Happy Mother's Day?

Breaking a maternal generational curse of abandonment.

The Daughter Line

I am the daughter

of a daughter.

Who is the daughter

of a daughter.

Who is also the daughter

of a daughter.

Some of us are mothers

but all of us are daughters,

all birthed through lines

that weave back to

that First Mother.

All connected from

the very beginning.

All connected in the now.

Mothers,

Daughters,

Grandmothers,

Great Grandmothers,

Great Great Grandmothers.

All daughters born from

One. Original. Egg.

from

One. Original. Woman.

So why the separation?

Why the animosity toward each other?

Why the arguing and fighting,

back-stabbing and lack of support?

The next time you see another woman,

look in her eyes and see the

Ancestral Lines – the lines of women –

that lead back to you.

Where are we going Mother?

And how will we get there Sister?

By staying connected Daughter

and allowing for difference.

For we are each one,

after all,

all Daughters

of Daughters

of Daughters

of our

One Mother.

- Arlene Bailey ©2020

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My maternal history

Grandma Elaine as a young girl in Pennsylvania.

My Grandma Elaine suffered the death of her mother when she was only seven years old. According to my mother, Grandma Elaine grew up in Ridgeway, Pennsylvania, experienced much mental anguish from the loss of her mother and received shock therapy as a child. As an adult, she never truly recovered from this and was a life-long alcoholic who was unable to care for her two children. As a result, my mother was raised by her paternal grand parents where more childhood trauma was heaped upon her. 

My mother’s only family picture. She’s the baby on her mother’s lap with her father and brother on the right.

In the late 1960’s, at the age of fifteen, my mother escaped this nightmare by running away to the rural coastal plains of south Georgia where her mother was now living. Her mother had remarried and was running a juke joint alongside her husband. My mother became the obsession of her new step brother. The whole family tried to keep them apart, but the harder they tried, the closer their bond became. They lied to her mother and his father claiming she was pregnant to get them to sign off on her underage marriage at sixteen. Her seventeen year-old husband then joined the army to escape this rural life. 

My young mother and father holding me.

In 1972, I was born when they were stationed at Fort Bragg, NC. My brother came along a few years later when they were stationed in Schwabisch Gmund, Germany and my father was Quartermaster for the 1/41st Pershing Missile Battalion. A young mother of two babies in a foreign country with no real support system and my father started showing signs of the mental illness that would plague him the rest of his life, having bouts of “the black ass” and staying in bed for days at a time. How can an inexperienced mother be expected to handle a baby and toddler on her own all day? 

She broke and didn’t come home one weekend. My father freaked out knowing he couldn’t care for us and continue working without a support system, so he packed us up and got emergency leave to come back to Georgia where his family was. When my mother finally came home and realized we were gone, she was trapped in Germany because her three year old (me) was on her passport and my father had taken it with him. She had to partake in some unseemly activity to get herself sent back to the states and my father picked her up at the airport. They got back together and were stationed in Savannah Georgia at Hunter Army Airfield for a couple more years before the next life altering event occurred that she never recovered from.

I believe the apparent suicide of her mother and the grief she dealt with as a result caused her to become emotionally vacant long before her physical presence ever left my life. I was five years old and my brother was two and I have glimmers of memories from this time that I’ve tried to put into order over the past year, but the feelings of overwhelming loss make it difficult to stay in them for long. I’m not sure there is any insight or clarity there worth pulling myself into that. However, it does give me insight into the reasons my mother left because this was not the narrative I grew up believing.

I was such a lost little girl but I know the mothering I received from my Granny (daddy’s mother), my Aunt Willie (Granny’s sister), and my Aunt Donna (daddy’s sister) are what allowed me to become a functioning adult. I’m still lost at times and dark and twisty on the inside, but I think I’m overall well-balanced. Of course, menopause is causing me to question this some days.

Speaking of Aunt Willie, I visited her last week because I know the eastern prickly pears bloom en masse on the dirt road in front of her cemetery. It’s funny because Aunt Willie was like a prickly pear in many ways. She had a sharp tongue that could leave little barbs in your heart to fester much like a prickly pear does to your foot when you step on it. I will develop Aunt Willie’s character in upcoming stories. 

My motherhood

I was hoping to break this multigenerational maternal trauma. Becoming a mother wasn’t easy. There was a miscarriage, then a fear-filled pregnancy that ended in pre-eclampsia, an unplanned cesarean and feelings of failure as a mother right from the start. I pressed on and did the best I could. We briefly tried for a second child when Ean was four years old, but it wasn’t coming easily and I decided I wasn’t strong enough to go through all of that again. I felt like I was a decent mother until 2005 when the loss of so many pivotal loved ones in a short span of time caused me to emotionally abandon everyone, including my only son, who needed me more than ever during his early adolescent years at a new school while dealing with his own loss. Therefore, I feel like I did not break the generational curse but at least the maternal trauma ended with me on this branch of the family tree.

Me, my mother, and son on his first birthday.

Conclusions and moving forward

Motherhood is not as easy as all the cards on the shelves in the big box stores make it seem. Last Sunday morning before the sun became sweltering, I was out in the wild, untamed garden with the sweet smell of magnolia blooms and honeysuckle wafting on the breeze, transplanting some tomatoes. I said to Ken, “Can you get me four eggs to plant with these?” And I heard my mother asking, “You plant eggs with your tomatoes?” We had been chatting in Facebook messenger and apparently I pocket dialed her. For the past several years, our relationship has been maintained through Facebook messenger. She did come “van-life” in my yard a couple of years ago which I felt odd about because I was afraid it may be triggering for her since this is where her mother died.

I know I keep her at arms length through our messenger relationship. I know that in adulthood I have built a brick wall around my heart where she is concerned. My motto has been, “I’ve survived childhood without her, why would I need her now?” And she has said, she didn’t know how to relate to us as children and thought attempting an adult relationship would be easier. Unfortunately, I may have built this wall even taller after everyone died.

Last Sunday, we video chatted for almost two hours as I worked in the garden and walked around taking her to visit Daisy Mae, the milk-less milk cow, and the strutting black and white royal palm turkeys. We’ve agreed to make this a weekly or bi-weekly event. I believe the mortar in the wall I’ve built is crumbling.

As for my own motherhood, I pray that my son knows how much I love him and how very proud I am of him. Life has not dealt him an easy hand, but he inspires me with his ability to keep holding his head high, moving forward, making his own way in life.

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Thank you for reading. I pray you have a blessed mother’s day weekend. Remember, it is not a happy time for all. Pray for those who are hurting and hope they are comforted by those who may be beyond the veil.

Blessings,

💜B💜

P.S. Here’s a video of an amazing little wren mother who hatched six chicks, with a cameo of Daisy Mae at the end who we will start the artificial insemination protocol with again next Friday. I believe she would be such a good mother & then she wouldn’t be milk-less anymore!