SPEAK
MESSAGE
GROWING PAINS
It took 1800 miles of separation to finally bring me closer to my mother.
// KATY SAUNDERS
I don't remember much of my childhood before the age of 11, but I can recall everything from the day Daddy said he was leaving my mama and me I was in the sixth grade, and it was as if a voice from above said. "It's time to grow up."
Mama and I moved into a small two-bedroom house in the middle of our small town, Tappahannock, Va. I hated that house. It was old, stunk of mothballs and worst of all, it was painted some putrid shade of yellow with green shutters. It became our home, and for the next seven years that house would be the battleground for our fights, our teats and our struggle to raise each other.
I always felt more like my mother's older sister than her offspring. As soon as Daddy left, Mama went into a downward spiral. She was trying to cope, but instead of dealing with her depression over him leaving, she avoided it with distractions. About a month after the separation, Mama started dating a townie she'd known from high school.
When that didn't work out, Mama went into what I call Depression Phase I, playing Mahjong on the computer for hours. Then she got into online dating. I can remember her calling me away from my homework and into our home office on countless nights so that I could look at bachelor #1 and bachelor #2. She wanted me to judge them with her and I guess, on some level, she was seeking my approval too. I always just rolled my eyes and thought she was desperate and embarrassing.
When her first online date came to pick her up, I answered the door to a man wearing fake rubber hillbilly teeth. Nice try attempting to impress the 12-year-old. Whenever her relationships didn't work out, Mama went into what I call Depression Phase II, watching TV in the dark while eating popcorn, then man hunting on the computer for hours. A part of me felt sorry for her, but the selfish side of me didn't care what she was feeling. I was just tired of being pulled in so many different directions with no real role model to depend on.
The tension worsened once high school started. Not only was I sharing a bathroom with my mother, but she was a teacher at my all-girls high school and my coach in two of the sports I played. There was no escaping her. At this point, our selfish attitudes toward life and each other only aggravated our situation. I wanted nothing to do with her.
By my junior year, both of our hormones were raging and as I grew more into my teenage years, I thought Mama was entering into hers, for the second time. The problem was she wanted to play the teenager role, while also parenting one, I started to leave no room in my decisions for her
approval. When I announced I'd been dating a guy for two months without her knowledge and that he was four years older than I, she tried to restrict me. Lucky for me though, she started dating a man a couple weeks later, which sidetracked her from any real parenting obligations.
She started spending the night at his house, which had never happened before, and her neglect only lead me to question her priorities more. She became consumed with this man. She started missing dinners at Granny's and stopped asking about schoolwork. She even missed my birthday because she decided to go the Indy 500 with her boyfriend. The paradox in it all came when they broke up; she came crying to me. I hugged her, but rolled my eyes behind her back, because I was glad she was feeling what I had felt for the past six years, angry and alone. This is what I call Depression Phase III, when Mama and me hit rock bottom.
Anger began to live where feelings of love and compassion were supposed to. By the time I was a senior, I applied to college without her input and then buried my fury towards her into planning my escape. In the months leading up to my departure for the University, Mama and I were just living side by side. I felt nothing when I saw her pull away from Oliver Hall on move-in day. I only went home twice that year to avoid the fighting, anger and resentment I had towards her.
Through the next several years, we talked only when absolutely necessary. The distance between us helped, but our unspoken problem had yet to be resolved. When Mama decided to come visit for Mom's Weekend spring of my junior year, I was skeptical about spending 72 hours alone with her.
I had mixed emotions as I drove to the airport and when we saw each other we shared a forced embrace. A KU basketball game filled the silence of the car until we stopped at the Legends to eat dinner and watch the game. We started with small talk, but by half time the conversation turned to more serious issues. In a calm, but deliberate manner, Mama looked at me with tear-filled eyes and told me how sorry she was for everything. That was the beginning of the end of my anger.
After the game, we continued our conversation in the car ride home. We both started crying when we both apologized for the pain our selfishness had caused each other all of those years. The tears didn't stop until we got to Lawrence and hugged each other for the first time in what seemed like 100 years. Our time apart allowed room for us to grow up and move on while also bringing us closer than we've ever been. Jp
Contributed photo
Mama played many roles in my life. My senior year, pictured here, as my softball coach, I couldn't wait to get away from her. But four years later, we we've been able to reconcile our differences, and though separated by 1800 miles, we're closer than we ever were living in a two-bedroom house sharing a bathroom and seeing each other every day at school and practice.
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