So there it is, this hurt and embarrassment, put out there. Hurt, yes. Embarrassment, why? And therein lies the topic of my post. At the moment of sharing this story, I felt embarrassment. I have always been one who reflects inward first...is the flaw me?...before asking if it is the other person. Is the unspoken message that my own mother doesn't love me or my children enough to visit? What a poor reflection on the family I come from. And therein lies the embarrassment, because that's NOT how I was raised, that's not what I am. I come from better than that. But in that moment when my story was met with silence, I felt like the integrity of my upbringing was found to be lacking.
On the heels of this feeling, was a different thought...that my mom has a problem, but her problems are not a reflection on me. Somewhere through the years she changed from the mom I grew up believing I knew, and became this. But this is not what I come from. It is only what she became. So as I sit here reflecting on the fact that my mom still hasn't met our 18 month old daughter, I realize that it is her loss, and that it speaks volumes about her, but that her choices now are not who I am, or even an accurate picture of the mom I was raised with. No, the embarrassment is not mine. I love my mom and can accept who she is, but her choices are not mine.
