Belle and I recently attended a birthday party for our neighbours' three year old son. The boy is currently interested in trains, which served as theme for the party. I remembered my mother's train set in the garage as I watched the child marvel at his train shaped cake. This, coupled with tonight's full moon (Feminine. Mother.) in my fourth house of home, got me thinking about my mother.
I witnessed my mother's murder and my father's suicide as a five year old. I spent many years avoiding committed relationships as an unfortunate result. I also developed a complex love/hate relationship with a woman I never knew. This might explain why I spent thirty-four weeks pregnant and oblivious. How does one become a mother without being fully mothered?
Tonight I realised these are my mother's issues, not mine. My mother made choices which ultimately prevented her from being my mother and Belle's grandmother. While everyone remembers her as "so sweet," her personal life was a mess. There is no guarantee that she would even be of any help to me if she were alive. Had she successfully left my father, she surely would have drifted off with someone more abusive and dependent. I probably would not be me with her here.
I placed the train swag bag: cotton engineer's hat, train whistle and stickers underneath a portrait of my mother as a child of seven or so. This is a fitting tribute to the innocent and loving child she was, the part of her that wanted so much to be here in this world.