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Forgiving My Mother After Abandonment
After a life of self-loathing and resentment, a letter from my absentee mom brought me peace
Let society tell it, your mother is supposed to be a nurturer — the person who wipes your tears, showers you with love, and helps you become the best possible version of yourself. You could likely play Netflix roulette or pick up a fictional book at random for verification. My experience has been quite the contrary. As age 37 approaches, the fact that I don’t have a woman in my life to call “mama” still hurts a little deep down inside.
There’s a face out there in this world that looks like mine of which I have no memory. There’s a woman who carried and nursed me, yet I wouldn’t recognize the sound of her voice speaking my name. Maybe it’s high-pitched. Or raspy. Perhaps an accent?
I’ll never know.
My dad says I was 15 months old when my mother notified him of her plans to send me back to him in San Francisco. That’s significant to me — my youngest baby boy is about the same age, and his resemblance to me is striking. When I look at him, sometimes I wonder about my mother’s thoughts before deciding she could no longer be my guardian. Was it extreme pressure fueled by her parents’ anti-Blackness? Possibly. Or it could have been the burden we both shared…
