The Mad Dater Online Dating Blog: When Your Mom Calls You at 4am, It Can Only Mean Trouble

As if you care about my dating life! But since you're reading this dating blog....

Monday, April 03, 2006
When Your Mom Calls You at 4am, It Can Only Mean Trouble

I can't say that I am anything else but angry right now. I woke up at 2:30AM to get some work done. I procrastinated, and just when I decided that it was time to take a nap before working my mother calls at 4AM.

I prepared myself to hear that my grandmother had passed away. And then I thought, "What if something happened to my brother?". So I called my voicemail and it was my mother, "Something happened to your brother. I'm sorry for what happened. Your father has told you things.... But there is two sides to every story. I'm gonna pass on soon. God will forgive me even if you don't..."

My mother has called me 5, maybe 6 times since my dad passed away. I answered none of them. But when your mom calls you at 4AM you figure it can be only one thing, bad news. I took a deep breath and called her back. "Yes?" I wasn't angry when I said that.

I guess there is something that you should know here: My mom is the poster child for self-pity. It's never her fault, it's someone else's. And if all else fails to draw you to her side of a story, she piles on the guilt. Generally I get these type of stories and messages, before a major holiday or before her birthday. Days when she knows that I am not going to call. Days when I guess she hope that she can guilt me into calling.

My brother's wife left him with their two sons.

Then she starts telling me that I am in a long line of people who don't love her... She was abused as a child... Her mother abandoned her... She was raped by the people who my grandmother had left her to be with... She was abused by my father... My dad had been filling my head with bad stories about her.... My dad had another wife... Why do I hate her so much...

Just how much is a person supposed to take in at 4AM? How much can one person take in a lifetime? How much more of this can I take? Can't I just life my life and let her life be her life? why do I have to hear this all ... again... and again... and again....

The one thing my dad didn't do when my mom left, was say bad things about her. He's the one who had filled me in on some of the things that had happened to her growing up. He made me understand that there were reasons why she left. What he could never explain to me, was why she left. This is what I wanted to know from her, right now. Right now before I start to get angry... right now before I start to yell.. Too late, I started to yell and this is when I woke up my neighbors.

"Ma, I don't want to hear anything bad about dad, he's not here to defend himself. He never said anything bad about you and I don't want to hear it. I don't fucking wanna hear it. What I do want to hear is why you left. How can I not be angry when I had to hear stories about you being in the same city as me, but you never called us? How can I not be mad when you disappeared and I have to hear that friends had seen you but I hadn't? (I wanna tell her, I fucking hate her at this point - but I leave that part out). How can the only thing that you tell me about the period when you left be that, 'It wasn't two years'? What the hell happened during that time? I changed that day you left. The girl who people used to say "smiled too much", stopped smiling. WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED!?"

She started telling me the reasons again... she was abused... everyone hates her... it wasn't her fault she left... for what happened. I explained that I knew these reasons. But what I didn't know was the story of what happened from the day she left. The day I came home and saw my brother outside distraught that "ma left." How could she do that?

"Tell me what happened?"
"It wasn't two years."
"TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED!"
"I never left. Don't curse at me."
"WHAT THE FUCK. You're telling me that I imagined you not being there?"
"I went into the garage and tried to commit suicide."
"But you didn't. Are you telling me that you had been in the garage for two years?"
"I never left. I went to Jamaica. Yes you imagined it" (Seriously, WTF?!)
"Ma, I love you. I'm trying not to get angrier than I am. I know you worked hard for us. I'm a strong person because you raised me that way. But I stopped talking to you years ago, because all you could tell me about when you left was that it wasn't 2.5 years -"
"I'm getting older. I have a heart problem. I'm going to die soon." She starts crying.

"Ma, I would love to have a relationship with you." I don't know if I really meant that, especially since my dad died I resigned myself to never speak to her again. I resigned myself to hearing the next thing about her was that she died. When she came back I tried to have a relationship with her. I went along like nothing ever happened, like every one else in the family. But I have to know what happened. I can't go on pretending that nothing ever happened. I want to have a relationship with her; but I want it to be based on truth.

"What happened? Tell me the story."

More excuses. More "it was everyone else". More "I never left"... More lies. "Ma I'm giving you one more chance. I have to get on with my life. I don't want my life to be stuck on pause. I have to get on with my life and if that means living without a relationship with you, because you can't tell me what happened. Because you can't take responsibility for your actions. Because you can't admit what happened, then so be it."

"It wasn't 2 years. Your brother will tell you that. I have a three way phone let's call him and find out."
"Ok, lets!"
"Not right now. It's 4 in the morning."
"No right now, because if you don't start telling me what happened this is the last time that we will be speaking."
"Not right now."
"Ma, good night."

This is not the post I wanted to be my return to blogging post. I wanted to write about how the when I revisited some of the trying episodes of my past here, the comments from the readers made me feel better. I wanted write about how I laughed at some of the funny stuff I read in the comments... how I felt consoled from complete strangers... how this blog had been my medicine and I'm glad I had it. I wanted to say thank you. I wanted to write about how everything was going well for me, and now this. I guess I can't go on pretending that my family doesn't exist. I have to call me brother.