I never used to hate my mom. 37 years later, I finally forgive my mom for leaving. Every time she got sick and had to go away, she came back. The last time, mom never came back home. That was when my childhood ended. I was 10 years old.

From the first slap and the first verbal assault from him, my anger grew in the pit of my soul. For years I began to believe it was my fault that she left. He blamed me for anything and everything. He would hold me responsible for things when I wasn’t even there.  I turned to food to try and numb the pain. I turned to books to escape reality. Many times, I wished it was him who died, and not her. Often, I thought about joining her. He remarried two years after my mom died. My life became so wrong.  I only spoke when needed to.

Then my life was going to change again. I broke down during high school acting class and told my truth to my teacher. A few months later, dad and stepmom sent me to a psychologist. When the doctor stated that whatever I said to him was only between us by law, I spilled the six years of pain and grief that I endured in silence. After the psychologist confirmed my age, he delivered a big surprise like a magic wand… I legally didn’t have to live at home. The darkness dissolved away and I got to be behind the wheel of my life for the first time.

Fairy dust landed on me with one phone call. My mom’s best friend, and my Godmother, offered a place of solace. My childhood was able to begin again. Yet, the pain of the life I was cheated out of lingered for years. Mother’s Day, her Birthday, and her death anniversary were the hardest days to get through.

Then, I became a mom. I had always recognized the mums in my life before, but it hurt. When I had my first Mother’s Day while I was pregnant, I was working. Despite feeling being displaced, I felt more like a fraud. I never planned to be a mom. I only had her parenting lessons for the first ten years of my life. All of my past baggage was forgotten when I gave birth to the sun in my universe. When we brought our baby home, we had no clue what to do. No grandmother to tell us how to do this parenting thing. We just winged it.

Once we found our footing, we had another baby. Surprise. I felt flooded in the world that other people wanted to be in.  I desperately needed my mom to guide me. What did I do to be abused by a parent that should have been protecting me? Why did the one parent that loved me leave me?

When my kids were babies, I used to write stories of our oldest cat. When my youngest was eight months, I began to write about being motherless. The grief lessened by connecting to others who understood. My articles and blogs began to be published, it was a haven for a deep wound. Something amazing began to happen, readers sent me emails, DM‘s, and personal messages. I stumbled into worldwide grief. All of a sudden, I didn’t feel so alone or isolated.

My children carry a part of my mom’s name. When I watch them sleep, I can’t help wonder that if my mom were alive, would my miracle babies be here? I know it’s not her fault. I know I need to focus on my own health. As I write this, it has been two months since I went through colon surgery, and a Stage Two tumour was removed. Thankfully, they got it all out during the surgery. I joined the Cancer Club. This time.

For once having a crappy family history made me a medical priority. I will always be grateful for my Rockstar medical team. I am still here to watch my children grow up. My mom never got that chance. I will not take that for granted.

I’m so sorry, mom.

I forgive you, and I forgive myself.