ying_ko_4

I doubt this qualifies as my favorite memory.  It is, however, a lasting one. 

Some years ago, probably close to 20 or so, I was working at a radio station in Boonville, MO and my mother was living and working in Marshall, MO.  About an hours drive away to the west.  Not a trip I made a lot, but often enough over the years. 

Mother was a practicing psychologist.  She'd gotten her Master's Degree and went to work for the State of Missouri.  She liked her job and was pretty good at it.  She also had the unnerving habit of playing therapist with the family.  Whether they participated or not, that was the case.  She could explain why everyone was the way they were.  Or at least how she saw things in that regard.

I was fortunate.  I was given special treatment.  I got TOLD what my problems were.  Somehow, she was never at fault.  This didn't dawn on me until years later, but not at that time.  She was good at noticing things, and realizing that I was hurting a lot at the time.  In a lot of emotional pain, to be honest about it.  I was the problem child.  I freely admit that.  Caused all sorts of problems for my parents.  I lived in "interesting times" and had a...unique...set of parents.  They were not well matched.  However, they don't test for that or make people get licenses to be parents so you make do with what you have.

This particular visit was emotionally draining.  I know now that my mother meant well.  At least, I hope the hell she did.  Because she inflicted a serious hurting on me that day.  It went a little like this...

She'd just moved in to her place a month or so ago.  Nice apartment and I was there to hang pictures, hook up her stereo, and general Son stuff.  Help out your mother kind of stuff.  I got fed, and the food was always good so it was a win-win situation.  After the stereo got hooked up, out came mother's records and tapes.  We had a lot of the same taste in music (and some that was not at all the same) so she put on a record and we ate and talked and seemed to be having a good time.  After a while, the Neil Diamond came out.   Neil Diamond is one of two artists I strongly associate with my mother.  The other is Tom Jones.  He has nothing to do with this story...

Mother put on the Diamond album (Greatest Hits, if memory serves) and when a particular song come on, she asked me to be quiet and listen intently to the lyrics.  Ok...I can do that.  And I was fine until the chorus came around;

"I am," I said
To no one there
An no one heard at all
Not even the chair
"I am," I cried
"I am," said I
And I am lost, and I can't even say why
Leavin' me lonely still

Which pretty well summed up how I felt about life at the time.  And mother knew it.   It felt like a body blow.  I could almost literally feel the air rush out of my lungs, my confidence seemed to dribble down my leg and puddle on the floor.  I felt like a little boy who had just wet the bed (again...).  I felt naked and exposed.  I felt betrayed.

I felt alone.

Mother brought this to my attention, but offered no way for me to deal with it.  I had these issues, I felt isolated and alone.  Thanks for pointing this out, Mother...but now what the fuck do I do?

No practical answer that I can recall.

I went slinking home to my little hovel in Boonville.  It was a lonely drive.  The pain had been brought out into the open.  I had to deal with it somehow, so I started drinking a lot again.  Self-medication was always a specialty of mine.  I was good at numbing the pain through "medicinal" hooch.  I used it as as excuse for bad behavior.    I used it as an excuse to avoid dealing with the issues that caused the pain.  I ran away and tried to hide from myself.  However, when I woke up all hung, flung and slung the next morning, I was still there.  I couldn't get away from me.

I can listen to that song now and think to myself that it's a song of a very lonely man.  I know I'm not that person anymore, but those feelings took some time to deal with and get past.  I also wonder if that was my mother trying to tell me something about her.  In a Freudian way, of course...

Happy Mother's Day, Mother.  Wherever you are, and sorry it's late...