Becoming Grandma
Four-Hundred Seventy
"Mom?" My voice cracks and I swallow hard.
I haven't seen the woman standing in front of me in four years since she kicked me out of the house. I was young and stupid and rebellious and I thought I knew it all.
My mother would have nothing to do with my partying. At the time I hated her for trying to control me, and that resentment drove a wedge between us for years afterwards. Growing up, my dad was out of the picture but my mom worked extra hard so I wouldn't feel the effects of a single-parent home. She put me through ballet, gymnastics, swimming, and acting. She was consistently by my side, sitting front row at every event, but the routine is what I resented most.
Freshman year I went from mommy's little ballerina to getting caught smoking in the girls' bathroom. Living under the everyday strain of pleasing mom wasn't easy, but the downward spiral wasn't much fun either. By eighteen I barely had time to wrap my head around all of the sex, drugs, and alcohol before I had to start wrapping my head around being homeless.
I didn't hear from my mother again over the four years. Even after my whole life changed and I cleaned up my act, there was only cold silence from her end. Two weeks ago I called her and we talked, eventually working out her trip to my home on the coast.
"Jessica," she breathes. Before I know it I'm wrapped in a warm hug I've needed for eight years. My mom is breathing hard, and here on the boardwalk under the setting sun neither of us can help but start crying. I'm so absorbed in the moment that I don't notice the music from the carousel stopped until a small figure is hanging on my leg.
"Jack!" I exclaim, pulling the small boy off my leg. He's three and a half, a little spitting image of me. Jack looks at my face from my arms and wipes my tears away.
"Why's mommy sad?"
"Mommy's not sad," I tell him through the tears. "Mommy's really happy." He looks at me confusedly for another second before turning to my mom. She's staring at Jack in amazement. I told her I had someone I wanted her to meet, but not who.
"Who's that?"
I've been out of my mother's house for four years and three months, clean for four years and a month, and a mother for three years and six months. Over my life, I've been a lot of things, from a actress and a momma's girl to a rebel child. I've acquired may titles because of my mom, but in this moment of endless forgiveness, I am ready to add a title to her list.
"Jack, this is Grandma."
I haven't seen the woman standing in front of me in four years since she kicked me out of the house. I was young and stupid and rebellious and I thought I knew it all.
My mother would have nothing to do with my partying. At the time I hated her for trying to control me, and that resentment drove a wedge between us for years afterwards. Growing up, my dad was out of the picture but my mom worked extra hard so I wouldn't feel the effects of a single-parent home. She put me through ballet, gymnastics, swimming, and acting. She was consistently by my side, sitting front row at every event, but the routine is what I resented most.
Freshman year I went from mommy's little ballerina to getting caught smoking in the girls' bathroom. Living under the everyday strain of pleasing mom wasn't easy, but the downward spiral wasn't much fun either. By eighteen I barely had time to wrap my head around all of the sex, drugs, and alcohol before I had to start wrapping my head around being homeless.
I didn't hear from my mother again over the four years. Even after my whole life changed and I cleaned up my act, there was only cold silence from her end. Two weeks ago I called her and we talked, eventually working out her trip to my home on the coast.
"Jessica," she breathes. Before I know it I'm wrapped in a warm hug I've needed for eight years. My mom is breathing hard, and here on the boardwalk under the setting sun neither of us can help but start crying. I'm so absorbed in the moment that I don't notice the music from the carousel stopped until a small figure is hanging on my leg.
"Jack!" I exclaim, pulling the small boy off my leg. He's three and a half, a little spitting image of me. Jack looks at my face from my arms and wipes my tears away.
"Why's mommy sad?"
"Mommy's not sad," I tell him through the tears. "Mommy's really happy." He looks at me confusedly for another second before turning to my mom. She's staring at Jack in amazement. I told her I had someone I wanted her to meet, but not who.
"Who's that?"
I've been out of my mother's house for four years and three months, clean for four years and a month, and a mother for three years and six months. Over my life, I've been a lot of things, from a actress and a momma's girl to a rebel child. I've acquired may titles because of my mom, but in this moment of endless forgiveness, I am ready to add a title to her list.
"Jack, this is Grandma."