One of the struggles I've had in the last year or so is being told by others who my mother is. I keep hearing others (whether APs or others who think positively about adoption) say that mothers are the ones that are always there for you. Your mother is the one that picks you up when you fall, kisses your scrapes and bruises, and generally is there for emotional support.
I struggle mightily with that. If that's what a mother is, then did I really have one? My first mom relinquished me. And my second mom left when I was seven. (I know she didn't want to. My father sued for divorce and got custody. But she left nonetheless. And it's not as though my first mom WANTED to leave me either.) So by that wacky definition, I didn't have a mother because no one was there for me in that way.
But I have defended both of them, sometimes vehemently. Both of them loved me. Both of them wanted to be there for me. But circumstances wouldn't allow it.
And yesterday, when I talked to my mom (my adoptive mom) on the phone, it felt like another betrayal. I wanted my moms so much when I was younger. And I wanted them to make it better. And they didn't. They couldn't. And while I understand, sort of, it is an intellectual understanding. The emotional side of me, my gut, doesn't understand. It never did. And maybe it never fully will.
I assumed my mom had been calling me about my brother's loss. I had just found out in a message from my father. So that's what I assumed. When she told me that she wasn't coming back for Christmas, I was taken completely by surprise. Even more, she assumed that I had guessed that already.
What bothers me is that I didn't guess it. That after all this time, I still hoped that things might be different. That things might be better now. After all this time, I still had a shred of optimism left.
Do I still? Did that kill it? I don't know. I would have thought I was incapable of being disappointed anymore. But last night showed me that I'm not. At least I wasn't. Maybe I'm still not. I still want them to be something they can't be, that no one can be. I still want them to be perfect.
I guess that's something everyone wants from their mothers. I don't know how to stop hoping for that. And I don't know if it's good to stop. But it hurts so much every time I'm reminded that it isn't possible.