Welcome to my blog!
For the month of June, I will be posting Definition.
The first week is defining moments.
DAY 3- Wrath of Virginia
My mother was a loving, giving, generous soul as long as you weren’t one of her children.
Everyone loved my mother. They would sing praises about Aunt Virginia, mention her operatic voice and her wonderful talents, and make me feel like I was the worst daughter in the entire history of female children.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved my mom. I am a lot like her in many ways. Personality wise, I am the most like her between myself and my two sisters.
My mother had strict German upbringing and was not outwardly affectionate towards her children. We were expected to straighten up, fly right, and act like mini adults. She ruled with an iron hand and my siblings and I know well the wrath of Virginia.
I hate to admit this but here goes. I let my mom control my life until I was 30! IT wasn’t until I had kids of my own that I learned to stand up for myself as an adult, and realize that I wasn’t going to go straight to hell if I got the wrath of Virginia.
Oh, my mother had a mean temper. She let you know in no uncertain terms when she was not pleased. I knew that well as I often displeased her. Being the youngest of five, I learned at an early age that it was easier to ask forgiveness than it was for permission. Yes, I got into trouble a lot. I wouldn’t wish me as a child on anyone!
One day when my firstborn child was about six months old, she called and said we needed to come over because my brother was coming in from out of town. Both of my brothers lived out of state and the oldest seldom ever came home.
Well, I couldn’t. My daughter was sick and I wasn’t about to drag her out in the weather and told her NO. You’d have thought I had denied my Christian upbringing.
“No? What do you mean NO?”
“I can’t mom. Sarah is sick. IF I go anywhere, it’s going to be to the emergency room. Give my regards to everyone.”
I cut the call off as quickly as I could, I knew. . . I mean I KNEW that I was in deep. I said no to mom. By the way, yes there was hell to pay.
Somewhere though in caring for my sick infant child, juggling phone calls from my sister, my mother my sister again, my other sister, and a final hateful message from my mother I realized that saying no to mom wasn’t the worst thing I could do.
Things were beginning to click.
My mother was an expert in emotional blackmail. She was expert in creating drama that you HAD to do it her way. Bless her heart, if she hadn’t been so manipulative, I think we could have had a better relationship.
She and my father doted on their grandchildren, however. My sibs and I were like HUH? scratching our heads at the outpouring of affection that wasn’t allowed us.
Virginia was a strongwilled dominant woman. About that operatic voice – she could have been an opera singer but her father wouldn’t allow it – keep in mind this was pre-world war II days. She often sang in church and especially at Christmas and Easter. She sang Ave Maria, Emmanuelle, Jerusalem, O Holy Night, and many other traditional hymns.
In all honesty, I was the rebellious one. Whatever she liked, I rebelled against it. Can I let you in on a secret? I miss her. I wish that we had had a better relationship.
It took a while from that first time of saying no to her, like years, but eventually, she came to terms with the idea that I wasn’t going to jump every time she asked me to. That first time though was a defining moment. It was the one that broke the barrier. It was part of learning to become who I am as a fully functional, not dependent adult.
Our family dynamics are weird, even worse since her passing. My siblings each have their own issues with mom, but in the end, we let go of them because she was MOM and she was always there. She would go to bat for you when no one else would but you better toe the line at home.
Anyway, leave a comment. Is your Mom living, deceased? Did/do you have a good relation, bad or somewhere in between?
Write on my friends, write on!