3chiefly dialectal : THINK, SUPPOSEI reckon I’ve outlived my time— Ellen Glasgow
If and now, my Mama knew and now will know, how many times this body of mine wanted to, (excuse me for my raw emotions, but my Mama must read this to understand the depth of my allegiance to who I came from), bitch slap the woman she sent me to live with? For the ways she treated Linda’s Bee in some woman’s bonnet?
Well? When Mama see that. And then looks within her own nature and how she treats someone who accent her very nature? She’ll get with this program. She will realize I’ve taught for my life she gave me. Being slapped across tables. Drugged to no end. Told to shut up and play quiet games. Made to feel as an alien in a home that signed on a line to value me as their own? She’s gonna realize her angers where fed by my very energies while growing up.
And that I came home to wake her up to our deep connections. Just my presence fuels the anger she’s felt for years and told herself was not. Holding onto hope. Of what I do not know? Would she suggest I just take such treatments and say nothing? Just because she gave me away? Or like people say? Abandoned me?
I say no. Linda and Huey inside me said no. And I followed my own instinct that they both gave me. And maintained my own identity while living an altered identity. Which shows me my parents? Are pretty amazing.
I can try and try to live as though I was treated like some princess. But I now live in a garage which inhibits me from doing so. The truth all around me, living with a woman who still struggles to make me feel emotionally welcomed in her home.
I tried to, throw Mama away. Proteins she did not matter to make this woman see me for me. Nope. God would not let her. Ever forget where I came from. My skin. My eyes. And my ways denied me that.
My daughter Chelsie is me, without restraint. That girl? Is lethal. Thank God. Cuz this Mama didn’t stop her from being who she is. And she’s a force to be reckoned with. And represent me if I’d have raised her, which means, the me who was inhibited, chose to not inhibit her. Guide. Coach. So she. Could make her own decisions. And she has. On her own. Just like I lead her to in a world of nagging woman, who teach their children to obey rules. I taught her to defy the rules. And to even defy me if needed. And she did defy me. Bravo.
I’m not gonna say it easy? Living without that girl’s own angry fire burning like a laser on me. No. She’s my place of joy. But I know without a shadow of a doubt that she’s a thriver not just a survivor. I never pity her. Pity helps no one. But I guided her. Prayed for her. Picked her up when she fell and left her to get up herself many times. So she could learn how to do it without me. To not need me. But so she could want me. There is a difference.
And I’ve tested her. To the hilt. Why? So she would be ready. For anything. So she would not be looking at me. So she would look within herself where I am always. Just like I did with my own Mama.
Anger. Tells us when to change. Anger pokes at us. And when I come around Mama? I lite her fire up. Bright. Like an alarm. And? She’s not used to that. She’s pushed her own anger down a long time. While I’ve used mine like the knife it is. Cutting away.
I won’t lie and say it was easy peezy. Nor will I act like growing up without her was ok. It’s was hard as hell itself. It’s like walking through a fire that’s burning at your very flesh yet can’t seem to consume it.
I loved the life Mama Jeans children would have lived as a child that was not them. That’s huge. Sent to replicate what was never to be and yet who exceeded all expectations. I know Mama did not like the ways in which I was treated. But she says she has no right. Yep. You gave that right away. And I your daughter took it back each time I stood up for myself when treated like a dog and pony show for a person who’s still struggling to see the gift Linda gave her.
Kind of cracks me up. Both Mamas love my kids. Think they are great. And can’t see who raised them as great? Blows my mind? To say I am a mess is to say that both of them are a mess and that Adoptions a mess. Pretty much sums it up.
Even my sissy is angry. Saw it on her face and felt it when she said I was unwelcome. No. Not me. It’s Mama Jean your talking to. The one who raised me to learn how to act like I do. A fighter.
They told me a story about me in the hospital nursery. I don’t know if I told Mama. But it goes like this. Mama Jean and Mr. Gray stood outside the window looking at me lay in the bassinet. I was on 6lb 9 ounces of wet rat as Mama Jean so lovingly recalled I looked. I was hairy. Ape like to her eyes. So nice. I was laying on my stomach. And in front of them both I stiff armed it and flipped myself over. John turned to Mama Jean and said,” I would not have believed it unless I saw it myself”.
I was born angry. I was probably trying to figure out how to climb out of that cage to go find Mama. Something was definitely wrong. And I knew the minute I came out. Off course my radar said. And a whole big world that would lie to me my whole life trying to keep my there. Except for God. God knew what God had made and who this gift was for. And God would use that anger to teach the world a lesson about Linda Marie’s seed made with Huey and change that woman’s mind forever.
The emotion of anger is not to be ignored. It’s not some snooze button to be pushed around for to long. And I heeded the call of my anger that called me to go.
Home. To Mama. To work this anger out.
Thank you for diving deep with me today.