It starts with Supergirl

Flying to get us when we are sick

She slays the villainous cold with ice cream and kisses.

As time goes on, she becomes Wonder Woman

Carrying all the school books and bags

The shopping hanging from the tips of her fingers.

Wonder Woman transforms into Cruella De Vil

Stopping us from seeing friends because we "have" to study

Nothing can halt her rampage.

Cruella De Vil turns into Batwoman

The one you call in tears after a tough exam

The one you look forward to seeing when going home

The one whose cooking you miss.

Then comes Black Widow

Both good and evil

The one you know will understand

when you become Supergirl.

I’d like to introduce you to one of the most wonderful women I have ever known.

Born on a summer day during World War II, she would grow up the second child and oldest daughter of four kids, and she learned to care for her younger brother and sister as a teenager. Her working-class parents weren't wealthy, but not having the world given to her on a silver platter taught her to work hard and to appreciate the things you work for.

She attended high school in western Washington State, and after graduating in 1961 she got a job at the Seattle World's Fair. In the summer of 1962, she began work at a drive-in movie theater, and it was there she met and fell in love with a young dreamer. The two of them were married that fall.

Between 1963 and 1969 they had three children, two boys and a girl. During those years, she faithfully followed her husband up and down the west coast of the US, as he searched for a way to provide for their family. They had some good times and some bad times, as all married couples do. Sadly, they divorced after almost 11 years of marriage, and in 1973 she found herself a single mother of three young children, hundreds of miles from her closest relatives. She had no career, and although she had taken odd jobs during her marriage, most of her time and energy had been spent being a full-time mother and wife, and she needed to find a way to hold her family together.

This amazing woman struggled with doubt, fear, pain and loneliness, but she made sure her children never felt they were anything but a blessing in her life. She brought her small family back to Washington State to be closer to her parents, and while somehow making their meager allotment of food stamps stretch each week, she went back to school. By taking classes at a local community college, she acquired skills which would enable her to provide her family with a good life.

They were never rich, and Hamburger-Helper was on the menu a lot more often than steak, but they never went hungry - and they had something that a lot of people never know: a warm home, full of love and laughter. There was always room for at least one pet, punishments were done more by looks of disappointment than anything else, and their family enjoyed far more happy times than sad ones.

From the moment she became a mother, even during all of the challenges life threw at her, she gave her children some priceless gifts. A passion for books and reading was basic to her nature, and story time was always important. This fascination and desire for words and ideas became a deep-rooted part of her children's souls and laid the groundwork for giving them a love of learning... and she was their first and very best teacher. Her pride in their accomplishments, coupled with high expectations for progress, gave them a strong sense of self-worth, and her examples of hard work, commitment and perseverance forged deep within them an inner strength which would allow them to become the best people they could be. Her love for her family was always so strong and constant they never for a minute doubted her, or their places in her heart. This gave them the security and faith to be able to give love to others.

While she never did remarry, she never let the fierce love in her heart wither. Over the years as her children grew, she opened her heart, and often her home, to many of their friends as well. These extra kids all ended up calling her Mom, and she helped to shape their lives and personalities as well. She was always ready to come to the rescue if any of them needed her, and all of them still respect and love her.

Who was she? Her name was Audine Grein, but I always knew her as Mom. I am truly blessed to be her son. Compared to many of my friends growing up, I always had a very unique relationship with Mom. We never really fought or argued, and I cannot remember a time in my life when I had anything but respect and love for her. I'm sure I tried her patience over the years, especially when I was a brilliant teenager who knew everything, but she was always my rock, my hero, my inspiration, and my friend.

She gave me just enough space to be myself, and just enough guidance to keep me from disaster. Though I may not have told her often enough, I was always extremely proud of her, and everything that she achieved.

In 1985, my wife and I had our first child, and since Mom was just 42, she informed us she was way too young to be a grandma. Since her mother was still using the title anyway, Mom became Nanny.

For over thirty years she was Nanny to grandkids and great-grandkids alike. I owe this amazing woman so much more than I can say... and she never expected anything more than love in return.

She taught me to read before I was 5, and it's her fault my bathroom doubles as a library. When you potty-train a young child by putting a book in their hands, you may just create a lifelong habit. She is also responsible for my vocabulary. She had a knowledge of the English language I have yet to find an equal to, and I guarantee there is no prouder memory in my mind than the first time I actually won a game of Scrabble against my mother, the word-master.

She taught me to drive, to budget, to cook -- and that mothers really do have ESP when it comes to knowing the truth, so you might as well just be honest with them. She taught me to love myself and others, and more importantly, she taught me as long as you believe in yourself, it doesn't matter what the world says or thinks about you - the only limits you have, are the ones you set for yourself.

As I watch my own branch of our family tree grow, I am reminded just how blessed we are to have had her in our lives, our hearts, and our souls, not to mention most of our DNA.

Regardless of whether she was Mom, Nanny, or Great-Grandma, she was always a pillar of strength, a light in the darkness, a warm hug when the world was cold, the absolute best place to turn when you needed to know the answer to just about any question.

Hers is still the face and voice that deep inside I long for when I get a scrape on my knee, or in my heart.

I love you Mom. That's always and forever.

------------------------

© 2023 - dustygrein

One day I will stand on green grass,

flowers in hand,

tears on my face for a life I never got to have.

That day I’ll lay to rest more than your soul,

I’ll finally put down this fear that I hold.

That day I will no longer hold these heavy walls,

that day I can love you without the consequence it holds.

That day I’ll be safe from what this world cruely made you,

that day I can love you like I have always longed to.

That day Songbird will play in the background,

purple iris’ and gerber daisies will completely surround you.

I will curl up alone with my face near your headstone,

finally feeling safe with the mother I adored.

Though my heart will always be broken,

that day will no longer be torn. For that day I will know,

a mothers love without scorn.

shes sighs at the table and signs the paper

she hugs me

and tells me it's going to be okay

"5 minutes" the lady in the suit says

tells me she loves me

and that she didnt mean it

straightens my clothing

"it'll just be a weekend or two"

an unplanned lie

the woman walks in the door

"i love you, Sweets. make sure she goes with her brother"

she says to me, then my social worker

only 2 visits afterwards

im 17 now

it's been 9 years

18 years.

I turned 19 on June 8th. To celebrate, I took my friends to my favorite pizza joint. I brought my Polaroid camera and took some pictures with them, and drove to a Circle K afterward to get some slushies. It’s a great day.

June 9th.

I get to work and it’s going well. I work with two of my favorite people and I’ve spent more of the shift laughing than anything else. I go to lunch.

“You aren’t in trouble or anything, but when you get home, mom and dad need to talk to you about something.”

I read it and I have to text my sister back. A million questions.

“Is it important?”

“Very.”

“Is it good important or bad important?”

“Bad. Don’t tell them I told you, you’re not supposed to know about this.”

“You’re making it sound like someone died. Did they?”

“No one died.”

“Why can’t you tell me what this is about?”

“It’s not good to read over text.”

I shrink.

My break ends and I head back out to the floor. I’m standing there and that’s all I do for a minute, and my co-workers notice and they ask how my break went and how I’m doing. I can’t lie, I can’t keep a straight face. I tell them everything. I tell them that something is wrong but that my sister won’t give me anything. I say that nothing has been wrong at home. There had been some hassle around my birthday because of issues getting me a cake and that I suspected my parents were mad at me.

“Sound like a divorce,” one of my co-workers said to me. I shook my head.

“It can’t be that,” I said. “They’ve been together through so much, you don’t understand. I haven’t noticed anything along the lines of divorce, and I feel like I definitely would if that’s what’s going on.”

“You think you’re moving again?” asked my other co-worker, and at that, I lowered my head. I’ve moved at least 7 times throughout my life. Just during Covid we spent a 5-month stint in northern Utah before coming back. The idea blinded me. I could hear their voices sigh and tell me we’re moving and that I’ll have to find a new job and say goodbye to my girlfriend and promise to come back whenever I get the chance. I reflect on the past week, I realize the reality of the situation.

“That sounds like that could be it,” I whisper out in defeat. I work in the center of the store, and right in the middle of the chaos of a Friday, I try not to cry. I try to forget the times I’ve moved, how everyone will react, how little time I’ve spent with so many people that I miss so dearly. I blame my eyes on my allergies and take a pill that I keep stowed in one of the cabinets at the booth.

“Look, man, even if you have to leave, I hope that this happens for a reason and that you prosper in your new environment.” I thank him, and I sniffle.

“Thanks, man.” I sigh. “You make a lot of sense. When bad things happen my dad will stare out the kitchen window. I’ve seen him do it before when someone close to the family died. My sister told me that no one died, but I’ve seen him do that again lately. He’s been sad looking, like yesterday. We played soccer in the house but he looked like something was bothering him, he was barely moving, but I didn’t want to say anything because I thought he was mad at me, and I didn’t want to hear about that while we were playing soccer.”

It’s a hard shift after that. I’m consumed by an outrageous plague of anxiety and both my co-workers jokingly tell me to give my sister a good beating when I get home because she’s scared me to death. It makes me laugh, they both get me to laugh in their own ways, and with their help I’m able to finish off the shift without much affliction. They stepped up to help me with any extra stress that could’ve come to accumulate, they cracked some jokes and even laughed at mine. I finally got feeling okay.

I clock out for the day at 5 since I opened, and when I get to the car, I then turn on my phone and look at my messages. My sister’s messaged me 3 times.

“Never mind,” she said. “It’s not going to happen anymore, they changed their minds and don’t want to tell you. When you get home I’ll still tell you, though.”

I’m able to breathe. I’m able to drive home and not worry that my anxiousness will get me thrown into a wreck on the commute back. In a lengthy voice-to-text note, I tell my sister that I appreciate the heads up but that it killed my mentality through the shift, and that if anything of the sort ever happens again to let me find out on my own. A couple minutes later, she texts back apologizing. I accept it.

I get home. I turn off the car and grab all my belongings, and once I put them in my room, I head over to my parents’ room. They texted as they heard me come in to head to their room.

I step inside and shut the door to keep out the cats. My parents are sat on the bed, my sister sat down on my dad’s office chair. They look like they’ve spent some time crying, even my dad. I’ve never seen my dad cry. I’m in the room, and I remember that my sister said they weren’t going to tell me what all was going on, but seeing them all in the room, I feel as though I’m about to hear it. But I don’t.

“You have a good day, love?”

“Yeah, it was okay,” I say.

“The cake’s ready at Cold Stone so we’re going to go pick it up in a minute. We had them write the thing you wanted on the top of it, crazy.” My mom said, and I chuckled, still anxious. “Just wanted to tell you that we’re getting your cake, I know you were wondering about that.”

“Oh okay, thank you,” I say. And I go to leave. But I look at my sister, and when before I had only seen her in my peripheral, this time I see her directly. She’s slumped in her chair, not crying or anything, but gloomy. I have never seen her look more depressed. It takes me a second to leave because I notice what a toll this secret has taken on her. I’ve never seen my sister look this way before, but there, in that chair, she was broken.

I leave the room and head to the bathroom. I’m sat down and I’m wondering, all over again, what it could be that I’m missing out on. What does my dad, my mom, my sister, everyone in the whole house know about that I don’t? And why does everyone look like they’re recovering from the same thing even though no one’s died and we’re apparently not moving?

A minute goes by, and my dad texts again.

“Can you come back to our room, please?” Butterflies. I can’t even laugh about it; when he said that, every emotion that I came under all day hit me back all at once. My body jittered out for a second and my head began to hurt. I knew in a few short moments what was about to happen.

I finish up. I wash my hands with soap and I step out and into my parents’ room, shutting the door behind me once again. When before they seemed lighthearted enough to be just about to step into public to pick up my cake, they now looked serious. It was time for business. I had no idea what room I had stepped myself into.

“Something has been going on for the past few weeks, you may have seen me act different or mama act different, I don’t know if you have, but we wanted to talk to you about what’s been going on.” I swallow. “Um..” My mom finishes his sentence.

“Mama almost left,” she says in a bluntness I’ve never heard before. I don‘t process what she’s said.

“To where?” I ask, and she slightly laughs. At this, I see my dad tear up, as he must have not too long ago, and he takes his glasses off.

“No, no. I..” She sighs, and something in me breaks as I stand still to listen.

“For the past few weeks I have had a lot of issues, and there’s been so much going on that I’ve had doubts with our relationship. And I’ve prayed and I’ve talked to my cousin and we’ve gotten closer.. and I was going to leave and move in with my cousin. He’s just getting out of a divorce and I got attached and that mixed with me being unhappy in the relationship, I wanted to just leave, and I was going to. Up until today..”

“We told my parents last night,” my dad cut her off. “They can’t believe me. I couldn’t believe it.” He looked over at my sister, she now having tears in her eyes. “She couldn’t believe it. None of your other siblings could believe it.”

“She woke me up yesterday crying,” my sister spoke up, talking about our youngest sister.

“Your brother was crying, and he looked up at me today and he asked me the one question we’ve all been asking this whole time, ‘Why?’ Why? How could this happen, how could she do this? And I didn’t have an answer. That’s what my parents asked me, how could this happen, and I had to tell them that I don’t know.” My mom, three feet to the side of him, was crying, and seeing my sister cry made my dad cry. I have never seen my dad cry. I cannot stand to cry in front of others, and I stand there, and nothing that anyone says processes. I’m standing there like a fucking scarecrow, only one that looks like his birthday time has been cut so incredibly short so suddenly that he’s reduced to what he’d look like without a face.

My mom talks and she apologizes, and she talks about her feelings but they don’t make sense to me and I cannot take in any of her words. She cries, my sister cries, and my dad cries. And everyone is incredibly sorry.

“We’ve been hiding this from you because we didn’t want to ruin your birthday,” she tells me, and I understand. “Today was officially going to be the day I was going to get things packed and I was going to leave. But.. I changed my mind. I want to stay with you guys. I want to be here. I can’t leave you.” Her tears come again.

“We were going to tell her parents tomorrow,” says my dad, and he shakes his head. “This..” He has tears coming again, and I have never seen my dad cry. “This is going to make us closer in our relationship,” he gets out as he’s holding everything back. And he hugs my mom, and I just watch as they hug, and I watch as my dad hugs me, and I watch as my mom hugs me. And I watch as they say I’m good to go and that they’ll leave for the cake. I head to my room and I lay myself down. The heat from the sun comes through my window, and I feel it but I don’t understand it, it seems.

I cry. I cry the whole time they’re out. I haven’t cried so much in years. Years. I used to keep track of reasons I’d cry, but this would take all the reasons for a spin. They get the cake, and of course it takes a while. But I’m still crying when they get back. I’m still hurting and wondering why like we all have. My brother in his bed just 6 feet from mine walks over and gives me a hug, and he tells me, “Mommy isn’t leaving us, Yousuf.” And he’s happy. He’s not crying. He feels safe again. But me, I’m hearing this for the first time, ans all my memories as their child and as an older brother flood back in, and all the pictures of me as a baby come to mind, and I give my brother a hug, and I cannot stop crying.

I love my parents. I love my family. I love the imperfections of life and I love who I am. But I have the hardest time processing change, and I have always been riddled with an overwhelming sense of needing protection and some sort of resemblance to what the past used to be. I have always need a friendly hand to hold, a kind person to talk to, and a healthy community where I can remain ignorant because I’m young and trying my hardest to be good. I can handle certain things and inconveniences, I can handle change sometimes and I can adapt to my surrounding, but these moments, these things that happened just weeks ago, will never fucking escape me. I have been on the edge of my seat sense, and I am in worry that at any moment, I family will cease to be what it has always been; The parents, the family, the life I love.

My mamma told me artists are born full, or starve forever.

Joyous lives are pre-selected.

Choose wisely, while I drink away the memories of the stories I didn't write.

Why is it so hard to write about the ones we love, while we're loving them?

Why does "joy" feel taboo on my tongue?

I want to express myself, without defending my pain.

You spend your entire life surviving a monster,

only to wake up an imposter.

I identify as such.

Refusing to commit because I'm still digging.

Or climbing, or relearning how untrue her words really were.

How she never found herself.

Or maybe, like a blind date, she got there, didn't like what she saw;

and drove to the liquor store.

And here I am, addicted to nicotine and self discovery.

Afraid to admit I might like who I am.

When I was little I called her mommy. When I got older I skipped mom or momma and went straight to Mother while my dad always remained Daddy. My mother was someone who had faced a lot of hardships as a child and managed to come through seeing good despite seeing so much in her young years. She was an orphan losing both parents years apart and was shipped around among relatives during the Depression, when no one could afford or wanted an extra mouth to feed. That in and of itself would have been enough to make someone perhaps take a different path in life, but not her. She stayed on the straight and narrow.

I can remember when I was doing my first cheerleader tryouts how she would show me the ones that she did when she was a cheerleader for her small town's basketball team. Yep, basketball. The town was so small they didn't have enough kids to play football. Sounds so very unTexan. I remember while I was practicing, she broke into "Strawberry Shortcake Banana Cream Pie V-I-C-T-O-R-Y. I'm sure that rallied a lot of victories! I remember us both laughing. Needless to say, I didn't steal that jewel for my tryout...but I do remember how she celebrated when I made the team. She always celebrated with me no matter the accomplishment.

I remember her waiting up for me on those High School Friday and Saturday nights of fun. The hug and kiss before she went off to bed was actually a sniff test to see if I smelled of beer or cigarettes....I failed....a lot. I remember her mumbling I was my "Father's child" as my mom never smoked or drank. At all. Period.

My mom didn't care anything about cars other than the fact that it ran and had gas. My dad on the other hand was a huge car guy. She often dreaded when he drove off in her car because it usually meant he was coming home with a new car. She didn't care about flashy things. Her wants were simply to give her children the best stable homelife possible, the very thing she never had....I can remember being 15 with a learner's permit driving a Lincoln Town Car that was the size of Rhode Island into San Antonio....she didn't like "traffic"....so she trusted me, and it was really fine because I had been driving trucks on and around our farm since I was about eleven...looking back though I am just so amazed how much she trusted me...it makes me laugh in this moment.

She was a woman of faith. (Might explain making me the designated driver - perhaps a leap of faith...lol). She believed in being positive, encouraging and throughout her day showed integrity in all that she did. She instilled in us that we were only as good as our word and that we should exhibit kindness to all we encountered. I remember when she passed, I just had to see her handwriting...I opened her Bible and read her worn pages filled with notes and papers with prayers written on them tucked between the pages. It was just a comfort to me. She lived by faith and she taught me the importance of faith in my life. I am so grateful for that fact.

There are so many wonderful memories and moments of my life growing up with this precious woman as my mom. I was blessed and I miss her badly. I often think what she would think about the world today. I miss her scent; I miss her smile; I miss her kiss and embrace. A mother's love is timeless...and despite the separation from this world and when one goes home - it is ever present and always felt...

She was tired

She was broken

She was fearful

She was neurotic

I thought she loved me

I think she really just...needed a friend

At the end of the day...her "love"

Wasn't exactly good for my growth

She was perfectly happy for me to...

Sit on the couch, eating chips

Watch tv until my brain melts

As long as that means I don't leave her

I wish I had a mother whom I trusted

Who I knew...

Truly had my best interests in mind

But she needed me

Just as much

As I needed a mother

Which means...

In the end

We both get nothing

It's a shame...

There's a part of me that misses those...

"dinners with mom."...

But in reality it was suffocating....

A black hole of despair and loneliness

I wish I could help her

I wish I could help us both

I'm sorry mom

I have to go

Perhaps she's a talented actress or in need of some work; doesn't affect the fact that I love her so much. Sometimes she's so obvious it can hurt - 99% of the time, she's painfully obvious. Even when she's worried about something, she'll tell me it's nothing though it clearly is...something,

Or she'll just accept a hug and kiss on her cheek with smiling face even though what she may want is some cash and a day to herself, where she can buy

some clothes, pretty shoes and accessories for Mother's day or her birthday when she's celebrated.

Your mother is the person who raises you from birth and protects you, nurtures you, loves you unlike any other, and is your shoulder to lean on. My mother was everything but. From a young age I remember her chasing me down our hallway with a wooden spatula trying to hit me for whatever triggered her temper at that moment. I cried because I had no friends and was lonely, but in her eyes it was due to me being arrogant which I didn’t know I was. Getting my period at 9 years old and having no clue what was going on and instead of keeping my secret, announcing it to a group of strangers that I had never met and being congratulated moments after cleaning the blood off of my hands. At 17, when I found out I was pregnant and told my parents, she was so furious that she threw her trash can on the floor and started throwing her dishes like frisbees. Being 15 and suicidal only to be told that I needed to get over my depression and that one day it would grow wings and fly away, like a bird. Being told that my miscarriage was a blessing because she hated the father of my child and that I had no reason to be upset because it was for the best. At 25, being disowned for not allowing someone to have the book thrown at them and allowing them to rot in jail for 20 years. Watching her yell at my elderly father for things he could not control. My mother was not the mother that I could cry to about boys because I was afraid of her. She was not the mother I went to for protection because it was at a cost and I would never hear the end of my stupidity and how she was my savior. Anytime I cried to her over the things she did to hurt me, I was a liar and she was a phenomenal mother who didn't need anyone to tell her that. She has no idea why I look for love in everything, everyone, and everywhere I go since I deeply lacked it in my youth. I’ve grown to watch families and envy the relationships my peers have with their moms and wishing I had the same undying love they do. Having two mothers you would think I would have gotten the love I needed for my pain, but alas I was unworthy for either one. To those of you who have a mother who you can lean on, cherish them. Love them and remind them of why you are thankful to have them in your life because not everyone has a mother on their side.