heart. At the same time, learn from me — being responsible with your money is not the same as being greedy about your money. I was confused about the two for a long time. If someone tries to convince you otherwise, take another closer look at that person. Chances are they have something to gain from you believing that load of shit.

Have you ever experienced a similar betrayal? What did you do? Was there a lesson to be learned? Share your thoughts/comments if you’re so inclined!

Love Heals. Hate Destroys.

January 13, 2012

I was missing my mom the other day. Probably because I’ve been feeling like an inadequate mother lately. And whenever I feel like this, I always think about the challenges she had to face as a single mother and wish that she were around to talk too. Just someone to confide in, vent to, cry to…

So I started looking through a photo album of my childhood and something changed inside me. There was this one particular picture of my mother — the way she posed for photos (head tilt, hands in pockets, hand under chin, drama queen!), the sound of her laughter, the way she smelt — it all came back to me.

I knew her. I know her. And I haven’t known her in a long time. This woman that I was looking at…this, this is the mother I loved with all my heart. Even though I haven’t loved her for a long time, I remember it all, and I do.

That might sound strange but for the longest time I was angry with her. Actually I thought I hated her. But peeling back the layers of dysfunction I can tell you that I put up a block to protect myself from the feelings of loss. That barrier prevented me from seeing who she really was and what she meant to me. But those walls came crashing down. Because I’m learning about who I really am, I can see who she really was. And I could picture her here in my life. I’ve never been able to do that before. She was lost so far back in my past that I could never imagine her here in my present.

And I realized in that moment that I want to live to love and love to live. Hate for any reason, even if you think it’s justified will not bring you happiness. This is a gift. Knowing her again is a gift. Because love trumps all. Love, not hate has the power to heal. And right now I feel her love all the way through the passage of 15 years and I feel a little more whole than I did. That is a beautiful thing.

The Dark Side Of Adoption: Regret

November 25, 2011

Regret is probably one of the most ruthless of emotions. It serves no purpose. It is completely unlike grief in that it feels horrible, but is not necessary for healing. Actually, it’s the opposite of healing. It is hurting with no end.  Completely useless until you overcome it.

I have never felt such gut deep anger, sorrow, frustration…This regret is a cold place in my belly. A cold, cold block of ice in the pit of my stomach. It chokes me. There our nights, when the kids are in bed, and the house is quiet, I am suffocated by this regret. I cannot distract it by crying babies, or drown it out by loud music…it lives and grows and festers.

I know that this feeling is no good for me, but I am not strong enough to see the good in the face of the bad.

I wrote that back in April. Almost seven months ago. Back when I still had hope. I am hopeful for many things, but not for a relationship with my adoptive family anymore.

I spent a lot of years hating my mom. She wasn’t always a very nice person. She could be down right nasty and cruel to people.  And when she didn’t like someone, she really didn’t like them. My adoptive mother was one of those people.

Suffice to say, I felt a huge amount of guilt for things that my mother had said and done to my adoptive mother. I felt like I had to rectify her mistakes. Plus, this method had an added benefit to my emotional trauma. Hating my mother allowed me to forget how much I missed her. Hate is so much easier than hurt.

So off I went with my hate campaign. Plying my adoptive mother with more negativity about my birth mother than she could come up with on a Saturday night with all her girlfriends and their horror in-law stories. Some of it was the truth and needed to be said — my adoptive mother had never had anyone from my family acknowledge the hurt she experienced at the hands of her in-laws. For that I’m glad. I wanted healing so badly for my adoptive mother. Maybe for my own selfish reasons. Because if she could heal her hurts, she’d be a better mother to her four kids and…me. So I talked myself blue, about all the terrible things my mother had done, my grandmother still did…even acknowledging the wrongs my adoptive father made in their relationship.

My adoptive mother began to open up, our relationship solidified, as dysfunctional as it was, and I never dreamed about my mother. To this day, I have never had a dream about her. At the time, I was so proud of this fact. Yet secretly, betrayed, again. Leaving me wasn’t enough — she couldn’t visit me in my dreams either.

I’m not sure where I kept the grief…because it seems to be bursting out of me now. I look at my daughter and I miss my mom. I bake cookies, and I think of the first time I baked cookies with my mom. I feel lonely, home all day with the kids, and I wish she was here. I just fuckin’ miss her. Yet I had all those years to grieve her, and I never really did.

When my mother died, my heart/soul/sprit — all of it, broke. There was a giant whole inside of me that I was so desperate to fill. I imagine that this is where people go wrong, where they turn to alcohol or drugs. Or in my case — food. I did that a lot, too, but I also had a whole complete family I could place in that vacant place in my heart. Everything I ever wanted. Two normal parents, siblings…

I wish that had worked. I wish that family meant as much to them as it does to me.

I wonder sometimes, how often do adoptions go bad? It doesn’t seem like a likely occurence. Families are an accident — you have no say in who your mother, father, brother, sister is. They just are. But not when you’re adopted. Someone makes a choice when an adoption occurs.

In my case, I was adopted as an adult. I so desperately wanted to be a real member of the family, I would have done anything. I even paid the exorbitant cost myself. But looking back at everything that has happened I wonder at the motives behind giving me what I wanted. They had nothing to lose by giving me this, not even the $7000 it cost. I’m sure the five million dollars that came along with making me their daughter had nothing to do with it. And the old adage, ‘Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.’ comes to mind. I might have been fooled a few more times than twice, but I’m learning…

With the money all gone, and the going getting tough, you see what people are really made of. With all the extra fluff stripped away, I was left with a bunch of people who have no idea how to be a family. I gave it my all to pull us together, I really did, but I can’t make people who believe they’re never wrong understand how easy it is to choose to be happy instead of right. How can you teach empathy? Understanding? I’m not sure it’s possible.

I had no more money to give them, my husband and I had moved into our own home so we weren’t convenient to call for help with their computer problems or paperwork and we were a 20 minutes drive away to visit. Of course that was too much trouble so I became the one that wasn’t worth the effort. How did I not see how self-centered they were all these years?

But I can’t turn back the clocks. And I have to accept the damage that is already done. Past the emotional hurt, I discovered another type of hurt the day I got a letter from the Ministry of Records.

I lost my birth certificate and had to replace it. To do so I had to fill out an application form that asked me about my parents’ information. A few months later, I got a call from the Ministry saying that I hadn’t completed the application correctly and until I did I wouldn’t receive my new birth certificate. I hung up the phone with trembling fingers, my heart pounding in my ears. We were driving at the time and I remember looking over at my husband and feeling like I couldn’t take a full breath.

My mother, the one who raised me as a single mother in an indo-Canadian community that shunned women like her, the same woman who had considered an abortion but hadn’t gone through with it, the very same woman who had possibly conceived me as a result of being raped… had been erased.

My birth was no longer credited to her love, dedication…effort to bring me into this world.

Oh no, I existed not because of her, but because of two people who thought that a young girl like me didn’t need to have all the money that was left to me. Who threw all of it away because they were greedy and selfish and lacked an iota of business sense. Who loved me only so long as I could do something for them. These were the people that my new birth certificate would say are, mother and father.

A birth certificate is nothing but a piece of paper, but their names: Do. Not. Belong.

Even though I have moved on or try my best to move on (some days are harder than others), still to this day, thinking of that birth certificate makes me want to hurl. I don’t think I’ve ever looked at it again since it arrived.

It’s cliche, but true — time heals everything. The regret has faded a lot… I still feel guilt at times. Guilt for being such a fool and falling for the illusion of a family. It’s why I write about my experiences. I feel like if I purge it, if I have no secrets — even the ones I’m ashamed of, that somehow they’re no longer mine. That I’m letting them float away into the universe for God to hear and be the judge of what I am and am not.

In the meantime, I write, I make art and I love the ones who love me in return.

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