Before I'm gone

This is a prequel to my first post regarding the 'lost mother's club'

I am an only child, born to an abusive alcoholic with a short temper and a long list of extra curricular activities. My Mother left my Father when I was 7. She took me in the middle of the night, with little more than the clothes on our backs. My Mom always told me that if she hadn't had me, even though my Dad was abusing her, she wouldn't have left him. She only left because she was afraid he would hit me one day. I remember violent arugments, my Dad putting his fist through the tile wall, throwing kitchen furniture out the door and down the stairs. He broke my Great Dane's leg with a 2x4 because he was mad about something. He was always mad about something. I remember plastering myself against the wail, afraid to breathe.

We moved into an apartment for a while, then in with my grandparents, then into another rental. All the while, Mom worked full time and was independent enough to take care of me. I never really understood the weight of her responsibility until recently. It's a scary world out there, to have to be supporting yourself, let alone a child as a single mother. Dad never paid child support, that was before the deadbeat dad laws, before anyone really bothered to stand up for the single parents.

We rarely talked about my Dad, and when we did, it was almost never about anything pleasant. Mom had a justifiable mistrust in men after that, which I tried not to let rub off on me, but I find I'm always suspicious. She never remarried, or even dated as far as I can remember. My Memories of my Dad were of him being escorted out of a carnival because he was belligerent and carrying alcohol, of him being handcuffed and arrested on the 4th of July for selling fireworks, and, as I mentioned before, fits of anger. I became very close to my grandparents, who helped raise me in the beginning, and who were never far from me my entire youth. I worshipped my Grandfather. He was a carpenter, and I remember watching him make stuff and saying that's what I was going to do too. (I happened to see a woman carpenter helping build the house next door, and he told me women can do that too.) I loved hanging around in the garage with him and doing projects. He was by far a better person than my Dad ever was or ever will be. My Grandmother loved to cook and clean, traditional wife stuff. But she was indeed the boss of the house. In many ways I'm just like both of them, a stickler for detail and totally in charge. My Mom was very laid back and easy going. Boy did I take advantage of that in my teenage years!

My Mom moved in with us after my son started 1st grade, until his Sr. Year in high school. She had been moved to a nursing home some 4 years prior. In the years that she lived here, my son became extremely close to her. We both took her decline, and her loss extremely hard. He started acting out, beginning when she moved to the nursing home, and progressively worsening after she passed away. It has taken it's toll on our relationship. Unfortunately, I have my Dad's short fuse, and even more unfortunately, my son has mine. It is NOT a good combination.

I am an only child with an only child. One day he may very well be making the same decisions for me that I had to make for my own Mother. But the two of us cannot get along to even stay in the same room together. He just doesn't see what he's doing, and that he's his own worst enemy. Arrests, tickets, no job, stealing stuff from me, lying, drinking, wasting money, no ambition or responsibility, huge chip in his shoulder. I hope that, one day, he'll mature enough to realize that I am not out to make his life miserable, and that I don't live to simply piss him off. People tell me boys typically age out at 24-25, but I honestly don't know if we'll make it that far.

My wish is that he gets to understand before I'm gone.