Her Youth

My youth

She was never a fully "normal" mom. She wasn't always present when I needed her to be. Sometimes it was falling asleep at the kitchen table when I needed her help with school work; that always jump-scared me. Other times, it was her passed out on the couch and not waking up until the next morning; those never failed to terrify little 7 year old me to my core.

It was never really a "her" problem, now that I think about it. 

I remember what we came to call "long nights." It's exactly what it sounds like: a really long bedtime. Just like normal nights, I could get a late night snack, or go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. And just like normal nights, all the curtains would be drawn. I wasn't allowed to leave the house during the night, because a sleeping mom couldn't keep a close eye on me. So it was a given that I wasn't allowed outside during these long nights. She never kept me from school, but made no efforts to get me there. As far as we cared, the rest of the world was asleep.

Long nights meant me napping most of the day, and watching TV with the volume on low, and her laying in bed all day long, only getting up a handful of times and ending in her sobbing as she went back to bed. At a young age, your concept of time isn't fully developed. I can only guess that, judging by how often I saw light outside the curtains, long night usually lasted anywhere from a day, to three days and four nights. 

It was a miracle I only got one cavity during these times. You only brush your teeth before and after bedtime, not during, so I'd go days at a time without brushing them. It was also a miracle that we never got CPS called on us with so many days missing from school. I guess she'd just call the first day of absence and say I was sick, or something. I guess the neighbors assumed we were on vacation, or maybe they just didn't care. 

I know they say TV isn't good for your eyes, but that was probably the only thing keeping me from developing serious eye problems. It would take a toll later in life, but my young eyes somehow survived so long without much light. My sleep schedule would be affected, too; that was a given. 

At the end of each long night, regardless of the weather, I'd walk outside and lie on the grass. I'd lie down in the shade at first, waiting for every glimpse of light to stop burning my eyes. Then, I'd lie in the middle of the sun's rays. Didn't matter if there were clouds in the sky, rain pouring down, or snow beneath me. It was enough to simply stare at the face of the sky with my own. 

These weren't the worst memories from my childhood. In fact, these weren't even the hardest times I'd gone through. At least I still had some sense of childhood at this point. At least I held some sort of innocence. 

It wasn't until she brought another baby into the picture that it all turned to hell in a handbasket. And then a few years after that, she brought another baby into this mess. Somewhere along the way, pills joined our family. Booze, who used to be a problematic uncle that swung by now and again, now moved in full time. I don't remember when, exactly. I just know that it brought all its junk with it at some point: anger, blackouts, withdrawals, dazed stares through the lens of lush.

That was when the resentment started. 

Having a baby is an adjustment for anyone, especially for a young child. Add to that mix of emotions the burden of taking care of said children while your mother went through periods of instability. A crying baby doesn't understand the concept of mommy having "sad days." Grandma was there to help when I was little, but she when she isn't there anymore, who else is supposed to help? Who else is supposed to change diapers when mom can't get out of bed? Who else is supposed to feed them when mommy is gone for a night, out at God-knows-where? Who else is supposed to burp them and clean their spit-up when mom is too busy crying about being a horrible mother to step up and actually be one? Me.

It was always me. It was always me, alone with my mother. Then it was always me, alone with my mother and baby Jason. Then it was always me, alone with my mother, five year old Jason, and baby Jude. 

It was always me, but it was never about me. It was always me doing something for someone else, me being something for someone else.

It was never really "my" childhood, actually. Come to think of it, it was both of our childhoods, all lived for her. It was both of our adulthoods, all lived for her. I never truly had a time of youth. It was never "my" youth; it was always "her" youth.