My Confession: The Rejection of My Mother

I have been grieving.  I have been grieving a loss. Not a death – a loss. The loss I feel of not having a loving, caring mother.

Last November, I was ecstatic about our adoption of Lil Bit – thrilled that he would finally be ours after a rubberband custody battle. However, that happiness was contradicted by a broken heart.

Knowing that Lil Bit’s adoption would be on National Adoption Day, I asked my mother to be a part of this special day. I asked (begged) her on Labor Day (in September).

Her reply to me was: “But that’s when we are having Thanksgiving. Why don’t you change your adoption day?”

“Mom, I can’t change National Adoption Day. I will be adopting Lil Bit the weekend of your Thanksgiving. Why don’t you celebrate Thanksgiving on Thanksgiving weekend or another time?”

“But that’s when we always have Thanksgiving.” (for only the last 3 years)

“Mom, I can’t change National Adoption Day. I guess we won’t be coming for your Thanksgiving unless you change the date.”

There was no other mention of Thanksgiving, even after numerous conversations about Lil Bit’s broken arm, the investigation into our foster home, and his adoption.

Two weeks before National Adoption Day, I called my mother to let her know the details of the adoption.  She began making excuses about why she couldn’t come. Her hours at work had been cut so she didn’t have the excuse of having to work. But, of course, it was all about the money and how she didn’t have the money to put gas in her Toyota Corolla. There were other excuses too. After the call, I was downtrodden, knowing in my gut that she didn’t want to share in the joy of our adoption.

After speaking with my wonderful husband, he suggested that we just send her a $100 gift card for gasoline.

However, when I called her up the week before the adoption, before I could tell her about the gift card, she began lamenting about all the people that were coming to her home the weekend of our adoption.  She was having her early Thanksgiving and didn’t tell me. My eyes were clouding over with tears when I asked her, “Do you want me to bother sending you an invitation to the adoption?”

Her reply was: “No, don’t bother.”

I hung up the phone and began crying. My soul was flooded with emotion over all of the past rejections of my mother.

My entire childhood I was told over and over that I was ugly and just an overall horrible daughter. My sisters and I never did enough to help her. We were constantly referred to as “damn kids.”

When my parents divorced, at age 14 I chose to live with my dad. For years, I heard how it was my fault that she didn’t have custody of her kids. As an adult, I read the divorce decree and discovered that she did have custody as long as she lived in the county. When I asked her why she didn’t just move back, her reply was: “I needed my mother.” (My younger sisters were 11 and 7 years old. She was 35.)

I’m not writing all this for you to join my pity party or tell me how terrible my mom is. I guess I’m writing this to let you know how a neglected child never completely heals from the rejection of a parent.

Did my mother ever do anything to warrant CPS involvement? No.

However, the verbal taunts and rejection from my mother still haunt me as an adult.

I guess that is why I’m so passionate about a child going to good home, instead of to a home that is just “good enough.”